The Midwife's Secret (13 page)

“A headache. I need a glass of water.”

They asked for one and the barman brought it. Beneath
the table, there wasn’t a spot she could find where Tom’s long legs didn’t touch hers. With every lull and sway of the train, his knee brushed hers, and she felt a jolt of lightning. He seemed to notice it, too, and tried to pull away.

When she noticed his arm stiffen and sweat collect at his brow, she slid her arms closer. “Is it time for your laudanum? You look like you could use some.”

“Yeah,” he said, sliding his calloused palm into his jacket and removing a small brown bottle. “I can’t put it off any longer.”

He’d been sitting here all this time in pain? He removed the salts and measured a spoonful.

“I feel sorry for Frank and his wife,” said Amanda, setting her bonnet and gloves on the wooden table.

“So do I. That’s why we’ve got to tell the Mounties what we’ve learned. They’ll start looking for him at gambling and flop houses.”

“I know it’s not possible, but I wish we could forget about the whole thing, seeing how much pain it’s causing Frank Finnigan.”

“It would be difficult for any brother to talk against his own, that’s why the rest of us law-abiding citizens have to do it for him. If Zeb has any money stashed when the Mounties find him, Frank will get a portion of it back. We’ve got to continue this for him and his family.”

It was unselfish of Tom to look at it like that. But then, unselfishness seemed to run in his character.

“When you put it like that, it makes me feel better,” she said. He always had that effect on her, she thought with a start. Whether he was fighting with his brother in the rain, or making her and the children laugh, or being by her side when she faced Frank Finnigan, Tom was a man unlike any other.

Would they grow closer yet?

What did the future hold for her in Banff? Would she have to pack her bags and leave the friends she’d made? If she thought too much about it, her fears and trepidations would rear up again, so she chose not to.

She checked to see if the laudanum was helping Tom. He was quieter. Still restless, though. Every jostle of the train seemed to disturb him. Thank goodness the ride wasn’t long. Another twenty minutes and he’d be safe with Quaid again.

Peering out of the huge glass panes, she watched the mountains rush past them in their springtime glory. Fields of purple flowers sprang to meet them; buds in orange and pink and red infused the planes. If you looked closely, you could see animals scamper from the path of the train—beavers, elk, two bald-headed eagles soaring high above.

Although neither of them was elaborately dressed for such a posh car, she enjoyed sitting here with Tom. She in the same peach suit she’d worn when they’d dined at Ruby’s, and Tom in a dashing red shirt and suede jacket, his hair slicked back like a boy on his way to choir. Their silence was easy and comfortable.

Tom cleared his throat and looked at her. “I haven’t had a chance to apologize for my brother’s behavior. The things he said to you in the rain.”

“There’s no need to apologize—”

“Yes, there is. On one hand, my brother is as smart as a whip. On the other, sometimes he’s as dumb as a nail.”

She smiled. Maybe once Quaid got to know her, his opinion would soften. “He was just saying what the rest of the town is feeling. You can’t blame the man—”

“Sure I can. And I do.”

“All right, then, apology accepted.”

“Quaid’s all right, you know. You’d probably get on well with his wife.”

“He’s married?”

“Yeah. Beth is visiting her folks in Winnipeg at the moment. Her mother’s not well.”

“That’s always difficult.”

He took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I’d like to ask you something. About the ball.”

A wave of panic washed over her. Where was this headed?

The clump of dark hair that grazed his forehead framed the strength in his face. “Would you consider going…with me?”

Startled, she blinked.

“I’d like to take you.” His warm, direct gaze penetrated her calm facade.

How should she answer him?

Part of her wanted to go. Would it be fair to say yes without explaining her divorce and why it’d happened? Why William had walked away from her?

Even though Tom’s was a simple offer to accompany him to one dance, she didn’t want to lead him into a false direction. She knew the offer meant more. She
felt
it.

He leaned forward. “What’s the matter?”

If she told him, would he run from her, too?

“Seven pounds, eight ounces,” she said softly.

His face grew thoughtful. “What’s that?”

She knotted her fingers together and carefully watched him. “That’s how much my baby weighed when she was born…when she passed away….”

