The Midwife's Choice (20 page)

Victoria stared at their old home for several more moments, then bowed her head. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and soft. “I need to apologize for all the hurtful things I said that first night I was home. I know it was hard for you to leave here and take us to live with Uncle James.”

“Come here.” Martha urged her daughter into an embrace. “We can't let the past shadow any of the days we have together,
fill our hearts with bitterness about what might have been, or let it sharpen our tongues. I love you, girl. And I know you love me, too.”

They held one another for endless moments, letting a full reconciliation heal old wounds.

When Martha finally looked overhead, she set Victoria back. “I don't like the looks of that sky. There's more snow coming. We should get home. We've got enough word spread about Samuel and Will, and I have an idea they didn't head this way anyway,” she murmured as she suddenly remembered that snow-packed path that led to Samuel's cabin. Knowing of Will's fascination with the sea and Samuel's former life as a seaman, she thought it more likely they had gone to Clarion, a small port on the Faded River.

“Maybe we'll find them both in town when we get there,” Victoria suggested.

Martha did not bother contemplating that wishful thought. Not on a day like today when everything had gone wrong.

They retraced their steps, mounted Grace again, and rode back to the main road. Grace wound up with several molasses cookies, much to Victoria's delight, and Martha urged Grace into a quicker pace as the clouds thickened overhead.

Fortunately, Grace was heavy and strong enough to handle most anything winter could produce. In the distance, Martha spied a rider heading their way. Once they drew closer to one another, Martha recognized the rider as Alexander Stern.

The harried expression on his face told her she would not be going directly home, and she feared she might be headed into yet another failure for the day.

A
lexander Stern was a large-boned man with muscles brawny from a life of farming. As he drew up next to Martha and Victoria, she saw her bag and birthing stool strapped behind him. “Widow Cade! I went to town to fetch you for Lena. Miss Fern said you'd come up this way. She said to take your bag and stool with me to save time.” He nodded to Victoria. “Good to see you back home.”

“Lena's a good month away from her time. Are you sure you need me?” Martha asked, although the women attending Lena would not have sent for her unless they were certain the pains were not going to stop, as they often did with this much time left before the actual delivery was expected.

He laughed. “Early or not, Lena's set her mind on havin' this one on her mother's birthday. Since that's today, looks like she's gonna get her way. Miss Dorie said to tell you to hurry, though. This one's comin' faster than the last.”

Mention of Dorie Fisk's name gave added credence to his request. As well, slightly more than a year ago, Lena had given birth to her fifth child with a mere three hours separating the
first from the last pain. Martha's heart began to pound. “Mercy! Faster? How long ago did her pains start?”

He grinned. “By now? 'Bout two hours. Give or take.”

Martha turned at the waist to speak to her daughter. “I'm sorry. There's no time to take you home first.”

“It's all right. Hurry. We don't want to be too late.”

“I'll follow you,” Martha told him.

As they started off together, he hunched his shoulders against the wind. “I saw Sheriff Myer on my way out of town. He said to tell you not to bother about searching up here for that old recluse and the boy.”

Martha leaned back and stared at him. “Not bother? Why?”

“Apparently, Stan Pitt, from down at the mill, saw the pair of them buildin' some sorta sailin' raft in the pond behind the mill for the past coupla weeks.”

“A sailing raft?” Martha snorted. “Every stream and creek for miles is frozen solid. They can't sail a raft on ice.”

Stern cocked his head. “Pitt claimed it wasn't like any raft he'd ever seen. It was flat with small logs lashed together like you'd expect, but he swore he saw wooden runners underneath, like you'd see on a sleigh.”

Martha was tempted to roll her eyes, but resisted. “You're telling me the two of them made a sailing sleigh? I've never heard of such a thing.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Guess that's about what you'd call it. Pitt said whatever it was, he noticed it was gone a few days back.”

She sighed. If her instinct was right, Samuel and Will had been testing the sailing sleigh last Thursday when something went wrong and they wound up taking a dunk in the pond. When she showed up unexpectedly, Will had concocted the ice-fishing tale to cover up what they'd really been doing, an easy task for the former street orphan from New York City who was quite talented at deception.

In all likelihood, the quirky vessel was now resting on the bottom of the pond.

