The Midwife's Choice (3 page)

He frowned. “That won't be necessary.”

Unaccustomed to having her recommendations rejected out of hand, she stiffened her spine. Her heart began to pound, and she tried to understand why he was being so adamant. Granted,
he was battling emotions that were understandably difficult. He was angry and bitter over the death of his son, and his grief was so raw and so deep he just could not be thinking clearly.

There was nothing she could do to force him to let her stay the night or to compromise and to allow her to arrange for an afternurse to come in the morning. She had to hold true, however, to her responsibility to her patient and pressed her case. “I think it is necessary, and unless you want to risk your wife's health, you'll do as I suggest. Millicent Fenway lives just a few miles away. I could stop and see her on my way home. I'm sure she'd be willing to come to stay with Nancy tomorrow, just for a few days.”

He raked one hand through his hair. “I don't know how I'm goin' to pay your reward, let alone one for anyone else.”

Martha's heart constricted. “We can work something out for my reward. Millicent won't come because she wants to earn a reward. She'll come because that's what we womenfolk do for one another. We help one another.”

His shoulders sagged, and he glanced at the bedchamber door. “Nancy's been real lonely since we left Newark. I guess . . . I guess it would help her to have another woman with her. If you'll give me directions, I'll ride over and speak to Mrs. Fenway myself in the mornin'. You can go home tonight. Unless . . . unless you think somethin' might go wrong during the night.”

“No, I think Nancy will be fine till morning,” she assured him and accepted his offer as a fair compromise.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now, set yourself down and get some soup into you, young man, while I give you those directions. Later, when Nancy wakes up, see if you can get her to eat some, too. And if she has any trouble during the night, you're to get Mrs. Fenway to stay with her and fetch me back. Agreed?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma'am. I will.”

With the crisis passed, she took her leave and started for home within the hour. Except for an occasional break in the heavy clouds overhead that promised more snow and allowed a gentle moon to guide her home, she truly appreciated the lantern Russell had insisted she take with her. The air was frigid, but still, and Grace's steps were steady.

As Martha passed sleeping homesteads, a familiar yearning stirred in her heart. She would be forever grateful for the life she had been able to create for herself and for her children, but there was still a part of her that hungered for what might have been if her husband, John, had not died some ten years ago. Companionship. A home. A real home of her own, instead of a room in someone else's home.

She sighed and hoped the Lord would forgive her for being selfish and ungrateful. Life was not supposed to be perfect, but sometimes it surely seemed that she had been given more than her own fair share of burdens.

Despite her sorrows, Martha had received many blessings. Fern and Ivy had become such good friends, she sometimes forgot they had only been in Trinity for four years; in fact, she thought of them as family—the only family she had had in Trinity for several long months now.

Her brother, James, and his wife, Lydia, were now living temporarily with their married daughter in Sunrise, some thirty miles east. Martha's son, Oliver, now lived in Boston, where he was practicing law with his grandfather. Her daughter, Victoria, had . . .

She sniffled and blinked back tears. Rather than focus on all the grief and worry that had troubled her the past seven months, she tried to concentrate on the joy tomorrow would bring when her runaway daughter finally came home to Trinity.

When she passed through the covered bridge at the north end of town and rode toward Dr. McMillan's home, she looked about the town and smiled. But Trinity was not the same sleepy
little town Victoria had left behind when she ran off with a traveling theater troupe seven months ago.

Martha passed the barren plot of land at the north end of East Main Street where Poore's Tavern, once the family's mainstay, had stood for over sixty years. Fire had claimed her brother's tavern and the separate quarters Martha had shared with Victoria only last year, but nothing could erase the memories of happier days.

So much had changed. So much remained the same. So much needed to be resolved when Victoria returned.

Martha had Aunt Hilda to thank for giving her the courage to face tomorrow's reunion with honesty and a real commitment to clearing up the misunderstandings that had driven Victoria from home. As the last surviving original settler, Hilda Seymour was more than the town matriarch. She had been Grandmother Poore's closest friend, and Martha claimed her as family, too, as her aunt-by-affection.

Aunt Hilda was now her dearest friend, her confidante, her inspiration, and the very lifeline that kept her grounded to her faith, her family, and her calling. She was also the best afternurse for miles. Although Millicent Fenway would be more than competent, Martha would have felt a whole lot better leaving Nancy with Aunt Hilda by her side. Unfortunately, Aunt Hilda was already on duty at the Goodman homestead, and Martha made a mental note to check on Aunt Hilda's cottage in the morning, as she had promised to do.