“W
hat?”
Tom whispered, staring into Amanda’s grief-stricken face. He temporarily forgot about the pounding in his sore muscles and his stiff neck while he gazed at the smooth outline of her cheekbones. He couldn’t believe he’d heard right.

When she didn’t answer, instead looking nervously out the window then back at him, he asked again. “You lost a baby?”

She nodded, clamping her hands together in her lap. She couldn’t disguise her pain, and he felt heartsick for her.

“When?”

“A year and a half ago.”

He moaned. “I’m so sorry.” He had no idea.

“That’s why my divorce happened. It’s why my husband left.”

“You mean your husband left you because you lost your child?”

She nodded.

Tom’s lips tightened in response. Her former husband was a callous bastard. Why hadn’t he stood by his wife? “How could he?”

“I know it’s no excuse, but William always wanted children.”

It stunned Tom into silence. Shifting uncomfortably on the chair, he rolled his jaw, trying to unloosen the ache. Amanda’s news had come out of nowhere to knock him off his feet. “That day at your log cabin, when I told you his twins had just been born, you must have—
I
must have devastated you.”

Her face mellowed. “You didn’t know.”

Tom floundered, disturbed by the guilt of how he’d talked to her that day, and how she’d taken it. “There will be other children for you, though. Other babies—”

“I can’t have more. There were complications…. I lost my uterus.”

He swallowed hard. No more children?

“Now can you see why it’s complicated between us?”

Complicated. Not simple. He stared at her. What did he know of women’s problems? Nothing. “Are you feeling all right now? Are you in physical pain at this moment?”

“I’m fine. There’s no pain involved. You almost wouldn’t notice that I’m different, except that I can’t have that time of the month.” She sighed and looked away. “I used to always hate it, but now I wish…”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Amanda. You’re a beautiful woman.
In every sense of the word.
Any man would be proud to be at your side.”

And yet he struggled to grasp the meaning. No more children. Ever.

He
wanted children. Didn’t he? It had always been part of the equation when he’d thought of marriage. Babies. One-year-olds and two-year-olds who’d grow to be nine and ten, then young teens. Children he’d share his home and life with.

He silently cursed himself for thinking of what
Amanda’s loss meant to
him.
His loss, his pain. The selfish thoughts sickened him, yet he couldn’t get them out of his mind. He wasn’t brave enough to handle this with Amanda. He didn’t know how to handle it.

And what would it be like to make love to her? Would he feel pity for her? Would he be afraid to touch her? To consummate? Would his own body disappoint him and wither in response to hers? His body reaction was something he couldn’t control, and if he couldn’t satisfy her, he’d cringe with shame.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re shocked. Really disappointed.”

“That’s not it,” he said, but they both knew it was. He suddenly felt stifled, and he was sweating profusely. “It’s hot in here,” he mumbled, struggling to make his jaw work properly, “we need to open a window.” Was he getting a toothache? Is that where the pain was coming from? He got up to unlatch the window, thankful for the fresh blast of air.

When he spun around, she’d turned away to gaze at the scenery. Even though she was beautiful sitting here in her neatly pressed clothes and dignity in her posture, he wished he could afford to buy her whatever she needed. New suits, new dresses, new shoes.

He snorted. What a frivolous thing for him to think of at a time like this.

Her former husband was a coldhearted son of a bitch.

Was Tom any better? Was he tough enough to handle this? He considered her a close friend. Over the past weeks they’d grown more intimate. He had ached to take it further. And now?

How could he even think he’d be good enough for her? She needed a decisive, capable man by her side, someone who was sure of himself, not someone like him.

“Amanda,” he said, sliding onto the red velvet beside her, ignoring the stiffness in his arm. “I can’t say that I’m not surprised by what you’ve told me. All right, shocked. But…”

When she peered at him with big, caring eyes, he felt as if she were looking directly into his soul. For answers. For support. What more could he say? That everything would work out for the best? How lame. It was something he couldn’t promise.

How did she feel about her inability to conceive? If it was a terrible blow to Tom, he could only imagine what it must be doing to her. She adored children, he could see it in the way she cared for Margaux and Josh.

