The Midwife's Choice Page 9

  Victoria curled her knees up to her chest. “Oliver and I used to wonder. Did you ever think to marry again?”

  Martha heard the echo of Thomas’s proposal yesterday until it faded, only to be replaced by the softer echo of another proposal she had tucked deeper in her memory bank. She sighed. “There weren’t too many men willing to marry a widow with two children, especially when she’s called from home so often. There was one man who offered,” she admitted.

  Victoria blinked several times. “Truly? Who?”

  “His name was Jeremiah Pound. You wouldn’t remember him, I’m sure. He was a trapper by trade and stopped in Trinity only two or three times a year for supplies. Until your father died. As I recall, Mr. Pound followed us home from the cemetery after the service for your father, knocked on the door, and proposed. I hadn’t even had time to note your father’s passing in the family Bible.”

  “He didn’t!”

  “He surely did. I sent that man packing right quick.” She chuckled. “I guess he was tired of living in shanties and thought he could get himself a good farm and that the poor, grieving widow would be forever grateful to have him rescue her and her children from certain ruin.”

  Victoria chuckled, too. “He didn’t know you at all, did he?”

  “As I recall, he had a rather queer expression on his face when I told him I expected to provide for myself and my children. I don’t blame him for trying, though. Most widows are hard-pressed to survive on their own. I suppose . . . that’s partly why I’m going to let you go back to New York, assuming we all agree on the conditions. So someday, should the need arise, you’ll be able to provide for yourself and not be forced into accepting someone like Jeremiah Pound. So you can wait for the right man, a good man.”

  “Did you . . . do you think that might happen for you, even now?”

  Martha sighed. Thomas’s image flashed in her mind’s eye, and her heart began to thud in her chest. “No, child. Not anymore,” she whispered. “Not so much anymore.”

  10

  By the time Martha and Victoria finally slipped away from the confectionery and arrived at Dr. McMillan’s, the town had yawned awake.

  Familiar sounds. Familiar sights. Workmen were busy at the sawmill. A few groups of townspeople hustled along the planked sidewalk to complete the day’s errands. A sleigh, several saddled horses, and a mule were tethered to the hitching post outside the general store.

  Rosalind Andrews, the doctor’s housekeeper, ushered Martha and Victoria inside and quickly closed the door to shut out the cold. “Mercy! It’s worse than any winter I can remember.” She clucked and fussed over them until they were standing in front of the hearth. “Let me take your capes. Warm up a bit. The doctor’s gone out, but I hope you’ll stay for a visit with me. I have a whole pan of cinnamon rolls left from breakfast.”

  Martha handed over her cape with a groan and tried not to feel guilty about having a second helping of biscuits with honey for breakfast. “We’re not hungry. Is Mrs. Morgan up yet?” she asked.

  “She’s upstairs in the sitting room. She said something about writing a letter home. Lovely, lovely lady. It’s so good for the doctor to have company.”

  Martha nodded to Victoria. “Why don’t you go up and tell her we’re here? There’s no hurry. While you’re waiting, you can tell her about the talk we had last night. I need to talk to Mrs. Andrews first, but I’ll be up shortly.”

  Victoria practically skipped her way to the staircase, mounted the steps, and disappeared. When Martha heard the murmur of voices overhead, she joined Rosalind at the kitchen table, where Rosalind had a basket of socks ready for mending.

  “We can talk while you work,” Martha insisted.

  Rosalind smiled, inserted a wooden darner into the heel of the sock, picked up a knitting needle, and began mending a hole the size of a plump bean. “Imagine throwing away good socks like this. The man’s got no sense for thrift. He’s generous, though. Said I could mend them and give them away,” she explained.

  As Rosalind proceeded to list a number of families who could use the socks to good advantage, Martha studied her friend. Rosalind looked years younger than she had only a few months ago. The bitterness and desperation that had lined her face and deadened her gaze were gone now that her husband, Burton, had returned home.

