The Midwife's Tale Page 5

  Long-treasured stories about the woman who had given Martha life shattered, then reshaped themselves as Hilda’s words resonated in Martha’s mind. If what Aunt Hilda said was true, Martha had lost the long battle to force Victoria to fit into the mold of a family tradition because that tradition simply did not exist, at least not in an unbroken chain, as Martha had always believed.

  Like it or not, she had to accept the fact that the midwife tradition would end with her.

  The mantle of disappointment was so heavy her shoulders actually slumped. Her eyes filled with tears, but she felt no anger toward Grandmother for stretching and fabricating the truth for all those years. Her intentions had been good, but if Martha had known . . .

  Her conscience reminded her there was no room for pretense now, either.

  Even if Martha had known the truth about her own mother, she probably would not have done anything differently while raising Victoria. She still would have expected that twenty or thirty years hence, when Martha was too old and feeble to continue her work, Victoria would have been ready to take her place.

  And she would have been wrong.

  Once she cast aside her disappointment and bitterness, fond memories of her daughter inspired a smile. Victoria was a natural scholar, brighter by half than her older brother. She lived in a world dominated by literature and poetry. If she wasn’t reading a book or a poem, she was writing her own.

  “Victoria has a different gift from mine, doesn’t she?”

  “She does, though she doesn’t quite know what to do with it.” Aunt Hilda squeezed Martha’s hands. “Not one of my four children’s left. Only the good Lord knows for sure when Mr. Seymour will come home to me, but even after thirty years, I still wake up every morning and hope this will be the day he walks in the door. . . .”

  Her voice trailed off for a moment before she cleared her throat. “Victoria’s like my own. I miss her almost as much as you do, and I worry about her now, too, but you’re not facing this alone. And neither am I. We both believe the good Lord is watching over that girl and we have to trust Him to protect her now, more than we ever have before. And if you have a tiny niggle of doubt He’ll keep her safe, then you think back to what just happened in that cabin tonight. He didn’t spare Glory a mighty tough entry into this world, but she survived because He gave you a gift, one you’ve embraced all these years despite the sacrifices you’ve had to endure, and He guided you tonight to protect that innocent babe.”

  Ashamed and humbled once again, Martha embraced her aunt. “I’ve been such a fool.”

  “Selfish and prideful, too,” Aunt Hilda added while giving Martha a hug. “That makes you human. Faith and conviction can’t cure that. They only help you to recognize your failings so you can try to overcome them. He never promised life’s journey wouldn’t be hard. He just promised to take the journey with you. If you’ll let Him. And if you do, He’ll help you see that life’s troubles, as well as the joys, are all His gifts. You just need the courage to open each and every gift and be thankful for the lessons they each contain.”

  Martha bowed her head. She had always accepted the joys in life as His gifts, but viewing life’s troubles and disappointments as gifts would be a far greater challenge—one she knew she must accept.

  With renewed fervor, she stormed the heavens with silent prayers. For forgiveness. For understanding. For the strength of faith to find the gift in all that life held. In thanksgiving—for the miracle of Glory and for the miracle of Victoria, that He might protect her from all harm and bring her home to her mother’s arms one day. And most of all, for the love and guidance Aunt Hilda offered to her.

  When she finished, she linked her arm with Aunt Hilda’s and headed back toward the cabin. “After we pray together to give thanks for Glory, I’ll tell you more about what happened in New York when I tried to find Victoria.”

  “Just don’t expect Rosalind to offer anything close to a kind word when you see her again. She’s still hurting, and harboring lots of anger she’ll be directing at you, too, now that you’re home. You won’t be alone. She’s upset with most people these days.”

  Handed yet another challenge, Martha never lost her stride. She had known Rosalind all her life. Time and time again, their relationship had run the full gamut from adversary to close friend and everything in between. Unfortunately, when Rosalind encountered difficulties, she took her frustration out on her friends, including Martha, and alienated them instead of turning her energies to the source of her problems and enlisting the help of understanding friends. “I take it Burton hasn’t returned home?”