With Victoria's homecoming so close at hand, after seven long months of worry, she marveled that Aunt Hilda could still be so certain she would one day be reunited with her long-lost husband, Richard, who had left home some thirty years ago and never returned.

No one, not even Aunt Hilda, had ever heard from him again. Most folks, Martha included, had had him planted under six feet of ground for years, but not Aunt Hilda. She remained
convinced he would come home to her someday, triumphant, with his pockets full of the fortune he had left to find.

Now nearing fourscore, Aunt Hilda still refused to move from the cottage that had been their home for fear he would not be able to find her when he did return. Martha smiled and let out a sigh. Aunt Hilda was nothing less than a living lesson in faith, and Martha was humbled by her feeble attempts to follow her example.

Lost in her own musings, Martha was surprised when Grace suddenly halted and Martha found herself back at the stable behind Dr. McMillan's house. Within minutes, she had the mare fed and content in her stall. “'Twas a sad call today,” Martha murmured as she patted the horse's neck. “Thank you, dear friend, for carrying me safely home.”

She left the stable and made her way to the bridge. As she approached the confectionery, she noted the light in the kitchen and smiled. Bless their hearts, Fern or Ivy must be waiting up for her, which meant there was also a good fire in the hearth and a bit of supper warming on the cookstove.

She hurried to the back of the confectionery, let herself in the door, and left her bag and birthing stool in the storage room before she entered the kitchen. To her surprise, neither Fern nor Ivy was sitting at the table.

She did not recognize the young matron who looked back at her, but she surely knew the woman's younger companion. Stunned, Martha stared at the petite young woman, unable to speak as her heart fluttered in her chest. She rushed forward into open arms, and managed to speak in spite of her tears. “Welcome home, child. Welcome home.”

V
ictoria! My sweet girl. My girl! Sweet Saviour, it's really you. You're home!” Martha gushed.

Her entire body tingled with joy and excitement. She hugged her daughter and held her close. Her heart beat so fast she grew dizzy.

She placed a hand on either side of Victoria's head and pressed several kisses to her forehead. “Sweet Saviour!” She hugged the girl again. “Mercy, it's so good to have you home again.” She squeezed her in another embrace, as if to make sure she was not an illusion that would try to fade away.

With her head pressed against Martha's shoulder, Victoria chuckled. “Yes, Mother, I'm home. But if you don't give me room to breathe—”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Martha set Victoria back from her and held her by her shoulders. “Let me take a look at you.”

Through blurred vision, Martha stared at her daughter and shook her head as she sighed with relief. “You look well. You look just wonderful!”

And she did. She truly did.

Despite all Martha's fears that Victoria would return home ill or thin and emaciated after struggling to survive on her own, her daughter was the picture of good health. Still youthfully slim, like her father had been all his life, she wore her dark hair in a fashionable style that made her appear older. Instead of wearing her dark curls long, country-style, she had parted her hair in the middle and piled her curls high, with small tendrils framing the sides of her oval face.

Beneath finely arched brows, her hazel eyes, the same color as her father's, shimmered with tears and relief. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips full. “You're even lovelier than ever,” Martha murmured before she pulled her daughter back into an embrace. “You're home. You're really home. I've been so worried about you. So frightened something would happen to you.”

Victoria snuggled closer, laid her head on Martha's shoulder, and wept softly. “I know. I'm—I'm so sorry. I never meant to cause you worry. Forgive me, Mother. I never should have left without talking to you first or at least writing sooner to let you know—”

“You're forgiven, darling girl. You're forgiven.” Martha pressed a kiss to the girl's temple and rocked her from side to side until her tears were spent. All traces of anger had eased from Martha's heart months ago; she offered a silent prayer of gratitude for the faith that had sustained her during Victoria's absence, and for the ever-protective Lord who had watched over Victoria and kept her safe.

The past seven months, though difficult, had also given her new insights. She vowed to treasure this child for her gifts, even if that meant accepting Victoria's preference not to continue family tradition and follow Martha into her calling as a midwife.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the young matron who sat at the table quietly observing the reunion between Martha and her daughter. She edged Victoria to her
side and placed her arm possessively around the girl's shoulders. “Introduce me to your friend,” she urged.

Victoria wrapped her arm around Martha's waist. “Oh, I'm sorry. Mother, this is Mrs. Morgan. She traveled home with me.” She nodded toward the woman who rose from her seat. “This is my mother, Martha Cade.”

