The Midwife's Tale (2 page)

“Hilary, why don’t you take this young man and clean him up properly while his mama and I finish up? Captain Tyler, we still need you a little longer, so don’t go rushing off. I’ll need those warming cloths, too, so if one of you ladies could kindly see if they’re ready, we should make quick work of the rest.”

Diana handed her son over to Hilary with reluctance that touched Martha’s heart. Just in time. A series of forcing pains quickly expelled the afterbirth, which Martha examined closely. Satisfied all appeared to be normal, she pressed one of the warm cloths Hilary had secured against the young woman’s vulva and had one of the other women hold it in place to prevent air from entering the birth canal and causing infection.

Under Martha’s guidance, Captain Tyler got Diana to her feet. When the other women took over, Martha promptly dismissed him. “We’ll call you back in very soon,” she promised.

He squared his shoulders, keeping a close eye on his wife as well as his son. “I’d rather stay.”

Martha got to her feet and wiped her hands on her birthing apron. “I’d rather you didn’t. Now, if you don’t mind, I still have work to do with my patient.”

Rebellion flashed in his eyes.

She tilted her head back to fully lock her gaze with his and put her hands on her hips. “Now, Captain,” she ordered in as firm a voice as she dared.

“There isn’t a man aboard ship who would try to order me to do anything.”

“We’re not at sea, Captain. Childbirth is my command, not yours. Now, unless you want to prolong Diana’s discomfort, I suggest you follow orders and leave the room. Please?”

He cocked one brow. “Did anyone ever tell you that you are one stubborn, headstrong woman?”

She grinned. “Quite a few,” she quipped.

He grinned back at her. “I thought so. I’ll be waiting right on the other side of the door.” Without further argument, he left the bedchamber, and Martha let out a sigh of relief. Handling her patients was always a far sight easier than dealing with their husbands.

When she turned her attention back to Diana, the young woman was already abed. With a sheepish grin on her face, the new mother beckoned Martha to come to her side with a weak wave of her hand. “Randolph is very protective,” she offered by way of explanation.

“So am I,” Martha responded. “Right now, young lady, we need to tend to a few things to make sure you’re going to recover quickly so you can take care of that handsome baby of yours.”

While Hilary and two of the others restored the room to order by removing the birthing cloths and stool and changing
the bedclothes, Martha helped another to bathe Diana before wrapping the traditional bandages around the new mother’s thighs and abdomen. She talked as they worked, if only to keep the young woman’s thoughts occupied while her son had his first bath. “Does this young man have a name?”

Diana smiled. “Several. Since we couldn’t agree on a name, we decided to compromise and name him for both our fathers: Henry William Alexander Lloyd Tyler.”

Martha chuckled. “That’s quite a big name for such a little baby. He’ll grow into it, that’s for sure.”

As Diana covered a yawn with the back of her hand, Martha tucked the covers up to her chin before handing young Henry, who was now sound asleep, over to his mother. “You did well, Diana. Very well.”

Diana nuzzled her son’s head before looking up at Martha. “Will you come back next time?”

Caught off guard, Martha furrowed her brow. “Next time? You’re already thinking about next time?”

A chuckle. “Of course. Having this baby was much easier than I thought, once he decided to make his appearance, of course.” She yawned again and closed her eyes. “He’ll need a brother or two, and several sisters,” she managed before drifting off into a well-deserved sleep.

Shaking her head, Martha looked around the bed at the women who had assisted her. “I want to thank you all for your kindnesses and your help. If Diana gets her way, I have a feeling we’ll all be together again in the next year or so.”

A chorus of laughter. “Come on, Martha. Let’s celebrate.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving. We have lots of goodies in the other room. Let’s get the groaning party started,” Hilary suggested.

“If the Captain hasn’t devoured all of it,” another commented.
“We should have told you to tell him most of it was reserved for us. He listens to you.”

Another round of laughter, but clear recognition of the status Martha carried with her position—a status she clearly enjoyed.

When Martha walked over and opened the door to the bedchamber, Captain Tyler rushed in, went directly to the bed, and knelt down at his wife’s side. The image of this powerful man, brought to his knees by his affection for his wife and child, inspired tears she blinked away. After giving the couple a few moments together, she led them all in a traditional prayer of thanksgiving before escorting her helpers from the room.

Of all the traditions surrounding a successful birth, the groaning party afterward was one Martha enjoyed immensely. The vast variety of foods, some prepared by the new mother during her grinding pains and others donated by neighbors, of course, was always welcome, especially the desserts.

But it was the celebration of sisterhood shared by all those in attendance that gave Martha the most satisfaction. Without the help of other women, Martha’s job would be nearly impossible. Without the continued support and guidance of other women, Diana’s role as a new mother would be ever more difficult. To that end, the groaning party was testimony to the bonds of womanhood that childbirth reinforced and sustained, for one generation of women after another.

Exhilarated, Martha indulged herself and filled a platter with desserts. Hilary took one look at Martha’s plate, giggled, and followed suit while the others tackled a casserole filled with sausages and potatoes.

Seated side by side together at the table in the kitchen with the others, she and Martha nibbled on warm bread pudding and apple tarts drenched with honey. “Will you be leaving for home today?” she asked.

