The Midwife's Tale Page 3

  To do that, he would have to court the community of women there and convince them to let him handle all their medical needs. The best way to begin was to start delivering their children, relieving Martha of her role as midwife.

  Unfortunately, Martha’s absence these past few months had given him the very opportunity he needed. Doctors had replaced midwives in most major cities, including Boston, for nearly twenty years now. It was only a matter of time before the same happened in rural towns like Trinity as well. If that happened, Martha would lose everything: her only source of income as well as her place in the community.

  She snorted at the very thought he would ever replace her and rode faster until she was alongside the wagon, instead of behind it, since she had already tolerated her own fair share of road dust on her journey home.

  “There’s more news,” Aunt Hilda ventured, “but that can wait for now. Tell me what happened on your trip.”

  There was no one Martha trusted more than Aunt Hilda, and she told her all about her travels with no fear anything she said would ever be repeated. By the time they crossed Reedy Creek at a shallow point, she had nearly emptied her tale.

  “What exactly did Oliver suggest you do?” Aunt Hilda asked as Martha concluded with news about her visit to her son in Boston.

  Martha let out a long sigh. “He wanted me to stay with him for a spell. To ‘gather my wits,’ as he put it. He has a rather analytical approach to this whole sorry mess, like this is some legal issue he’s trying to resolve,” she admitted, still a bit heartsore that he had moved east to live and work with his Grandfather Cade nine years ago when he was only fourteen years old. Her relationship with her son remained loving and constant, but they were not as close as she would have liked.

  Aunt Hilda shook her head. “Oliver never did think much with his heart. That might make him a good city lawyer, but not much more. Give him time, Martha. He’s still his mother’s son.”

  Martha nodded but offered no further comment. They traveled in companionable silence for another five miles before reaching Candle Creek, and arrived at the Finch homestead less than half an hour later. Light poured an invitation from the windows of the well-lit cabin, but Martha recognized the carriage hitched near the front door as the one previously used by Doc Beyer, which did not bode well for her chances of delivering Adelaide’s baby.

  “We’re too late,” she murmured.

  “Perhaps,” Hilda conceded as she climbed down from the wagon while Martha dismounted and tethered Grace to the hitching post alongside the doctor’s carriage. “Then again, if that babe’s not yet come into this world, custom says the mother-to-be has the right to choose who helps her to deliver. Whether he likes it or not, the good Dr. McMillan best give sway to custom, unless he intends to practice somewhere else.”

  The door swung open before Martha could respond, and three of the watchers who had been tending to Adelaide during her grinding pains gathered together in the open doorway. Melanie Biehn and Belinda Riley, Adelaide’s nearest neighbors, both wore expressions of deep concern that quickly gave way to surprise when they saw Martha. Standing behind them, Rosalind Andrews offered only a tight smile.

  With relieved glances to one another, Melanie and Belinda stepped aside, forcing Rosalind to do the same to allow Martha and Aunt Hilda to enter the two-room dwelling. With a quick look around the main room, Martha was satisfied the watchers had gotten everything ready for the birth. A supply of towels and cloths warmed by the fire in the hearth. A kettle of water hissed on the cookstove, carefully watched by yet another neighbor, JoHannah Pfeifer, who returned Martha’s smile with a nervous nod of her head. She ignored the assorted foods that burdened a trestle table awaiting the customary celebration following childbirth. The mood that filled the small homestead was more funereal than celebratory, and she focused all of her attention on the expectant father, Daniel Finch.

  He wore a grim expression that gave life to the ditty schoolchildren had chanted while jumping rope for as long as Martha could remember:

  Once the doctor arrives,

  Two never survive.

  Dig the hole. Etch the stone.

  Mama or baby got called back Home.

  Battling the fear worrying her heart, she studied the young man, who did not take his gaze from the door that led to the adjoining bedchamber. His shoulders were rigid. His stance was almost combative, as if he were ready to slay whatever demons threatened the well-being of his wife and unborn child. He flinched when the sound of deep moaning echoed from behind the closed door.

