The Midwife's Secret (4 page)

Ellie, with her petite figure and narrow face, stepped
toward him. “Mr. Murdock, how lovely to see you this mornin’.”

“Ma’am,” he replied, sliding out of his saddle.

His gaze searched the shack, glossing over the new curtain on the only window, the freshly scrubbed but weathered pine planks, and no doubt noticing the missing winter mud, and the missing cobwebs dangling from the half-rotten shingles.

“I’d like to thank you, Mr. Murdock,” said Ellie in her brogue, “for givin’ the extra work to Donald. Especially now.”

Amanda recalled her husband worked at the sawmill.

“You’re most welcome. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you.” Ellie flushed at his attentive gaze. “Come along, children, it’s time to gather eggs.” She stepped close to Amanda and whispered, “Are you sure six eggs is enough payment?”

“That’ll be fine,” Amanda said softly. “I haven’t eaten eggs for almost two weeks and I miss them.”

Ellie broke into a bright smile. Amanda was tempted to beg her to stay, to protect Amanda from being alone with Tom, but she knew she was being ridiculous. She battled with her fears and prayed Grandma would soon return from her ride.

When the O’Haras left, Tom looked up at the blue sky and removed his hat. His long hair was a rich, raven black. His clean-shaven jaw gleamed bronze in the sun.

“Good morning,” he said again, intimately, addressing only her this time. A corner of his handsome mouth tugged up, almost apologetic.

She swallowed. “Good morning. What brings you here?”

“I’ve got something of yours to return.” The muscles in his shoulders played beneath his shirt as he slid out a
square yellow envelope from his leather vest. He offered it to her.

“My deed?”

“That’s right.”

She took it, being very careful not to stand too close. “Thank you.” Flustered, she slid it into her skirt pocket, then tucked her baggy blouse into her narrow waistline. His eyes slowly followed the movements over her body.

When he didn’t say anything more, she pulled in a brisk breath and steadied her nerves. “Well, I best be getting back to my duties. There’s a young couple in town I met yesterday. They’re expecting their first, and I promised I’d stop by.”
Later this afternoon,
but he didn’t need to know that.

“That would be the tinsmith’s daughter, Fannie.”

“That’s right. Good day.” She turned and walked away.

He sidestepped her and barred her path. Lord, the man was big. He peered at the shack, as if he were searching for something to prolong the conversation. “It’s still lopsided and won’t hold out for another year, but it must have taken you hours to scrub it down.”

She followed his gaze. “It did.” Thinking of the yellow envelope she’d just stuffed into her pocket, Amanda blurted, “I assume you verified my deed?”

His green eyes lit with amber. His profile exuded power. “Yeah.”

She was curious to know what had happened to Mr. Finnigan, but feared mentioning his name might put her own property in jeopardy again, so she let the topic pass.

Her fingers trembled into her apron. “Well, then, I suppose there’s nothing else to say. Thanks for dropping it by.” She turned to go. Tom’s warm hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her back, gently, sending her stomach twisting in a thousand directions. She blinked up at his
handsome face, the dashing age lines around his eyes and mouth.

His gaze trailed over her forehead, down her lips and back into her eyes. “You know,” he said with a soft voice, “you’ve got the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Stumbling out of his grasp, she stammered, “What do you— How could you—”

Quickly stepping away, he played with the brim of his hat. “I’m sorry, it just struck me.”

His comment left her speechless. What a thing to say! She wasn’t sad, she tried her best to be cheerful.

He cleared his throat while she caught her breath, then he scratched the back of his neck. “We got off on the wrong foot, and I’m here to apologize. You’re not making this easy.” He stared off at the mountains. “I was thinking,” he continued, “if you’re still aiming to build your log cabin, I’d like to make a bid.”

Her guard was stronger now. “Why?”

“What sort of question is that? I’m a builder and that’s what I do.”

She stood her ground. “Why do you want to build
my
cabin? I’m sure there’s other work out there. For that fancy hotel, I imagine. And the others that are going up.”

“I’ve got a large crew, and I’d like to keep them working.” His tone was firm but civil. “Most of the large construction is over, and there’ll be a lull in the summer.”