  Aunt Hilda shook her head. “Apparently, she had a letter from that husband of hers some weeks ago. She won’t say where he is, but he’s not coming home until Webster Cabbot drops the charges he’s filed against him.”

  “He might have to wait till Webster dies for that to happen,” Martha quipped. “He’s not a man to back down from a fight, especially when he thinks he’s right.”

  Aunt Hilda snorted. “They’re arguing over a watch. A watch! I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how either one of them would let this misunderstanding escalate into a feud, let alone formal charges that bring in the law.”

  Martha sighed. “For Webster, it’s about honor and his sense of family, which precede friendship. The watch belonged to his grandfather. It’s an heirloom,” she offered, “although keeping something that valuable within full view of anyone who frequents Webster’s shop is something I’ll never understand. To be fair to Webster, Burton bears some responsibility here. He should have stayed to face the charges instead of running away before Sheriff Myer could arrest him. This could have all been resolved in court months ago—”

  “Exactly. Instead, poor Rosalind has had to face the scandal all alone,” Aunt Hilda charged.

  “Poor Rosalind,” Martha murmured. Dismayed that this troubling issue had not been settled during her absence, Martha knew there was nothing she could do to ease Rosalind’s plight or her misery unless Rosalind opened the door to the friendship they had shared before Burton’s disappearance. She did, however, realize that she and Rosalind had one thing in common: The gossipmongers in town might find it hard to decide exactly which woman’s troubles deserved more discussion. “I’ll try to stay clear of Rosalind for a while,” she offered.

  “You’ll face greater challenges a bit closer to home, too,” Aunt Hilda warned. She stopped in her tracks, forcing Martha to stop, too, and let out a soft sigh. “James and Lydia had an awful time keeping the tavern operating after Victoria left, especially with you gone, too. They needed help, so they hired Annabelle Swift. She’s a hardworking girl, but she’s only helping until Victoria gets back. I wanted you to know before you got home.”

  Martha clenched her jaw, shocked by the intense wave of betrayal that washed over her. For her brother to replace Victoria, even temporarily, made her absence even more of a reality—one that would pierce Martha’s heart every time she saw Annabelle instead of Victoria working in the tavern.

  Disappointed in her brother, as well as his wife, Martha was once again reminded of her tenuous position in their household. Too distraught to risk discussing the matter with Aunt Hilda just then, she took a deep breath and forced herself to focus only on her duties. “Let’s go inside and gather the others to pray.”

  6

  Long before the sun rose to light the new day, the six women gathered together in Adelaide and Daniel’s bedchamber and encircled the double bed. Adelaide cradled her sleeping daughter in the crook of her arm while Daniel stood, tall and proud, at her side. They joined their hands together to create an unbroken prayer circle. Heart-to-heart, they bowed their heads, ready to begin the tradition Trinity’s first midwife had started so long ago.

  From her place at the foot of the bed, Martha led them all in prayer. “O Lord, we thank You this day for Thy goodness and praise Thy name for the blessings You have bestowed upon us. We thank You for entrusting us with Thy newest creation, Glory Adel
aide Finch, and we accept Thy call to love her and raise her and teach her Your Word. May the light of Your love shine always on this family, giving both Daniel and Adelaide the wisdom and courage to be good parents while Glory is in their care. Amen.”

  “Amen,” came the chorused reply as gazes once more locked on the new mother and her babe.

  Adelaide wore a dazzling smile. Propped up against a mound of pillows, she nuzzled the top of Glory’s head before she turned the sleeping babe around for all to see. “She’s so beautiful, and quite perfectly formed,” she boasted as she unwrapped the blankets to give anxious eyes a full view. Tiny legs curled up close to a diaper covering her little bottom, and arms with clenched fists lay tight against her chest as though still confined to her mother’s womb. A mop of dark ringlets capped a sweet little face still flushed from the struggle of birth.