  Only last spring, shortly before Victoria ran away, a bitter feud between Burton Andrews and Webster Cabbot, the local gunsmith, had escalated when Cabbot filed theft charges against Andrews, claiming he had stolen Cabbot’s missing heirloom watch.

  Though innocent, Andrews had fled, leaving his wife to deal with the scandal and shame all alone. Instead of turning to her friends, like Martha, or leaning on her faith, Rosalind had become embittered and had isolated herself. By sheer chance, Samuel Meeks had found the watch near the town trash pit, unaware of the controversy. At Martha’s request, he gave it to her to return.

  Only Webster Cabbot knew the role Martha had played in resolving the dispute. In addition to challenging him to drop the charges, prompting Burton’s return, Martha had protected Samuel’s involvement for fear Cabbot might charge the recluse with the theft. She had also reconciled with Rosalind.

  Another secret.

  Another homecoming.

  Another reconciliation, between husband and wife, between friends, although Andrews and Cabbot remained estranged.

  Martha smiled and handed Rosalind another sock.

  “You must be so happy now that Victoria’s back home where she belongs. That was a terrible thing she did, running off like that. She’s very lucky to have found the Morgans. You’re lucky, too.”

  Martha knew her friend was thinking about her only child, Charlotte, who had died some years ago.

  Rosalind laid down her mending and lowered her gaze. “Sometimes my arms just ache to hold her again. Just once.”

  Martha patted her hand. “I know how much you miss Charlotte.”

  Rosalind sniffled. “A mother’s lot is never easy. If we’d only had another child, not that I would miss Charlotte any less, I think it’d just be . . . easier somehow.” She shook her head and straightened her shoulders. “But Providence saw fit to give us only one.”

  Martha caught her lower lip with the tip of her teeth. Prompted by the idea that had popped into her head two nights ago, which was precisely why she wanted to speak to Rosalind today, she took a deep breath. “Sometimes we have to keep our hearts open to love another child.”

  Rosalind looked at Martha like she had grown another pair of ears. “Another child? Now? At my age? That would take a miracle! As much as I didn’t deserve it, I got my miracle when Burton was able to come home an innocent man.”

  Martha grinned. “The last I heard, there were as many miracles still waiting to find a home as there are children who need one.”

  Rosalind’s eyes widened, then she narrowed her gaze and stared at Martha. “I know that look in your eyes, Martha Cade. It’s the same look you had when we were schoolgirls and you tied that . . . that dead critter to my pigtail.”

  Martha clapped her hand to her heart and feigned a wounded look. “How unfair of you to bring that up. I’ve apologized any number of times—”

  “Don’t you go acting all hurt,” Rosalind challenged. “I’ve known you all my life. You’re up to something. I know it as surely as I know you’re going to try to sweet-talk me into doing something.”

  Martha laughed. “There’s no friend like an old one, is there? Here. Darn another sock. While you mend, I’ll tell you about a miracle that’s hanging right over your head, just waiting to be claimed. Then I’ve got to get upstairs to see Mrs. Morgan.”

  “I suppose you’ve got a miracle in mind for her, too?” Rosalind quipped.

  “She’ll be part of it,” Martha murmured, praying for not one miracle today, but two.

  They spoke for nearly half an hour. By the time Martha started up the stairs to the sitting room, she had Rosalind’s promise to think about Martha’s idea. Pr
aise God, Rosalind had not rejected the idea outright, although Martha had not expected a definitive answer right away. Burton had to be consulted, and so did Dr. McMillan, but with every step Martha took, she had the feeling she just might have planted the seeds of hope that would give life to miracle number one.

  Miracle number two was even easier to set into motion. No surprise there, although Martha could not count this as a true miracle until Samuel and June Morgan both agreed. Actually, discovering that June Morgan and Dr. McMillan were old friends convinced Martha this was no coincidence, any more than June’s unique position to be able to help Samuel might be construed as luck.

  Just another blessing given as a result of Victoria’s running away, and she was quick to give credit to the good Lord for whispering both ideas into her ear.

  When Martha arrived in the upstairs sitting room, she quickly outlined her proposal to provide for Samuel’s future. To her relief, June agreed to help and offered assurances that her husband would also be willing to lend his support.

