The Midwife's Tale (26 page)

“And then some. The apothecary there is quite well supplied,” Martha responded. Using the need for supplies she could only get at the apothecary’s as her excuse for her trip also meant she did not have to share anything about seeing Eleanor or mention the daybook she had purchased.

She took the knife from Annabelle. “Here. Let me do that while you serve those platters. It looks like you could both use an extra pair of hands today.”

Looking peaked, the girl sighed. “Yes, ma’am. It’s been this busy almost all day,” she complained as she lifted the trenchers
and carried them to a table where hungry patrons greeted her with a cheer.

“Militia day,” Lydia mumbled when Martha looked at her for an explanation.

She had forgotten all about militia day, but at least now she knew why Thomas was not at home. As a major, he would probably not return home until very late, which meant she had little hope of reclaiming Bird tonight.

Lydia stretched and rubbed the base of her spine. “Always a bad day for the back.”

“And laboring women,” Martha added. “Poor Genevieve Smith. She was frightened enough as it was, delivering her first. Hearing rounds of rifle shot and having the cannon balls nearly shake the house off its foundation was about the last thing she needed. I don’t suppose they bothered selecting a new practice site yet.”

“No,” James offered as he entered the kitchen. He pecked his wife on the cheek and gave Martha a smile. “Glad you’re back. As for changing the site, I wouldn’t expect that to happen any time soon. They were using the site on Double Trouble Creek next to the Smith farm for lots of years before Smith ever showed up.”

Martha waved her knife in the air. “But now there’s the Holts’ and the Winslows’ and the Petersons’ farms nearby, too. Not a one of them will have a hen laying eggs again for days. The cows’ milk will be bad, too. You’d think they’d move the practice site just out of respect for all those nearby families. It’s not like there isn’t enough open land just a few miles up the creek.”

James grinned. “Tradition is hard to break, but it doesn’t bother me any. Militia day will always be good for my purse wherever they practice.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Grace needs new shoes. Soon. You might want to talk to Jack Engels. See if he can take care of her before you go traipsing off again.”

“First thing in the morning. I promise.” She cut off the heel of a new loaf of bread, slathered it with butter, and took a bite. She chewed slowly, savoring the taste while her stomach growled for more. “I’m so hungry I could eat this whole loaf of bread and still have room for a plate of stew.”

Lydia chuckled as she prepared a platter for Martha. “Save room for dessert. Ivy stopped earlier and left a whole tray of cookies for our oh-so-important military men. Not that they’ll bother with anything sweet.”

James laughed. “They prefer rum, which reminds me, I was headed for the storeroom,” he said, and left the women to their work.

They chatted back and forth while Martha ate and they finished the day’s work. It was nearly midnight before Martha got back to her own room. Disappointed that Thomas had not appeared with Bird, she was too exhausted to unpack, yet too anxious to begin using her daybook to take to her bed quite yet.

By candlelight, with the embers burning low in the hearth, she opened the daybook and penned a brief inscription, one she had composed and recomposed during her long ride home:

Dearest Victoria,

A child brings so many gifts—love, laughter, tears, and sorrow—to every mother’s heart. One day when you have found your way and return home, I want you to know the many gifts you have given to me.

Mother

While she waited for the ink to dry, she leaned forward, rested her forehead on her fingertips, and briefly closed her eyes. A host of long-buried memories vied for the opportunity to be the
first in her daybook. Revisiting her own moments of weakness or embarrassment was painful. Juxtaposing them with memories of raising Victoria and watching her grow to the brink of full womanhood gave Martha a more objective glimpse of her daughter’s character so that her gifts were becoming clearer and more precious.

“The best place to begin is at the beginning, with my earliest memory,” she murmured. The events surrounding her fall from grace years ago in the one-room schoolhouse that had later burned to the ground were still vivid in her mind, and she realized her troubles with Rosalind had really begun when Martha retaliated for some forgotten injustice by tying a dead mouse to the end of Rosalind’s braid during recess.

Punishment had been sure and swift. James had shared in the punishment, too, since he had been the one to snatch the carcass away from the stable cat before it had a chance to devour it, but Martha had been the primary conspirator.

She wrote down the events as they had unfolded as honestly as she could. When she finished writing the tale, she had covered both sides of the page, with just enough room at the bottom to write her message to Victoria:

Your gift, dearest child, is your kindness, untainted by a singular moment when you failed to think of others before yourself or when you have returned a slight, however mean-spirited, with anything but a forgiving smile. Thank you for always reminding me to be kind.

Martha stared at the words until they blurred, and swiped at her tears. She closed the daybook and snuffed out the candle.

In the dark, with her heart grieving for her daughter and for all the lost opportunities of the past, she dropped to her knees
and prayed she might one day be able to hold Victoria in her arms and tell her how her life had been blessed because Victoria had been her daughter.

When her prayer was done, she did not bother to light another candle, and moved about her familiar room with ease. She changed into a nightdress, brushed her hair, and crawled into bed. Even though it was dark and she could not see Victoria’s bed or her pillow, she knew Bird was not there, and the room felt all the more empty with his absence, too.

