The Midwife's Tale (18 page)

“Which explains . . . everything,” she whispered. “He’s still only a child.”

“He is, but Boy and the others aren’t like the children you know, with parents and neighbors to teach them to walk the path of righteousness. Two of these children came from orphanages too awful to describe. The rest, like Boy, have been on their own, struggling to survive in the streets, for years. They’ve been deeply hurt, either abandoned by parents who set them loose because they couldn’t or wouldn’t care for them or orphaned, with no one willing to take them in. They’re scorned by righteous people, even feared, because these boys travel in packs like wolves, scavenging a bit of garbage to eat or a place to sleep out of the cold or rain. The older ones are pickpockets and thieves who swear better than the hardest inmates I’ve ever met, and some can con you out of your money without a twinge of conscience.”

He paused to catch his breath. When he spoke again, his voice was just above a whisper. “But they are all His children. Just like the rest of us, each of them must choose to be saved. That’s all I’m trying to do—to give them a choice between the life they had before and a future life filled with purpose. To get them to accept our help or to struggle on their own until they do.”

He made perfect sense, especially given his description of the boys’ backgrounds and her encounter with Will. She found the call he had answered to be so formidable, and the opportunities for failure to be so endless, that any reservations she had about
Reverend Hampton now appeared to be very petty. “If there’s anything I can do for you both or the boys, just send for me. I have a room at the tavern,” she offered.

His eyes softened into twin pools of gratitude. “They tell me you have a healing hand, a generous heart, and abide no hint of gossip.” Suddenly, his demeanor changed and his eyes began to twinkle mischievously. “Mayor Dillon left several hours ago. Unfortunately, we were able to confirm his suspicions that our boys were involved in that prank. I don’t think they suffered anything worse than some scrapes and bruises for their efforts during the night, but under the circumstances, I didn’t think Dr. McMillan would welcome taking a look at them.”

“You might be right to keep the doctor away for a few days . . . until . . . until he calms down and the gossipmongers find something else to amuse them. Did the boys actually target the doctor with their prank?”

He nodded. “Dr. McMillan called on us shortly after we arrived. Unfortunately, our boys weren’t quite what he expected. Several weeks later, when we were in town one day, two of the boys overheard the doctor make remarks they perceived as disparaging, so they retaliated. I hate to impose, but I wonder if you would mind taking a look at them? I know Olympia would sleep better tonight if you could make sure they’ll be all right. We’ve never been blessed with children of our own, so she hasn’t had much experience with them.”

“I didn’t bring my bag of simples, but I’ll be glad to look them over . . . if you think they’ll let me. Will wasn’t too keen on the idea at first.”

He nodded. “To Boy and the others, being hurt and asking for help means being vulnerable or weak, a sure way to invite disaster on the streets. After what happened at the market today and the mayor’s visit, the boys are waiting to hear their punishment
announced in the morning. They’re not likely to protest anything I tell them to do tonight, especially if they think it might soften the blow tomorrow, so to speak.”

“Will it?” she asked as she put her gloves on top of the table and let him lead her to the door to the sleeping rooms.

He grinned. “Not in the least. For tonight, they were sent to bed without supper even though only four, plus Boy, actually participated in the prank. They’re all waiting to hear their punishment tomorrow. I’ve learned not to be too quick to dish out punishment. It helps me to think straight, after I’ve prayed on it, of course. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to let the boys stew a bit.”

She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “If only some were involved, why are the others going to be punished, too?” she asked, curious to understand his reasoning.

“They might not have participated, but they knew what the others were all about. They’ll share in the punishment tomorrow as well. But don’t worry. I’ve already told Mayor Dillon what I have in mind.

“So far,” he added as he reached to open the door, “what they can conjure up in their vivid imaginations tends to be far worse than what I’ve decided they must do tomorrow to make amends to Dr. McMillan. They can always leave in the morning, instead, but that hasn’t happened in the past and I don’t think it will happen tomorrow, either. You might want to be at the market tomorrow morning about eight and see for yourself.”

Before she could answer or warn him that bringing all of those boys into town might only add more fuel to the simmering resentment against them, he opened the door and waved her inside. “They’re all yours. I’ll just introduce you first.”

Not quite certain she was up to handling six boys as difficult or challenging as Will, Martha was unable to resist the minister’s
charming ability to set her at ease. She walked into the room and waited while he lit several candles on a table just inside the door and they sputtered to life. Added to the brighter light spilling into the room through the doorway, the candlelight gave her a good view of the small chamber.

All the boys except Will had burrowed under their blankets. Four were lying on the floor on top of corn husk mattresses that were lined up side by side along the far wall with scarcely walking room between them. Two boys slept on the floor to her left. Will was curled up on the floor in the right corner with Mrs. Hampton sitting in a chair at the head of his mattress.

The woman put a finger to her lips. “He’s almost asleep,” she whispered as she rose to meet her husband and their guest.

After a quick introduction, Reverend Hampton clapped his hands several times and glanced around the room. “Sit up, boys. I know you’re all awake so don’t bother trying to convince us otherwise. Hurry now. Sit straight up. Widow Cade is here to see to your injuries, such as they are, and to make sure you’re fit for tomorrow.”