Martha, however, suspected otherwise. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see Captain Samuel with Will serving as first mate, and as Samuel's eyes, as they pushed the craft below the covered bridge before raising the mast and sailing out of town, right down Dillon's Stream. They would end up, eventually, on the Faded River, where future possibilities were only as limited as Samuel's blindness would make them. Given his amazing ability to forge an escape, Martha could only pray his luck would hold and he would find a haven for himself and Will. She prayed he would one day write and let her know they were safe and well.

In the meantime, she had a more urgent prayer to offer for Lena and prayed hard the woman's pains would stop. Although her babe was closer to being born at full term than little Peter Clifford had been, Martha knew only too well the dangers attached to an eight-month babe. More often than not, they were blue babies, unable to take in any air, and they usually died within a few days of birth.

The sad prospect of losing two babes in a row wrapped around her troubled heart. Her confidence wavered again, but sheer determination kept her riding tall in the saddle, straight to the woman who depended on Martha's skill and experience to make this a day of joy for them all.

If anyone deserved a miracle today, it was Lena Stern, and by sheer association, Martha prayed she might receive a blessing or two for herself.

Lena Stern was short by any standards, matched her husband in weight, and had an earthy sense of humor that blessed everyone she knew.

Victoria volunteered to take the five Stern children out to
the barn so they could show off the litter of kittens, a rarity at this time of year. Alexander Stern, who once again declined to participate in the birthing, busied himself with stabling the horses. Neighbors Isabel Fallon and her sister, Louisa Terwell, were in the kitchen working on the food for the groaning party that would take place after the birth.

Martha stopped in the kitchen only long enough to remove her cape and gloves, wash her hands, and make sure there was water on the cookstove.

“Is that you, Martha? For mercy's sake, get in here! I feel like an overripe melon about to split wide open!” Lena cried.

Martha chuckled, in spite of her concern, and carried her bag and birthing stool into the small room behind the kitchen. Most of the time, the room was used for storage, but once a year, for six of the past eight years now, the room had been converted into a birthing room. She found Lena pacing about, with Dorie Fisk and Melanie Biehn on either side of her. Food stored in barrels and tins, along with sacks of staples, lined all four walls, leaving only a narrow walkway. In lieu of birthing sheets, a square of canvas had been set on the floor in front of a single bed at the far end of the room, which had been cleared out to make room for the birthing stool, the expectant mother, and her assistants.

Lena's face lit up the moment she saw Martha. “Hurry and set up that stool before I drop this baby girl right where I'm standing,” she teased. “I thought you would have been here every few days to check on me.”

“You're a good month ahead of schedule,” Martha countered as she squeezed past the three women.

“Doesn't matter. Little Lavinia has her mind set on to— . . . today.”

While Lena gritted through another pain, Martha positioned the stool in the center of the canvas square. “Dorie? Melanie? Let's get her seated so I can check on how things are progressing. I'd sure feel better if those pains would stop.”

Lena's eyes widened. “Stop? They'd better not!”

The two women helped Lena to sit down. Dorie knelt in front, to her left. Melanie took her place standing behind Lena. Martha knelt down and eased Lena's nightdress up to her knees as another pain hit. By the time it was over, Martha had her bag open and her birthing apron tied into place.

Martha positioned her hands at the birth canal and Lena yelped. “Your hands are freezing!”

“I'm sorry. You didn't give me enough time to warm up.”

Lena groaned and clasped Dorie's hand hard. “Oh . . . oh, here she comes! Get ready, Martha.”

Martha immediately felt the baby's head emerge. It was too late to stop now. “Good work. Another push—”

“Now!” Lena cried and pushed the rest of the baby out.

Martha leaned back on her haunches and brought the baby out from behind the curtain of her mother's nightdress. She held her breath and laid the squalling newborn on her lap. To her amazement, the baby looked full-term. “Your baby girl is plump and pink and perfectly formed,” she whispered. Both surprised and relieved, she cut the cord and wiped the baby clean with the towel. The baby could not possibly be a full month early, which meant Lena's calculations must have been off. The tragedy Martha feared had been averted, and her heart nearly sang with joy.

Lena bent forward and glanced down at her new daughter. “Darn if she doesn't look like all the rest.”

Martha chuckled. “Your babes all look so much alike, folks think you must use a mold or something.”

Lena winked. “Wouldn't be half as much fun if we did.” She held out her arms, and Martha gave the baby to her mother. “Come to Mama, little Lavinia. There, there,” she crooned.