“Amanda, I’m amazed by you. How can you put yourself in the position of being a midwife? How can you put yourself right in the center of delivering babies, when it must be a constant reminder to you of your own child?”

“It’s not difficult when I’m involved with my patients. When I’m up to my elbows and concentrating on my work, I think of them.”

“You’re fearless.”

She moaned. “I’ve got plenty of fears.”

How could she cope with the knowledge she’d never have children of her own?

How could he?

“I never got to hold…
Sharon Rose….
But I’ll cope fine. I know I will. I always do.”

He ached for her. He should say more, he should comfort her in some way.

No words came. Only silence. His blasted head throbbed. If the headache didn’t leave soon, cripe’s, he’d have to go to Quaid.

Her gaze was a mixture of hope, then sorrow when he
didn’t respond. “I’ll have to decline your invitation to the ball.”

The ball? The furthest thing from his mind.

With a stiffness to his body, he slid to her side of the seat and placed an arm around her shoulders in his own silent desperation. She fell into his arms and they pressed together, her body soft and warm. A cramp pulled in his arm. He clamped and unclamped his fist, trying to work the muscle.

He was glad he had her body to brace against, glad she couldn’t see his face. What kind of man was he? A coward? He should speak up and
comfort her. Say something.
But what? That life was sometimes so goddamn unfair?

That ten minutes ago what he felt for her was so powerful he thought his heart would burst, and now he didn’t know what he felt? Or what he should say?

“Tom, your hand is growing stiff.”

“It’s fine. It’s just a cramp.”

She looked up at him. “You’re blue. And your hand…good heavens, your hand’s shaking.”

“It is?” He looked down and tried to stop its spasm. What in blazes? He jerked at the faint sounds around him. A dinner bell in the car behind them, the screech of train wheels, the nondescript laughter of the woman three seats down. His head spun with dizziness. What was happening? Something was wrong.

He tried to drag himself out of his seat, but his knees wobbled and his legs rocked. “What the hell?” The words mumbled together. He couldn’t talk right. His pulse jumped with fear. What was wrong with him? Why wouldn’t his mouth move?

With a good shove, he pulled himself up again, only to collapse on the floor.

“Tom, get up!”

In the ensuing panic of voices, Amanda tried to help him rise.

Passengers screamed. Charlie, the ticket agent, supported his body; the barmen rushed to help Amanda.

The train screeched to a stop. The crowd shoved around him, lifting him like a swarm of bees and moving him down the stairs into the station. He tried to talk, but his stiff jaw couldn’t move.

Amanda’s voice rang frantic above the others, urgently repeating the same words over and over, but he couldn’t understand them. “Lockjaw.
Tetanus.
”

“Quaid,” said Amanda, pounding on Tom’s log cabin door for the fifth morning in a row. “Please let me in. I need to see him.”

By the grace of heaven, Quaid had been located within an hour of the train’s arrival. He’d been able to sedate Tom, but there wasn’t much else they could do except wait it out.

She blinked in exhaustion. Would Quaid answer this time? She felt the tears well in her eyes again and the hot ache in her chest. Tetanus. An infection in Tom’s wound where the toxins had spread throughout his bloodstream.

He’d made it this far though, five days, with no funeral procession, no whispered condolences from the neighbors, no arrangements of burial plots at the hillside cemetery. Tom was still alive.

She hammered on the door again, her hand stinging from the pounding, not caring if the men who were peering out the lumber mill stared at her the whole morning. “Quaid, please, I know you’re here. I recognize your horse. You’ve been alternating with your father and the minister, and I know you’re here.”

She muttered in the ensuing silence. She hated funeral
processions, everyone dressed in black and as solemn as a thundercloud. She’d seen too many in the past year and a half. First, little Sharon Rose’s, then Grandpa’s, and now…? Were her prayers helping Tom? What else, in the name of heaven, could she do to help him?

The children were distraught at the turn of events, Grandma as silent as Amanda had ever seen her. And poor John Murdock, his face ashen when he’d passed Amanda’s on his way home last evening.

The log door suddenly opened. “What is it I can do for you?” Quaid asked. Dressed impeccably in his silk vest and cravat, he poked his head through the doorway. His mustache bristled.