The woman approached and extended her hand. A woman of means, Mrs. Morgan was the same height as Martha, but more than a few pounds lighter. She was a good ten years younger, probably in her early thirties. Her light brown hair was pulled back severely into a bun at the nape of her neck, which accented her finely chiseled, almost classical features. The pale silk gown she wore shimmered with elegance, and Martha noted the slightly distended abdomen that indicated Mrs. Morgan was probably expecting her babe in late spring.

Her doe brown eyes glistened with warmth. “I'm June. June Morgan. I'm so very happy to finally meet you.”

Martha caught the woman's hand, and they briefly embraced. Curious about the relationship Victoria shared with this woman, Martha smiled. “I'm so grateful that Victoria did not travel alone.”

June smiled back. “I couldn't let her come alone. Fortunately, my husband is as fond of Victoria as I am and insisted we make the trip together.”

Martha cocked a brow, but she resisted the urge to pepper either Victoria or June with questions that simply begged for answers. Instead, she nuzzled her daughter's head with the tip of her chin and kept a tight hold on her. “I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow. I so wanted to be here when you arrived.”

“It's all right, Mother. Truly. Once we left the coach behind in York and rented a sleigh, we traveled much faster. I'd forgotten how much snow winter brings. We only arrived just before dark. When I saw the tavern gone, I—I didn't know where to
find you so I stopped at the general store. Wesley told me you were staying here at the confectionery. Miss Fern and Miss Ivy told us you'd been called up to Double Trouble Creek.”

Martha sighed, truly disappointed that she had not been home when Victoria arrived. “It was a sad case, I'm afraid, but I can tell you about that later. Trinity has changed a great deal since you left. You must have so many questions.”

June chuckled. “A host of them, I'm afraid, but Fern and Ivy were good enough to answer most of them for her. They kindly offered me a place to stay as well.” She smiled. “You and Victoria have much to talk about so I'll leave you two together now. We can talk in the morning, after we've all gotten some rest.” She patted her extended tummy. “It's my third. Thaddeus and I have two sons. Luke is four. John is almost two. I'm hoping for a daughter this time.”

Martha nodded. “Thank you. Thank you, again, for bringing Victoria back to me.”

“You're very welcome,” June murmured. She and Victoria exchanged a look, which triggered concern that Martha quickly dismissed.

Once June left, Victoria sighed deeply, turned to give her mother a hug, and ushered Martha to the table. “Sit. Miss Ivy left a platter for you. We can talk while you eat.”

With their roles oddly reversed, Martha did as she was told. Victoria moved with a new sense of grace and self-assuredness, which was not lost on her mother while she secured a platter warming on the cookstove and utensils that she set in front of her mother. She added a jug of honey, a plate of cookies, a cinnamon stick, and a mug of cider to her offering before taking a seat across the table from Martha.

The vision of warm corn bread and thick slices of ham made Martha's stomach growl, but it was the sight of fresh oatmeal cookies that made her mouth water. She eyed the cookies again, hesitated, then sampled one before starting on her supper.

Victoria chuckled. “Some things don't change,” she teased.

“I suppose not,” Martha admitted. Her hankering for sweets was almost legendary, which must have provided the townspeople with plenty to gossip about after she moved into the confectionery.

Famished, she made quick work of devouring every bite of her supper before taking another cookie. She stirred the cider with a cinnamon stick and carefully tried to sort out her questions, deciding which one to voice to Victoria first.

As if sensing her mother's dilemma, Victoria moved to a seat next to her mother and caught her hand. “I know how much I've disappointed you and upset you. It was selfish of me to leave without telling you where I was going, and I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Martha swallowed hard and kept the promise she had made to herself to express all of her feelings to Victoria openly. She gently squeezed Victoria's hand and held on tightly. “You did hurt me, Victoria. I was so scared and confused and . . . and shamed by what you'd done. I tried to find you,” she admitted. “I followed the theater troupe for months, but I was always a day or two behind. When the troupe split into two groups and left New York City, I was exhausted. I barely had any funds left, so I came home. To wait. To worry. And to read and reread your note, wondering why you left, with only a note. . . .”

Tears coursed down Victoria's cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Mother, but I—I knew that if I waited for you to come home, you wouldn't understand why I was so unhappy. You wouldn't have let me go, either.”

Martha brushed the tears from her daughter's face. “You're right. I wouldn't have. Not then. But I've had a long time to think about you. About us. You are so precious to me. I wish I'd been able to tell you that more often while you were growing up.”