  The new mother’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed around the circle of women. “Daniel and I want to thank you all for helping us,” she whispered. She turned her gaze back to Martha for a moment, then looked up at her husband.

  Daniel cleared his throat. “I’m especially indebted to you, Widow Cade. Thank you for keeping both of the women in my life safe.”

  Accustomed to receiving praise and platitudes from grateful new parents, Martha issued her traditional reply, although she could not remember when it had meant more to her. “I’m privileged to share this moment with you. With all of you,” she added, addressing all the women who had helped Adelaide prepare for childbirth. “While I spend a few moments with Daniel and Adelaide, I think all of you should get some well-deserved rest. You’ll have more opportunity to see Adelaide and Glory in the morning before you leave for home.”

  Once Aunt Hilda led the mildly protesting women out of the room, Martha went to the side of the bed and laid her hand atop her patient’s abdomen. Even through the thin sheet and top blanket, she could feel nothing rigid. Adelaide complained of no pain when Martha applied gentle pressure. “Everything is proceeding perfectly normally,” she informed both Adelaide and her husband. “Aunt Hilda will stay while Adelaide recovers during her lying-in period, and she’ll be able to answer any questions either of you have. She’ll also know if there’s anything that needs my attention. I suspect that’s not likely to happen,” she added when concern knitted Daniel’s brows together.

  “Will you stay through morning?” he asked.

  “Actually, with Adelaide in such good hands, I’d like to go home. I haven’t seen James or Lydia yet, and I’d like to talk with them . . . about Victoria.”

  Adelaide clutched Glory to her chest, as if keeping her child from leaving her, too. Martha took a deep breath and used the very words she had chosen to explain Victoria’s continuing absence to the other women earlier. “I pray the good Lord will watch over her and protect her until He brings her home. Until then, I’d ask for your prayers for Victoria, too,” she concluded.

  Adelaide worried her lower lip. “Of course. I’m so sorry. I wish there was something we could do to help more.”

  “I do, too,” Martha whispered. “Now, I want you to get some rest, young lady. You, too,” she teased Daniel when she noted the exhaustion that had slumped his shoulders. “I’ll see myself out and make sure the ladies are tucked in before I go.”

  “I secured your bag and the birthing stool just like you told me and made sure Grace got some oats and fresh water,” Daniel said quickly. He paused. “I hesitate to ask you to do anything more, but Dr. McMillan left this behind.” He took the doctor’s lancet out of his shirt pocket. “I won’t be going to town for a while. I was wondering . . . I mean, if it isn’t too much trouble, would you be able to return it to him for me tomorrow? I wouldn’t want him to have to ride all the way out here, especially after what happened.”

  Martha wanted to see Dr. McMillan again tomorrow about as much as she might want to have a tooth pulled, but she understood how awkward it would be for Daniel to have the doctor show up on his doorstep again.

  “I’ll be happy to return it in the morning,” she assured him, and took the lancet.

  He let out a deep breath. “As for your reward . . .” He tried, but could not stifle the yawn that interrupted him.

  She chuckled. “We’ll take care of that in a few days when I stop back to visit Adelaide.” Without giving him time to argue, Martha left the bedchamber.

  In the main room of the cabin, light from a single kerosene lamp on a small table near the front door guided her past the sleeping women in their makeshift dormitory. Once she had put on both her cape and her bonnet and had extinguished the lamp, she eased her way out the door, being careful to not wake anyone. She checked to make sure Daniel had adequately secured her bag and the birthing stool, and stored the doctor’s lancet in her valise. Satisfied, she untied the reins and mounted Grace. She leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck before donning her leather gloves. “A girl this time,” she murmured.

  A snort.

  “I thought so, too, but you can’t tell first-time parents much of anything.” She nudged the horse and turned her about. “Take me home, Grace. Take me home.”