Startled at finally seeing him, Amanda pressed a hand to her apron and picked up her straw basket. “I’ve come with some chicken soup for Tom.”

Quaid looked over at her bicycle, scowled, then glanced down at her basket. Was she being ridiculously hopeful, thinking Tom was out of his coma?

“Is he awake yet, Quaid?”

“He’s grumbling this morning.”

“Oh…” she uttered in shocked delight, unable to keep her voice from trembling. “Oh, that’s good.”

She met Quaid’s eyes and sent him a tremulous smile. His eyes began to water. He turned away, embarrassed, but she saw he was crying.

Stepping inside the door, she pressed a firm hand to his shoulder. “It’ll be all right. He’ll get better, you’ll see.”

Quaid took a deep breath. “I can see why Tom likes you. You’re an optimist.”

“If you only knew…”

“I blamed you, you know, for the first three days. Every time his body racked in spasm and he could hardly breathe, I blamed you for using those rusty snips.”

“I blamed myself,” she whispered.

Quaid looked at her in silence, then removed a hanky from his pocket and mopped his face. “It wasn’t your fault, though, more likely that his wound got infected from the fishhook.”

“I know,” she answered. “I wish there was an antitoxin we could give him, like the new one we have for rabies. But they’ve only just discovered the cause of tetanus, no cure yet. Quaid, is he really grumbling?”

“Yeah, tossing and turning. An hour ago he said my name and talked to me. He was able to sit up to wash his face and brush his teeth.”

The good news sent her spirits soaring. “May I see him, please?”

Quaid took a moment to decide, then nodded.

Thank you.
Amanda took a deep breath and stepped over Tom’s muddy work boots by the door. She wished with all her heart that she’d see him again soon standing tall in those boots, smiling down at her with that charming, dimpled grin.

She’d never been in Tom’s cabin before. It was a simple, square room, as cluttered and messy as she imagined any bachelor’s would be. In one corner sat a cast-iron stove riddled with pots, a rough pine counter stacked with dish-cloths and a washbasin, and in the other corner, a narrow cot and armoire. One tall bookshelf rested against the wall, crammed with books, one silver clock, and two rolled-up shirts.

As she passed by the table she noticed a stack of old newspapers turned to the same page. They were word puzzles, neatly filled out in ink, sitting beside Tom’s Stetson. He liked word games?

Imagining him all alone by the fire on a Friday night,
struggling with a word, brought a warmth to her heart she couldn’t describe.

He had to pull through.

When she reached the bed, she was taken aback by his appearance. He’d lost at least five to ten pounds, she could see it in his unshaven face. His lower half was covered by a coarse wool blanket, but his upper half was naked. A flaxseed poultice covered his left biceps, drawing out the infection. The lightly matted chest rippled with muscles. He was evenly tanned.

Laying at the foot of his bed, Wolf raised his head and moaned at Amanda.

“Wolf, I nearly didn’t see you.”

“He’s been laying there for five days straight,” said Quaid. “He won’t hardly budge. The dog’s been drinking, but he won’t eat anything.”

“Good dog,” she whispered. “You’ll be able to eat soon. Tom is better now.”

Wolf wagged his tail.

“Tom,” she said, kneeling beside the bed. Gently she reached out for his warm hand and squeezed. “Tom? It’s me, Amanda. I’ve come to see how you are.”

When he grumbled, she pulled back in surprise, then stroked the moist hair at his temples, trailing her fingers along the washcloth that Quaid must have put there. Such warm, wonderful skin. “Tom,” she whispered, “come back to me.”

His eyes fluttered open. Those gorgeous green eyes, lined with slanted black lashes, looked at her.

She grinned wide. “Hi.”

He swallowed hard. His dry lips cracked. “Hi.”

They stared at each other for a full minute.

“Hi,” Quaid added from behind, making both Amanda and Tom laugh softly.

“What are you doing in my bedroom?” Tom asked weakly. “Am I dreaming?” He paused to muster his strength. “If I am, I’m taking advantage.” Before she knew what was happening, he yanked her up on top of him.

She yelped, but very happy with his strength. He
was
going to be all right.

“Tom,” said Quaid in disapproval.