  “Then I’ll speak to Samuel later today,” Martha promised June. “Now that that’s settled, we need to talk about Victoria. I assume she told you about the talk we had last night,” Martha said.

  June sat across from Martha and Victoria in a lady’s chair upholstered in a blue fabric almost the identical color as the day dress she wore. It was hard to tell where the day dress ended and the chair began, but there was no mistaking the woman’s genuine smile that provided the answer to her question. Out of the corner of her mind, a memory flashed, reminding Martha of the prayer she had offered, asking God to provide someone to watch over Victoria after she had run away. He had given her June Morgan. Of that, Martha had no doubt.

  She took her daughter’s hand, noted the difference that age and hard work had made in her own, and continued. “I hope Victoria didn’t forget to mention several conditions I have. Unless we all agree to them, I’m afraid Victoria will have to remain here with me.”

  “Of course. I understand. Completely.”

  Martha kept her shoulders as straight and steady as her gaze. “First, I want you to know that a mutual friend will be verifying the references you provided. Even though Dr. McMillan has spoken so highly about your family, he hasn’t been in contact with you for several years. If anything appears amiss, my friend will arrange for Victoria to come directly home.”

  “Mother! Really!” Victoria protested.

  “Mayor Dillon agrees with me,” Martha argued back. She was ever grateful for Thomas’s promise to help, in spite of her refusal to accept his proposal. Perhaps he thought if he helped, he could use that to strengthen his position when he came home next month and tried to change her mind.

  He should know her better.

  Her conscience echoed that perhaps she should know him better, too.

  “No. It’s all right,” June countered. “I have no objection. I’d probably want to do the same thing if our positions were reversed.”

  Martha chose not to respond. “There’s also the issue of her Uncle James and Aunt Lydia. They were caring for Victoria when she ran away, and they’ve been wracked with guilt ever since. They’re living temporarily in Sunrise. I’d like you to take Victoria to Sunrise on your way back home. It’s only a few miles out of your way.”

  “Certainly.”

  Martha turned to her daughter. “You need to apologize to your aunt and uncle. A letter simply won’t do. Ask them to write to me after your visit to let me know all went well.”

  “I will, Mother. I promise.”

  Martha let out a sigh. So far, she had encountered no resistance. “There’s also the matter of your wages,” she suggested. “I’ll expect you to save the greater portion, young lady.” She turned and focused on June. “I’m sure Mr. Morgan will be able to help Victoria establish an account at his bank.”

  “That’s easy enough,” June agreed.

  Victoria nodded. “I will. I promise.”

  “Good.” Martha paused, then looked at June again. “Victoria has always attended meeting every Sunday. I expect no less when she’s living with you.”

  June’s cheeks reddened. She stiffened her backbone. “We’re faithful worshipers. Victoria has always gone with us. I see no reason why she wouldn’t continue.”

  “I will,” Victoria promised. Her hazel eyes fairly glistened with excitement. “Is there anything else?”

  “I also expect you to be properly chaperoned if you leave the house, even on small errands. I won’t have you gallivanting around New York City.”

  Victoria chuckled. “Mr. Morgan is even stricter than you are.”

  “I sincerely doubt that,” Martha grumbled. “There’s only one last condition. From what Mrs. Morgan has told me, she and her husband expect to hire a permanent replacement for her with the magazine so she can spend more of her time with her children.”

  Victoria’s gaze was as steady as her mother’s. “She and Mr. Morgan have explained their plans to me.”

  “They need your help only until the replacement is found and trained to their satisfaction. Then they’ll be looking for another assistant, one to do the work you’re doing now. Contrary to any plans you might have, remaining as a member of the staff for the magazine is out of the question. I want you back here in Trinity by the end of September.”

  Victoria stiffened and pulled her hand away. “But what if the Morgans can’t find anyone else? What if I want to stay?”