Martha braced herself for an onslaught of snarls and wicked looks by setting a smile to her lips. The two boys to her left sat up first and looked at her with the same distrust she had seen so often in Will’s eyes, but no snarl.

They were a study in contrasts, to say the least. The boy closest to the wall had a small frame like Will, but had straight fair hair and a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his nose. The other glared at her with frosty blue eyes below dark brows the same color as the curls on his head, and he was very plump.

The minister pointed to each of them, starting with the first. “This is Samuel, and Curtis.”

They frowned, but held their gazes steady.

“Over here,” he continued as he moved to the mattresses
along the far wall, “we have Wesley, Peter Jacob, better known as P. J., Joseph, and Adam.”

Since P. J. was the one boy Will had mentioned, she focused her attention on him after giving the others a cursory look. By far the biggest, and probably the oldest, P. J. appeared to be about twelve. Judging by his size now, he would probably top six feet by several inches when he reached full manhood. He had dark eyes and hair and olive skin, and she could almost see the chip he carried on his shoulder.

Despite his scowl, she kept her smile intact, even though her heart trembled at the sight of all these poor boys, and offered a quick prayer for each of them.

“You know Boy, of course,” the minister concluded.

She waited, hoping to meet Will’s gaze, but he kept his eyes downcast and only acknowledged her with a curt nod.

“Olympia, dear, why don’t you stay here with the boys. I’ll take them out to the kitchen one at a time to see Widow Cade. The light will be better there, don’t you think?” he asked, directing his question to Martha.

“Yes, but I’d like to wash up first. Then we’ll have a look,” she suggested. Then she turned about and left the room. She waited until she was back in the kitchen before she let out a long sigh of worry about what morning would bring. With luck and a good bit of assistance from above, all seven boys would appear in a town filled with lots of folks who were already convinced the boys did not belong there. If less than seven showed up, only God knew what the townspeople would do if they found out one or several had balked at their punishment and were running loose in the countryside.

14

T
he drizzle started just before Martha got home from the academy. By dawn, the rain was steady, promising a gray day that would be chill and dreary. Not a good omen, but perhaps a valuable gift since the weather might keep most folks indoors when Reverend Hampton arrived with his charges. After talking with him last night and meeting all six of the other boys, she knew he would not let foul weather eclipse whatever plans he had for the boys’ punishment.

At precisely seven o’clock, according to the watch she usually carried to time birthing pains, Martha peeked out from the covered bridge and scanned up and down West Main Street. Not a wagon or shopper in sight. None of the workmen were extending the planked sidewalk today, either, but the distant sound of both mills at the far end of town told her their day’s work continued unaffected by the weather.

She waited, hoping for a lull in the rain, but after searching the overcast sky, she realized a lull might be long in coming.
She tightened her grip on the covered baskets she held in each hand, bowed her head, and took a deep breath before she made a mad dash for the confectionery. With one basket nearly full and the other empty, she felt a bit lopsided and nearly lost her footing twice, along with her balance, when she tried to avoid puddles at the last minute.

When she reached the confectionery, she charged toward the door and huddled under the overhang of the roof. Her cape was drenched. The hem of her gown was coated with mud, and her shoes were soaked clear through. Breathing heavily, she shook herself to get rid of the water still dripping from her cape. In the process, her hood dropped back and settled into a crumpled, soggy mass of fabric at the nape of her neck, unleashing a trickle of cold water that ran down her back and left gooseflesh in its wake.

Oddly exhilarated, she set down the full basket to open the door and stepped into the vestibule the Lynn sisters had had built several years ago. In the next heartbeat, she grabbed the basket with her full hand, yanked it inside, and closed the door with a hearty swing of her hip.

She managed to get the door shut before the echo of the bell overhead stopped tinkling. Greeted by a steady warmth and smells beyond delicious, she ventured to the doorway of the room on her right and peeked inside. Her mouth began to water immediately.

The sisters had prepared so much today she could barely see the yellow gingham cloths topping the tables that skirted the perimeter of the former parlor. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the room where loaves nestled together in long rows, overwhelming the top of one table.

The sundry cookies, tarts, pies, and other pastries on the other tables were even more tempting and added a sweet smell to
the air. You did not have to check a calendar, consult a farmer’s almanac, or gauge the temperature to know what fruits were in season. One whiff of the air and a glance around this room were all you needed.

Today, the cloistered aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg that laced the distinctive fragrance of apples proved fall had arrived. Apples peeked through the centers of deep-dish pies, oozed from the ends of sugar-crusted tarts and strudels, and lay in soft puddles atop bread pudding.

On the table in the center of the room, a small wooden box used to collect rewards from customers lay next to a roll of brown wrapping paper and several balls of string and a single pencil.

None of the prices had changed for as long as Martha could remember, so there was no need to post them. More often than not, so the sisters believed, folks were generally honest, so they just picked out what they wanted and dropped their coins into the box or tore off a piece of brown paper and scribbled down what they would bring to the kitchen door at the rear of the building as payment in kind when they returned pie plates or other baking dishes.