When Victoria opened her mouth to speak, Martha shook her head. “No. Let me finish.”

Victoria nodded.

“I love you, Victoria. You're my child. My daughter. I only ever wanted what I thought was best for you.” She paused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “You're home. That's all that matters. I know you have no desire to follow me into my calling. I accept that now, and I'll do whatever I can to support you in whatever you choose to do until you decide to marry and begin a family of your own.”

Victoria's eyes widened for a moment before she dropped her gaze. “I wish I could be a midwife like you, so you'd be proud of me like Great-grandmother Poore was of you, but I can't. I just can't.”

Martha put a finger under Victoria's chin and tilted her face so they could look directly into each other's eyes. “I know you can't, but that doesn't mean I love you any less. The good Lord gives each of us different gifts. I understand that now. Mine is very like Grandmother's, although I don't have her patience and Lord knows how I still struggle with my temper. Now you, child, you are blessed with a different gift and other challenges. You're a scholar, like your father. You can put words together better than I can grow my herbs. You're headstrong, like me, I suppose, but you're also kinder and more honest than I can ever hope to be.”

“Mother, I—”

“No, let me finish,” Martha insisted. “I know that whatever I did, whatever you felt that made you think that you had to run away, is in the past. We can't dwell on that now, except to try very hard not to repeat the same mistakes. You're no longer a child, Victoria. You're a young woman now. We must always be honest with each other. Respect and love one another, despite our differences, now that you're home, praise God.”

Victoria sniffled and took out a handkerchief to wipe her tears. “I want so much for you to be proud of me.”

“I am very proud of you,” Martha crooned. “It wasn't easy for you to decide to run off, and I know it was hard for you to
come home. But you're here now. That's all that matters. We have plenty of time to talk about where you've been and what you've been doing.”

Victoria managed a smile. “I do have something to show you. I . . . I think you'll like it,” she said as she rose. She went over to the cupboard in the corner and brought back a periodical she handed to Martha. “There's so much I want to tell you, but I want you to see this first.”

Curious, Martha looked at the cover and read the title page aloud: “‘Blessings of Home and Hearth,'” she murmured. “‘Volume thirty-three, February, 1831. Dedicated to the virtues of womanhood. Published monthly by T. J. Morgan, New York City.'” She paused to look at Victoria while her mind connected the publisher's name with the woman who had brought Victoria home. “It's a ladies' magazine?”

Victoria nodded, and her eyes lit with excitement. “It's an early copy of next month's issue. Turn to page seventeen.”

Martha thumbed to the page.

“At the bottom. In the right column. There's a poem,” Victoria prompted.

Martha found the poem and read the title to herself: “‘A Tribute to a Midwife' by V. J. Cade.” She choked back tears. Her hands began to tremble, and she had to lay the magazine on top of the table so she could read the entire poem:

By day or by night, she answers His call and travels,

Through downpour or blizzard, warm sunshine or windblown terrain

With no thought for herself, she rides for miles and miles,

To help women give birth or heal those sick and in pain

She follows His word and brings hope to all of His children,

When grief or sorrow arrive in one form or another.

She is a woman of faith, a good friend and neighbor,

But to me, she is more. She is love. She is . . .

Mother.

By the time Martha finished, tears completely blurred her vision. “You wrote this?”

“For you,” Victoria responded. “It's my first published poem. I have several more that have been accepted, too, and one by another magazine, but this is my very first. I'm glad it was this one.”

Touched beyond measure, Martha's heart filled with pride. “I'm so happy for you. And proud,” she added. Unable to completely express herself in words, she embraced her daughter. “Thank you, Victoria. Your father would be proud of you, too. Just wait till I show everyone. My daughter—a real poet!” she gushed. “We'll have to have a welcome home party. I'll speak to Fern and Ivy about it in the morning. We'll ask Mrs. Morgan to stay, of course. She should rest before traveling home anyway. We'll write to Uncle James and Aunt Lydia. They'll want to come back to see you. Why, we'll invite the whole town. Then when everyone is here, we'll show them the magazine and have you read the poem. It'll be great fun. And perfectly exciting. We'll have to live with Fern and Ivy until the tavern is rebuilt, which I'm sure is what Uncle James will decide to do, then we'll have our very own quarters again. You can continue to write of course, and send your poems to New York by post—”

“I'm afraid I'm not staying in Trinity, Mother.” She tilted her chin. “I'm only home for a few days to visit, then I'm returning to New York City with Mrs. Morgan.”