  June intervened before Martha could answer. “I’m afraid what you may or may not want is not the issue. Your mother wants you to come home by the end of September, and she still has the right to ask for your obedience. It’s a just compromise, Victoria. Considering your mother doesn’t have to let you return with me at all, I think it would be most unfair of you to question your mother’s wishes. And considering how selfish you were to run away and cause your mother so much heartache, it would be unconscionable to refuse.”

  Victoria blanched, looked from Martha to June and back again, clearly disappointed both older women seemed to be in alliance on this issue, too. “I . . . I suppose. Yes, all right.”

  “We’ll have time to discuss your future beyond that when you come home,” Martha promised. “By then, you may find you’ve had your fill of the city. If not, you’ll have a fair nest egg saved to secure any new adventures you decide to take, instead of relying on the good character of perfect strangers to protect you. As much as I’d hate to lose you to Boston, too, at least I could let you visit there for a spell and know your brother would be there to help keep you safe.”

  Hope and optimism overcame the girl’s disappointment. “I probably don’t deserve you,” she gushed and leaned in to her mother’s embrace.

  Martha hugged her daughter. Hard. “You deserve so much more,” she whispered and prayed she had made the right decision to let her daughter leave again. She prayed harder she would not regret it.

  Before her emotions went beyond her control, she pressed a kiss to Victoria’s forehead and sat her back down. “Today’s Thursday. I’d like it if you’d both stay for meeting on Sunday. It’ll give you a chance to see everyone. By then, I should know for sure whether Samuel will agree to our plan. Speaking of Samuel, I should probably be on my way.” She rose and rearranged her skirts. “I assume you’d like to stay here awhile?” she asked Victoria.

  “Unless you want me to come with you.”

  “No. I’d probably better do this alone. I’ll stop by on my way home to pick you up.”

  June walked Martha to the top of the staircase. She took Martha’s hand and pressed it between her own. “Thank you. This means so much to me. And to Victoria. I know how hard this must be.”

  Martha swallowed a lump in her throat. “No, I don’t think you do. But you will. Someday,” she whispered.

  She descended the steps slowly. Deliberately. She knew, in her heart, she had made the right decision. If so, she wondered why her mother’s heart was still trembling.

  11
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  Martha was ready for battle.

  Armed with two pairs of mended socks for Will and a pan of cinnamon rolls for Samuel that Will would also claim as booty, Martha headed away from town toward the southern end of East Main Street en route to Aunt Hilda’s cottage. With all that had happened, she had not had an opportunity to check on the cottage before now. While she was there, she decided to get a bottle of Aunt Hilda’s famous honey wine for Samuel, too.

  She hunched her shoulders and lowered her face when a gust of wind showered her with snow and quickly chilled her. When she finally approached the front door of the cottage, she was more than anxious to just check the house, get the bottle of honey wine, and be on her way. She had a long walk ahead of her to get to Samuel’s cabin, which was located at the opposite end of town in the woods behind the church cemetery. By the time she got there, she would probably be frozen to the bone.

  Quickly she let herself into Aunt Hilda’s cottage. She had no need for a key. Aunt Hilda never locked a door or window, just in case her errant husband returned and had lost his own key somewhere in his travels.

  Shivering, she stood just inside the door in the sitting room. She paused and listened, on the remote possibility Aunt Hilda had returned unexpectedly. She heard no sound, other than her own breathing and the pounding of her heart in her ears. “Aunt Hilda?” she called, just to be sure she was right, rather than risk startling the older woman if she had come home.

  No answer.

  She looked around the sitting room. Nothing seemed amiss, but she would have welcomed a fire to warm herself. She went directly to the kitchen and set her basket on the table. When she opened the pantry door, she was surprised. The contents of the pantry were in disarray, yet Aunt Hilda was a stickler for neatness.

  As she began to search for the smallest bottle of honey wine, primal instinct flashed through her body, stilled her hands, and raised the hair on the back of her neck. Her heartbeat charged into double time, and she held perfectly still. She listened hard, but heard nothing, only the shrill sound of the wind whistling through barren trees and the whisper of her own conscience chiding her for being foolish and letting her imagination run wild.