Within moments, Lavinia was quiet, suckling at her mother's massive breast. After Martha delivered the afterbirth, her assistants helped Lena into bed. The new mother was nearly as
wide as the mattress, and the babe seemed much smaller now that she was engulfed in her mother's arms.

Martha remained behind while her two assistants carried all evidence of the birth away and went to fetch Lena's husband and other children.

“We'll have to fatten you up, little one,” Lena crooned, apparently oblivious to Martha's ministrations. Once Martha had Lena's wrappings in place, she carefully rearranged the bedclothes and propped several pillows behind Lena's back so she could sit up just a bit.

Alexander arrived and led his three sons and two daughters into the room. Each had the large Stern build, cow-brown eyes, and pale blond hair. He lined them up around the bed. Isabel, Louisa, and Victoria joined them, as soon as Dorie and Melanie returned. They linked their hands together to form an unbroken human chain. Martha acknowledged Stern family tradition and let Alexander lead them all in prayer instead of doing it herself.

“Lord of all, our heavenly Father, we lift up our hearts this day to praise You and thank You for the precious gift You have given us.” He took the sleeping baby from her mother's breast, supported her little body with the palm of his hand, and raised her up to the heavens. “Lavinia Faith Stern, we dedicate your life to your Creator, who has entrusted us with your care. We promise to love you and teach you to follow His Word every day we are blessed to have you. Amen,” he whispered and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

One by one, starting with Lena and then Lavinia's brothers and sisters, each of them whispered “amen” to seal their vow and kissed the baby. Martha went last. “Amen,” she whispered and let reverent tears fall freely. When she glanced at the others, she could see she was not alone. Tears were aplenty. No one had been left unmoved.

“Now we can really celebrate,” Lena announced. “I'm celebrating with a little nap. The rest of you, go on. There's plenty
of food. Children, mind your manners,” she urged. She yawned, cuddled her newborn, and curled on her side.

While the others left to begin the groaning party, Martha stayed behind to pack her things. With her faith refreshed and her spirit renewed, she checked on Lena one last time, found her resting well, and returned to the kitchen.

After celebrating by devouring several pieces of fruitcake, Martha learned Louisa would be staying on as an afternurse and gave her the necessary instructions. Anxious to return home before dark, given the brewing storm, Martha dressed for the ride home and got Victoria to do the same.

With several new coins in her bag, a rare but welcome reward, Martha tied her stool and bag in place, mounted Grace, and helped Victoria to sit astride behind her. When they got out of the barn into the twilight, Martha looked up at the ominous sky and groaned.

“Wait! Miss Victoria, wait! Papa said yes!”

Eight-year-old Tillie Stern, the oldest of the brood, ran from the house with her little hands cupped in front of her. When she got a few yards from Grace, she paused and kept a good distance between them. “Papa said you could have this one,” she said proudly.

She opened her hands, and a tiny white kitten meowed pitifully.

Martha looked over her shoulder at Victoria. A guilty blush stained her cheeks. “I didn't tell her I would take one of the kittens for sure. I just said I would love to have one, if I could.”

Martha chuckled. “And you expected an eight-year-old to understand the difference?”

“It's an adorable little kitten,” Victoria noted.

“Adorable or not, you're leaving in two days,” Martha argued.

“I don't want to hurt Tillie's feelings. I'm sure Mrs. Morgan wouldn't mind if I took the kitten along. If she does, then I'll . . . I'll think of something.” Before Martha could prick a
hole in that argument, Victoria reached down. “I'd love to have the white one. Bring it a little closer, Tillie.”

The little girl took a few steps and rose on tiptoe. Victoria took the kitten and promptly tucked it beneath her cape. “Thank you. I'll let you know what I name him.”

Tillie giggled. “It's not a boy kitten. It's a girl. Like me!”

“Oh! Then I suppose I'll have to give her a girl's name, won't I? Hurry now. Go back inside. It's too cold for you to be outside without your coat.”

After Tillie skipped her way back into the house, Victoria put one of her arms around her mother's waist. Martha clicked the reins and urged Grace to start for home. “Don't say a word, Victoria Jane. Just listen. So help me, I will not, I repeat,
not
take care of that kitten for you. Not once. And if Mrs. Morgan has the sense I credit her with having, she'll make sure you give that kitten back or find it another home. Make sure you keep her tucked in tight. We've got to hurry or we're going to get caught in a snowstorm.”