  At the break of dawn, Martha led Grace into the stable behind the tavern. She made quick work of getting the horse settled into her stall at the very end of the structure, grabbed hold of the birthing stool with one hand, and carried her midwife’s bag and travel bag with the other. The horses James kept for his own use in the other three stalls acknowledged her presence with little more than curious glances, although Leech, a black-and-white tomcat, offered his customary hiss from his perch on one of the horses’ backs.

  Leech was as nasty to humans as he was deadly to rodents, and Martha had the feeling he would eat people, too, if he were big enough to give it a try. Strangely, he preferred horses for company, and invariably jumped on the back of one of the horses to nap. Based on personal experience, she knew he was one miserable, cranky beast of an animal, and she avoided him whenever she could, although she had to admit he was one terrific hunter and kept the stable and wagon yard free of mice and snakes.

  Outside, a peddler’s wagon and three Conestoga wagons sat in the wagon yard. Martha gave wide skirt to the whole area for fear of waking the bulldogs the wagoneers typically used to guard their horses while they were tethered to troughs in the center of the yard. She hoped Leech would do the same. The last time he tried to take a nap on the back of one of the wagoneers’ horses in the yard, one of the bulldogs ended up losing an eye, along with his pride.

  She had little doubt the sleeping room on the second floor of the tavern was filled to near capacity and Lydia would appreciate an extra pair of hands to prepare breakfast as well as to start the heavier meal that would be served throughout the day.

  She hurried to the outside entrance to the room James had added for her at the rear of the tavern. On her way, she glanced at the herb garden and stopped. Of the six raised beds, Lydia planted and tended only two, which provided enough herbs for both family and tavern use. The remaining four belonged to Martha to grow the simples she used as remedies for both childbirth and the minor illnesses she treated.

  After three months of neglect while she was away, made worse because she had been gone during prime growing season, Martha expected to see a pitiful display of weed-choked plants too scraggly to offer anything she could salvage. Instead, healthy plants appeared to fill each bed. Pleasantly shocked, she pressed a finger to the soil. Damp and spongy. Unless it had rained recently, Lydia had watered her garden, too.

  Guilt for adding to Lydia’s already heavy burden of tasks tempered her joy and erased any selfish thoughts she might have entertained about trying to steal a quick nap before helping Lydia in the kitchen. She simply added yet another debt to those she already owed to her brother and his wife.

  Buoyed by the unexpected gift she had found waiting for her in the herb garden, she entered her room, shut the door behind her, and latched it closed. Argentine light filtered into the room through the single wind
ow facing the wagon yard, and Martha caught and held her breath for several long heartbeats as she scanned the single chamber she and Victoria had called their home.

  Straight ahead, on the wall adjoining the main tavern, a new cast-iron cookstove, which had a small surface on top to brew a warm drink, heat water for bathing, or prepare the remedies Martha used in her work, sat at rest near the door that led inside to the storeroom at the rear of the tavern. On either side of the lone window, a trunk anchored the bottom of each single cot, each covered with patchwork quilts she had inherited from her mother.

  She narrowed her gaze and let out a sigh of relief when she spied the locked box containing her grandmother’s diary resting on the bottom shelf of the small table separating the cots.

  A narrow bench in the far opposite corner nudged a pine worktable, its scars covered in the center by a white cotton runner and a single glass vase waiting for wildflowers to add a splash of color. Near the stove, a corner cupboard, a reward her grandmother had received long ago, held only a few utensils and some cookware, since Martha and Victoria regularly took their meals in the tavern itself with James and Lydia once the last of their three daughters had married and gone to housekeeping. A fireplace on the wall facing the beds provided warmth.

  A shelf directly to her right is where she stored her midwife’s bag. Below the shelf, a set of brackets held the birthing stool well above the floorboards. In the corner, a water pump stood at attention next to a table holding a nest of basins and a short stack of towels. Above the table, an unframed mirror with a crack straight down the middle offered a splintered view of the room’s contents, including the bare beams overhead where no herbs hung to dry.