“I just heard Ellie thank you for giving her husband
extra
work.”

“He needs it.” His dark brows arched with a challenge.

“No thank you, I don’t think we could work together.” In several long strides she wove her way into the forest, toward the river to haul some water. She had to do
something
with the extra energy he evoked in her, which he seemed to evoke every time they met. Grabbing the water
yoke that lay along the path, she slid the smooth wooden handle across her shoulder blades, allowing the buckets to dangle from the ropes on either end.

“Would you stop running away from me,” he said, following her, causing her to catch her breath again. “Don’t you want to hear my bid?”

“There are two other builders in town, and they’ve already given me their quotes.”

He ducked a tree. “Let’s start over. I didn’t mean to get mad at you in the mill. You happened to walk in while I was getting bad news.”

From Clarissa? she wondered. No, it had started before he’d opened the note from Clarissa.

They reached the bank of the Bow River and stopped for a moment. She slid her yoke and buckets to the ground. The sound of surging water, three hundred feet wide, gushed around them. Cut logs thudded against each other, floating downriver from the lumbering camps, making their journey to Calgary.

When she glanced upriver, she spotted the huge brick-and-limestone facade of the new hotel. Only three short days ago, she was thrilled to have moved to Banff.

The town itself was less than five years old, the population under a thousand. In posters across the prairies, the Canadian Pacific Railway promised that a tourist industry would follow the building of their Banff Springs Hotel. They claimed it would make their railroad self-supporting, give the tourists all the excitement of the wild West without the pesky discomforts and create a spectacular opportunity for anyone wanting to be part of it.

She still wanted to be a part of it. What else would give her life meaning, but to open a midwifery practice and to put to good use the excellent training and experience she had?

“Let’s see, how big do you want your log cabin?” he asked. “Twenty-four by twenty-four? One big room with a stone fireplace?”

Was there any harm in getting his bid? She didn’t have to take it, and maybe then the man would leave. “I’d like to have two spare bedrooms attached, so that would make the overall building twenty by thirty.”

“Two spare rooms? For a future family, I suppose.”

The comment caught her by surprise.

“I mean,” he explained softly, “if you do remarry, and you might, you might need the spare rooms.”

“I’ll be using them to take in homeless children.”

The lines around his eyes deepened with respect. “I see. Unfortunately, Banff does get a few orphans. Mostly because of accidents. Sometimes an avalanche. Or consumption. Or a fire.” He stepped back and seemed to soak her in. “How many windows are there to cut?”

“Four.”

“Porch?”

“I’d like one around the front.”

“Well, that’s an easy estimate. I’d say it’d cost you roughly two hundred and twenty dollars.”

With an exclamation of surprise, she dropped into the soft grass of the riverbank.

“I know I’m under the other two bids. I always am. I can cut and saw lumber cheaper than anyone else in town.”

He was a lot under. Sixty dollars under. A world of difference.

“I paid Mr. Finnigan five hundred dollars for this piece—”

“
What?
You paid him five hundred for what?”

“For the shack, and the right to the property.”

That, for some reason, seemed to knock the wind out of
him. He sank into the grass beside her. He really was surprised by Mr. Finnigan’s sale, wasn’t he? Well, it didn’t matter. The money had still gone into their joint sawmill coffers. And Amanda was sure five hundred dollars didn’t make much of a dent in the thousands of dollars of construction he saw in a year.

Standing up, he shoved his hat back onto his head. As she deliberated what to do, Tom dunked the buckets into the river and hoisted them to his shoulders. He did it with such ease, she wondered what it’d be like to have a man to help her here with the harder, backbreaking work. To spend the evenings together, to call on neighbors, to keep her body warm at night. But then, the last thing she wanted was another man. Some men couldn’t be counted on when a woman really needed them, and she had no desire to find out what kind of man Tom Murdock was.

When she bounded into the clearing, Grandma, in her split skirt, turned down the path on the bicycle. “Honey, I’m back.” Spotting Tom, she added, “I didn’t know we had company.”

“Howdy, ma’am. My name’s Tom Murdock.”