  When he finally looked at Martha, his dark eyes were moist with unshed tears. When he began to speak, his voice was as steady as it was accusatory. “Dr. McMillan is here now. Your services are not—”

  “My services are not the issue right now,” she insisted. “How is Adelaide?”

  He snorted. “I haven’t been allowed near her for the past hour.”

  She was not surprised that the doctor had taken such preemptive control by excluding Adelaide’s husband from the birthing process.

  “Carrie’s with Adelaide and the doctor,” JoHannah offered, as if she knew Martha would take heart from knowing one of her trusted assistants was with her patient.

  As if privy to the concerns of all who watched and waited for the impending arrival of the firstborn Finch, a man she assumed to be Dr. McMillan emerged from the bedchamber. Almost twenty years younger than Martha, he was uncommonly short. Although she stood an average five and a half feet, Martha was a full head taller than him. He carried a paunch around his middle large enough that, if carried by a woman, it might cause observers to suspect her teeming state would last only another few months.

  Pale blue eyes and light hair accented fine, delicate features set between pudgy cheeks, but his thin lips formed a pout when quick introductions identified Martha as a midwife.

  “So you’re the midwife.” If his sarcasm had been vinegar, there would have been enough for a year’s supply for the entire town. “As you can see, Mrs. Finch is my patient. You’re not needed here.”

  Unaccustomed to being publicly dismissed by anyone, even a doctor, Martha should have expected no less from this newcomer. Instead of responding to the challenge in his words, she glanced behind him into the bedchamber where a forlorn cradle sat empty in the corner.

  Adelaide lay in bed, motionless. Carrie was seated by her side, gently wiping Adelaide’s brow, and she gave Martha an unspoken, plaintive plea for help with a troubled gaze. Turning her attention back to Adelaide, Martha quickly noted the paleness of her face and the lines of exhaustion that etched her features, but it was the small bandage on her arm that set Martha’s blood to a quick boil and quickly evaporated her reluctance to intervene.

  “You bled her?” Surprised by the curtness of her own words, she charged the doctor, then stopped and clamped her lips shut before completely losing control of her temper and saying something she would later regret.

  The young physician blanched. Bright splotches of red mottled his pale cheeks. Indignation flashed through his eyes. “I’ve been well trained to handle all aspects of the birth process for my patients, especially difficult ones,” he spat.

  Before Martha could fashion a reasonable retort, Aunt Hilda stepped up to him. Nearly eye-to-eye, she spoke to him quietly and calmly. “Bleeding a woman during her labor saps her strength. It doesn’t help her or the baby.”

  The doctor sputtered, apparently flabbergasted that anyone would challenge his competency or his treatments. Aunt Hilda ignored him and turned her attention to the expectant father, who seemed paralyzed and unable to intervene. “If you want that babe of yours to enter this world and suckle at his mama’s breast tonight, you’d best leave this to Martha,” she suggested. “Unlike the good doctor, she knows exactly what to do because she’s done it hundreds of times, not because she read some books or attended a few lectures.”

  At that moment, Dr. McMillan finally found his voice. “I beg your pardon! My credentials are—
”

  “Impeccable, I’m sure,” Martha assured him. Reluctant to completely alienate the man who could very well threaten her position within the community, especially if he succeeded in convincing her neighbors he was better trained to deliver their babies than she was, she followed Aunt Hilda and kept her own contempt at bay.

  As much as she wanted to intervene and take care of Adelaide, Martha knew she could not simply usurp the doctor’s position.

  He had been summoned first.

  He had arrived first.

  Like it or not, Adelaide was his patient, and until Martha was asked to intervene, she had no right to do so.

  She turned to fully face Daniel, and the pained expression in his eyes made it clear he was too upset about his wife and the possibility of losing her or the babe she carried to choose between having a doctor or a midwife tend to her.