She had no sooner put her head to her pillow and closed her eyes when a series of insistent knocks on her door roused her from her bed and sent her scrambling to light a candle and grab for her robe.

“I know you’re in there, Martha,” Thomas shouted. “Now open up this door, or I won’t be held responsible for finishing off one of your . . . your patients with my bare hands!”

With a vision of Thomas standing outside with Bird safely in his cage, she chuckled to herself, slipped into her robe, belted it, and knelt down to search under the bed for her cotton slippers. “Patience, Thomas. The floorboards are cold. I need my slippers.”

He pounded on the door again. “Open the door, Martha. Now!”

Her cotton slippers were nowhere in sight. She gave up her search, but took the time to light several candles and stop in front of the mirror to tie back her hair before she opened the door.

Thomas glared at her and tightened his hold on her patient—and it wasn’t Bird.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, she only managed to stumble aside before he charged past her into the room with her patient in tow.

20

M
artha shoved the door closed and whirled about, just in time to see Will break free and charge straight for the door. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and braced her feet, curious that Thomas did not give chase. Wincing with pain, he held one of his arms at the wrist and elevated his hand. His trousers were wet and caked with mud, and his frock coat was still so damp there were a number of leaves clinging to the front like wilted war decorations.

Will skidded to a halt and looked her square in the eye. His hair lay matted against his scalp. His clothes were dripping wet and clung to his skinny frame. Though he glared at her with murderous outrage, his eyes were shimmering beneath thick spiked lashes.

Two monstrous tears spilled down his mottled cheeks, red with anger and frustration. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. His bare feet were blue with cold.

During their standoff, several thoughts flashed through Martha’s mind. Since the day had been dry and clear, she could only assume Thomas had fished the boy out of Dillon’s Stream or the pond. Her curiosity about precisely what had happened was as great as her concern for the two of them, although Will surely needed attention first.

“I w-was doin’ just f-fine. Till that f-friend of yours ruined everything,” he spat.

“You blamed little scamp! You nearly drowned,” Thomas bellowed. He flexed the fingers on his elevated hand and scowled. “Blazes, this hurts. He bit me! I tried to save his sorry little hide, and he bit me! I should have let him drown.” He waved at the boy. “Next time, I will. It would serve you right for trying to ride a raft over the falls. It’s a wonder you haven’t died from stupidity long before now.”

Will turned about to face Thomas. “I’m not as stupid as you are. I didn’t lose my horse ’cause I forgot to tether him, now, did I?”

Thomas snorted. “You don’t have a horse. You won’t have a tongue, either, if you don’t speak to me with more respect.”

In spite of the gravity of the moment, Martha caught a chuckle before it escaped. “That’s enough. Both of you. Keep bickering while you’re soaking wet and you’ll both end up in bed for a week with lung fever. How and why you both ended up on my doorstep looking like drowned rats is something we can all discuss. Civilly. After you’re both dry and warm. Thomas, please build up the fire. You, young man, follow me.”

After securing a heavy blanket from a trunk, she led Will into the storeroom. “Strip, young man, and wrap yourself in this blanket. Then you can come out and sit in front of the fire to get warm. Don’t forget to bring your clothes with you so they can dry, too.”

He eyed the opposite door that led to the tavern.

She walked through the storeroom and opened the other door. “If you want to leave, then go ahead. You can go through the kitchen and slip out the front door to be on your way. I won’t stop you.”

He nodded back toward her room. “What about him?”

“Mayor Dillon won’t stop you, either. Right now I have to see how much damage you did to his hand and heat some water for tea.” She returned to her room and shut the connecting door behind her.

In her absence, Thomas had added more wood to the fire, which was blazing back to life. At the moment, he was struggling to get out of his frock coat.

She helped him to ease out of his coat and laid it near the fire. She lit a lamp and put out her hand. “Let’s see this wound of yours.”

When he extended his left hand, he had a sheepish look on his face. “I can’t say I remember being bitten before.”

The extent of his wound surprised her. The bite was nasty, and the teeth marks were unmistakable on the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger. The skin was bruised and badly swollen around a gash that nearly went clear through. “He really had a good grip, didn’t he? The boy must have been scared to death, just like you were the day you battled with those jays. Take a seat. I’ll get something for your hand.”

He yanked his hand away and plopped down on the bench in front of the worktable. “It’s awfully kind of you to remind me about the jays,” he snapped.

“Eleanor found the story amusing,” she countered while she gathered up some cloth to use for a bandage and found some jewelweed in her bag to use as a poultice. When she saw the bottle of Carolina allspice she had purchased for Samuel Meeks
in Clarion, she realized she had forgotten all about it and made a mental note to take it to him tomorrow after meeting.

“You told Eleanor? How . . . how is she?”

She cocked a brow. “I left a letter for you from Eleanor at your house earlier today.”

He frowned. “I haven’t been home since dawn.”

While she tried to think of a way to share all her news about Eleanor without unduly alarming Thomas, she set the cloth and jewelweed on the table, took several bowls from the corner cupboard, and filled one with water. On second thought, she added some wood to the cookstove and set a kettle of water to boil. “She’s weak. And frightened. But looking forward to coming home in about a week,” she murmured.