A smooth rider, Grandma gave a little gasp of delight as she dismounted. They gathered around the pounded earth by the logs where they usually lit the fire. With hesitation, Amanda introduced them. “This is my grandmother, Clementine Stewart.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Grandma, patting her thick gray braids. “But I thought you were too busy to come around.”

“I had a slight change of plans.” He smiled graciously as they shook hands, then glanced at Grandma’s dark clothing.

Grandma explained. “My husband passed away ten months ago. He was the dear fella who trained Amanda
here. My poor, dear Scott, he taught this little lady everything she knows about medicine.”

Grandma rambled on, much to Amanda’s dismay. Grandma loved to visit, and if you didn’t watch, she’d spill every secret they had. “He was a doctor, servin’ the poorer folks in town, never insistin’ on payment, but those who could paid mostly with goods. Matter of fact, one of his customers gave him this here bicycle. What was his name? Mr. Withers, that’s right. He had gall bladder problems.”

With a twinkle in his eye, Tom leaned close to Grandma. “He didn’t get it from the bicycle, did he?”

“Heavens, no!” Grandma shrieked with laughter. It had been a while since she’d had visitors, thought Amanda, and she should be around more people, if this is how much enjoyment she was getting out of Tom’s visit.

“My sympathies on your husband, ma’am,” he acknowledged to Grandma, then turned solemnly to face Amanda. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but you said you were widowed, as well. How long ago did your husband pass away?”

Grandma fell into a coughing spell at Amanda’s obvious lie.

Amanda’s heart lurched. The women stared at each other. They signaled wildly behind Tom’s back; Grandma urging her to tell the truth, Amanda adamantly refusing.

“Yes, dear,” Grandma said between coughs, “go on, tell us.”

Amanda clutched her apron. She already knew Grandma’s thoughts on this. That Amanda shouldn’t hide anything from her past. That she should stand up to everyone who asked.
Nothin’ to be ashamed of.
“It’s difficult for me to talk about, if you don’t mind.”

Glancing toward his mare that was ripping grass by the
tree where he’d tied it, Tom tilted his dark head. “I understand.”

“What exactly is so difficult?” Grandma raised her wide gray eyebrows and spoke innocently. “Tell the man what he asked.”

Tom cleared his throat. He looked uncomfortable, getting trapped between the two women. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

Amanda pursed her lips at Grandma. “It’s difficult to talk about the painful things in my past.”

“Well, sometimes, they get less difficult the more you talk about them. Amazin’ things can happen. Sometimes, you can start talking about your widowed past, and before you finish the sentence and you’ve got it all off your chest, you feel like you’re not widowed at all.”

Grandma eyed her. Amanda eyed her back. It was her concern alone. A blunt man such as Tom Murdock wouldn’t understand.

Tom turned to Grandma. “Is that how you feel, ma’am, about being widowed?”

Grandma sputtered. “No.”

Rubbing his smooth jaw, Tom looked more perplexed. “Well, I best be going.”

He was probably leaving, thought Amanda with a twinge of embarrassment, because he thought they were talking in circles. Which they were. Something she and Grandma were good at.

Amanda followed as he walked to his mare.

“Do we have a deal then?” he asked, unhitching the reins from the branch.

“How soon could you start?”

“How does tomorrow morning suit you?”

“How quickly could you get it done?”

“Six weeks.”

“It’s a deal on two conditions.”

Tom groaned. “Go on.”

“Number one. I get the agreement in writing, and receipts for each deposit.”

“A handshake’s not good enough, I see.”

“Number two. For every day earlier that you finish before the six weeks is up, could you take off fifty cents?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’d like to help with the work. The other two builders agreed, and for each day of labor, I’d be getting paid fifty cents a day. But only if it saves you time, so you’re able to speed along to your next job.”

“How much time could that amount to? You could help with clearing brush, but the other work is too heavy. You might save me two days, so you’d earn…maybe one dollar?” He gazed over the shack. “If you really need—” He caught himself before he finished the insulting comment. “All right. I’ll need a starting deposit of ten percent in the morning. See you bright and early.”

She pulled in a deep sigh of satisfaction. “See you.”

He reached for his saddle horn, about to swing up, but stopped himself. He turned around. “The other two builders didn’t really agree to your help, did they?”