  Unearthly silence filled the cabin with tension that mounted as the standoff continued . . . until Adelaide moaned and cried out for her husband. “Daniel. Daniel? Please, Daniel . . .”

  He rushed past everyone to her side.

  Martha moved into the bedchamber.

  Dr. McMillan quickly joined her.

  Daniel knelt by his wife’s side and pressed a kiss to her forehead while he kept her hands folded within his own. “I’m here, love. I’m here,” he assured her.

  She managed a weak smile, one that broadened the moment her gaze locked with Martha’s. “I knew you’d come . . . in time.” She gritted her teeth as a forcing pain claimed her breath. She raised her head from the pillow, grimaced, and let out a sharp cry. When the pain subsided, she lay back down. Perspiration covered her face and damp ringlets of auburn hair splayed across her pillow.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Daniel murmured. He stroked her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. “Tell me what to do. Tell me who you want to help you deliver our son,” he rasped as his voice cracked with emotion.

  Martha tried to remain calm, but she could not keep her palms from sweating or her heart from racing. As hopeful as she was that Adelaide would want her to take over with the birthing, she also knew Dr. McMillan had spent enough time with his patient to have established some type of bond between them.

  She quickly said a silent prayer, knowing full well that her future in Trinity very much depended on the answer Adelaide would give them all.

  4

  Help me. Will you help me, Martha? Please?” Adelaide whimpered, then turned her tear-filled eyes from Martha to the man standing just inside the doorway. “I’m sorry, Dr. McMillan. I appreciate all you’ve tried to do, but . . . Martha!” she cried as she nearly doubled in pain.

  Called to duty, Martha had no time to waste on relief. “I’m here to help you,” she assured her.

  With no time to spare, she quickly issued orders that set the rest of the womenfolk into motion. Aunt Hilda headed toward the front door to secure Martha’s bag and the birthing stool while Dr. McMillan retreated back into the other room and abruptly left the cabin.

  JoHannah filled a bowl with hot water and gathered up some towels. When Aunt Hilda returned, Melanie and Belinda helped to assemble the collapsible birthing stool while Martha removed her cape and bonnet and hung them on a peg by the front door.

  When she heard what sounded like the doctor climbing into his carriage outside, she had second thoughts about his leaving. She opened the door and found him already seated in his carriage. The light from the cabin illuminated the scowl on his face, and she was tempted to simply wish him good riddance and close the door again.

  Instead, duty to her patient took precedence over her personal feelings. She knew she had to salvage what she could from the disaster of their first encounter for Adelaide’s sake, and stepped outside. “Please. You shouldn’t leave. Not yet.”

  His scowl deepened, creating deep crevices in his fleshy cheeks. “Mrs. Finch made her choice quite clear.”

  “As is her right,” Martha gently reminded him, loath to let her personal interests put her patient’s well-being at risk. “We both know there are cases, even though they’re rare, where you will be summoned to a birth that develops complications I’m not trained to handle. Until I’m sure Adelaide can be safely delivered, I’m certain Daniel and Adelaide would both feel better just knowing you are here to help should . . . should that become necessary.”

  She waited with bated breath for his reply. In ten years of practicing midwifery on her own, Martha had summoned Doc Beyer on occasion, usually to stitch up tears from the delivery, but she could actually count the number of those cases on her fingers. Sadly, she had attended four stillbirths. In only two cases had she lost the mother. Both times, she had summoned the doctor well ahead of time so he could perform emergency surgery and save the baby. If something did go horribly wrong tonight and Dr. McMillan went home now, he would never be able to return in time to save either Adelaide or her unborn child.

  “Please stay,” she repeated when the doctor failed to respond to her earlier plea.

  Either mollified now or satisfied he might yet be able to establish himself as the more qualified of the two of them, he squared his shoulders, and his scowl disappeared into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I shall wait,” he pronounced, rather formally given the circumstances.

  She did not waste any energy by responding to the derision that laced his words. Instead, she merely returned to the cabin, where she removed her leather gloves and stored them in her cape pocket. She used the bowl of hot water to warm her hands and wash them, and finally rinsed them with rose water before proceeding directly to the bedchamber, where her patient lay very still beneath a thin sheet.