Anxious to get back home, Martha nodded, although it would take a good two days to get back to Trinity. “It’s so early in the day, I think I will. Has anyone sent for the afternurse?”

Hilary swallowed down a generous helping of pudding before she answered. “Mrs. Calloway should be here soon.”

“Then I’ll just wait to make sure she’s arrived before I go.”

A knock at the kitchen door interrupted the gaiety, and Martha turned, expecting the afternurse. Instead, when one of the women opened the door, a man she did not recognize stepped into the room. Since he could not possibly be the afternurse, she turned her attention back to her plate and started devouring the rest of her apple tart.

“Widow Cade?”

The man’s voice sounded almost apologetic, and she said a quick prayer that he had not come to summon her to another birthing. Not when she was so close to going home. Feeling a tad guilty for being selfish, she wiped her lips with a napkin, rose, and approached him.

“I’m Widow Cade.”

He tipped his hat. “Jacob Rheinhold.”

She cocked a brow.

He swallowed so hard, his Adam’s apple bulged in his thin, narrow neck. “I’m a peddler by trade. Heading west. Passed through Trinity a few days back. When folks at the tavern found out I was headed this way, they asked me to bring you this.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded document, and handed it to her before he left as abruptly as he had arrived.

More curious than concerned, and relieved he had not come to summon her for a birthing, she unfolded the document. To her surprise, she found herself staring at a badly wrinkled broadside advertising a theater troupe of some kind, replete with a list
of scheduled stops at towns all the way east to New York City, including Trinity.

Why anyone might think Martha was interested in such a theater troupe defied reason, but when she turned the paper over, she read words that literally stole her breath away:

Dearest Martha,

Victoria has run away with the troupe. We tried to find her, but failed. Please forgive me.

Your brother,
James

Shock. Disbelief. Horror. They exploded with such force that they destroyed the gay celebration Martha had been enjoying within a single heartbeat. Martha’s body went numb as questions raced through her mind. Victoria had run away? With a theater troupe? Impossible. Totally impossible. Victoria was a difficult young woman at times, but she could not be that irresponsible or that impetuous to just up and run away from home.

When she read James’s short note again, her heart began to pound. It was true. It was true! Her daughter had run away! But when? How? Why? Dear Lord in heaven, why?

Nearing a state of total panic, she turned the broadside over and read the schedule of appearances, although her hands were shaking so badly she could scarcely make out the words. According to the broadside, the troupe had been in Trinity about a week ago. By now, the troupe itself was long gone from the local area, but the printed schedule she held in her hands was the key that would lead her to Victoria so she could bring her home.

Hilary approached her with concern etched in her features. “Is it bad news?”

Martha quickly folded the broadside and put it into her pocket. “A note . . . just a . . . note from my brother. Nothing to worry about,” she murmured, too ashamed to admit to anyone here that her own daughter had been so unhappy she had run away from home. “I’m afraid I truly must be getting along. Will you stay until Mrs. Calloway arrives?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. I’ll just check Diana once more before I leave,” Martha suggested. As tears formed and threatened to overflow, she hurried from the kitchen and went directly to the bedchamber. As she walked, she quickly formulated a plan of action. Rather than waste days traveling back to Trinity, she would head straight for the town where the theater troupe was scheduled to next appear, confront Victoria, and force her to come home to Trinity with her mother.

At most, finding Victoria would take a week or two, and her reward from Captain Tyler would surely cover her expenses.

By then, Martha would have complete control of her emotions. By then, Martha would be able to speak to her daughter in a civil tone of voice. By then, Lord willing, she would be ready to hear Victoria’s explanation, talk some sense into that girl, and be able to forgive herself for not being at home where she belonged, especially when her daughter so obviously needed her.

2

F
or nearly three months, Martha had battled numbing fear, anger, frustration, and despair in a quest that had taken her hundreds of miles from home. Faced with total defeat and stunned by grief after failing to find Victoria, she had had only one place left to go. Home. To Trinity.

Sorely tested, her faith was a bit tattered and frayed around the edges, but she kept it tucked around her broken heart to keep the pieces together. And it was her faith, along with her own determined nature, that kept her exhausted body upright in the saddle and her hands tight on the reins as she traveled the final few miles in her journey home.

She should have stopped hours ago and spent the night in York. Instead, she had ridden on, driven by a deep yearning to bring her ill-fated journey to an end. Guided by the harvest moon overhead that filtered gentle light through the dark curtain of night, she was a solitary but familiar figure, with her split skirt lying in gentle folds across the flanks of her faithful mount, Grace.

Half draft horse and half saddle horse, the gray mare was massive and strong, but she was slow and a bit ungainly as a mount. Carrying haphazard splotches of black and white on her coat, she was a rather sorry sight, but she had stamina, a big heart, and a steady gait—qualities some attributed to her mistress, as well.

Most important to Martha, Grace never balked when Martha was called to duty. She carried Martha and her usual accoutrements—a treatment bag stocked with her simples, herbs and medicines she collected or grew herself, and a birthing stool—without complaint. “She’s a true gift. In many ways,” Martha murmured to herself, reminded of the many blessings she had received along with her trials.