  When Daniel stood up as if to leave, Martha waved him to stay. “I expect we’ll be needing your help,” she said softly.

  Under his watchful gaze, she laid her hand atop the sheet covering Adelaide’s distended abdomen. With her brows knitted together, she carefully waited and gauged the strength of the next forcing pain and the position of the babe. When Carrie entered the room, Martha cocked her head toward her assistant. “How many hours since her groaning pains started?”

  “Quite early this morning. I mean, yesterday morning. About four o’clock.”

  “And the forcing pains?”

  “Near six hours now. After Dr. McMillan bled her, she lost her waters. That was just before you arrived.”

  Martha kept a reassuring smile on her face, both for Adelaide and Daniel, despite her growing concern. She had the courage and the confidence to set this birthing onto the right track. All she needed now was the confidence of her patient and her husband.

  “Daniel, I’d like to be alone with Adelaide. Just for a few minutes,” she added when he pursed his lips. “Then we’ll need your help.”

  Yet another forcing pain drew a sharp cry from Adelaide’s lips. When she began to twist beneath the sheets, Martha shoved all tact aside. “Now, Daniel. Leave now! Carrie, come here. You, too, Belinda. I’ll need you both to help me. Aunt Hilda, please shut the door and keep everyone else out till we’re done. And get that birthing stool ready!”

  Like the seasoned assistants they were, the women did exactly as they had been told to do. Once the door closed, Martha took Adelaide’s hand and squeezed gently. “I know you’re frightened and you’re hurting something fierce, but I need you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say.”

  Adelaide nodded with tears streaming down her face.

  Martha wiped them away and patted her cheek. “I need to turn the babe. It’s going to hurt. A lot. But once I help this little one get situated right, he’ll be in your arms very quickly.”

  “He won’t die. Please promise he won’t die,” the girl pleaded.

  “The good Lord willing, that’s not going to happen,” she responded. “Now, you just relax. Let me do all the work.”

  Her voice sounded calmer than she actually felt. She had faith in her ability to safely deliver this babe, even with Adelaide weakened by the doctor’s ill-advised
treatment, and quickly offered a prayer of gratitude for her catnap so she would have the strength she needed now.

  While Carrie and Belinda each took a position on either side of the bed, Martha donned her birthing apron, rolled up her sleeves, lubricated her right hand and forearm, and approached her patient. After the women rolled back the sheets from the bottom of the bed and draped them just below Adelaide’s ribs, Martha nodded for them to take a firm hold on the patient’s bent legs.

  She tugged Adelaide’s nightdress up to her knees and laid her left hand atop Adelaide’s abdomen. Gently, so very gently, she eased her right hand, and then her forearm, into the birth canal. “Easy. Breathe deeply. That’s right,” she murmured. Pleased to find the cervix fully dilated, she quickly confirmed her suspicions that the babe was in a breech position. After taking a deep breath, she nodded again to her assistants.

  Talking softly and calmly, she explained what she was doing as she worked, although Adelaide was probably too distressed to be able to fully listen or understand. She never raised her voice. Even when Adelaide began screaming, Martha remained detached and calm, totally focused on turning this child.

  It took every ounce of strength she possessed and called for great patience. As she worked, the memory of her grandmother, standing by her side offering encouragement, guided and sustained her, even after Adelaide swooned from the pain.

  By the time Martha had finished, her entire body ached. A heavy sheen of perspiration covered her brow. Her arm was covered with bloody fluids, but her mind was already racing ahead. Her patient, roused from her swoon, lay quiet for the moment. “Well done. Well done!” she crooned. “Let’s get this babe born.”

  While her assistants hurried to the door, Martha rinsed her hands again as well as her arm. “Set the birthing stool there. At the foot of the bed. Facing the door. Don’t forget to lay the birthing sheets beneath it,” she reminded them.