The Midwife's Dilemma (17 page)

The answer that slipped from the very depths of her soul made her heart quiver and left her with a dilemma unlike any she had ever confronted before: Marry Thomas and trust in the promise he made to be patient every time she was summoned away? Or set him free, afraid he would not be able to keep that promise, and lose him?

Her heart pounded, and she drew a long breath. “I accept your new proposal, Thomas.” She swallowed hard. “I'll either marry you the very day you return, or I'll set you free, as you've asked, to find and marry a woman who deserves you so much more than I do.”

His expression softened, and he accepted her promise by pressing both of her hands between his. They sat together in silence, side by side. No more words or promises were necessary.

M
artha needed time by herself to fully absorb all the ramifications of Thomas's new proposal before her children returned.

Anxious to avoid customers in the confectionery, she decided against using the front door and walked to the alley, but the moment she turned the corner of the building, she spied Bella tethered next to the back door licking off the remains of several baking pans and felt an all-too-familiar dread pool in the pit of her stomach.

How or why that troublesome horse was here mattered a whole lot less than the simple fact that Thomas was not here to get her back into a stall at his house. He had already left to check on his cabin at Candle Lake.

Which meant Martha had no choice but to do it herself.

She blinked back tears of frustration. “At least she looks tethered well,” she grumbled and proceeded very, very slowly down the alley so she would not spook the horse. She also kept her distance from the horse as she tugged all the baking pans
away. She cautiously set them inside the back door, never fully turning her back on the mare, and noticed the crude note tied to the horse's mane.

Whispering gentle words, she reached out to work the note free. She got a head-butt on her arm in the process and stepped well beyond Bella's reach to read the scribbled message:

I found your horse behind the new bank.

Ask Mr. Dillon to put the reward on my account at the store.

Luke Morgan

She crumpled the note and glared at the horse. “For goodness' sake, Bella, why can't you run away to someplace where you can find a decent home and folks won't keep bringing you back here for a reward that isn't supposed to be a reward anymore? As soon as my son gets back, I'm going to ask him to walk around town until he finds someone willing to take you for free so I can be well rid of you.”

When Bella snorted and pawed the ground with her front hoof, Martha lost her temper. “Fine. Have it your way. That's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to give you away and . . . and I'm going to put up posters with your new owner's name!”

“I'll take her, Widow Cade!”

Still fuming and thoroughly embarrassed that anyone witnessed her diatribe, Martha turned about to find Will standing in the middle of the alley wearing a wide grin. “What on earth would you do with a horse, considering you think all horses are dumb and useless?”

He shrugged, then approached and handed her his school report. “She likes me, so I guess she's not that dumb.” He walked
around her to stand alongside Bella and stroke the mare's neck. “I wanted to keep her the first time I found her, but Mr. Samuel said I couldn't 'cause she belonged to someone else. He'll let me keep her now if she belongs to me. I know he will.”

Martha glanced at his school report, smiled at his achievements in the classroom the past school year, and returned it to him before she put her hands on her hips. “I doubt you're able to ride a horse or know anything about taking care of one.”

Will arched his back and stiffened his shoulders. “Can't be too hard to learn. You did.”

She suppressed a grin. “And just where do you think you're going to keep her?”

“Right in that pasture where I found her a couple of weeks back. Me and Mr. Fancy can build a fence for now and a lean-to near the cabin for when it gets cold. We got lotsa time for that now 'cause school's not in session,” he insisted, and his eyes began to sparkle.

Truly tempted to give the boy what he wanted, she had to be certain he could handle the responsibility of owning the animal. “Before I give you Bella outright, you need to prove you're up to the task of caring for her and that she won't keep running off, so I'm going to hire you to take care of her for the rest of the summer. I'll tell Mr. Sweet at the general store that you'll be stopping by from time to time to get feed for the horse. And you'll have to give her some sweets now and then so she doesn't keep running back here.”

He narrowed his gaze. “How much you payin' me?”

When she cocked a brow, he shrugged. “If you're hirin' me to take care of your horse, you must be willin' to pay me, but if she was my horse, you wouldn't hafta pay nothin'.”

“I'll discuss your wages with Samuel, after you get his permission, of course,” she insisted, rather doubtful that Samuel
would consider this idea for more than half a minute before rejecting it. “In the meantime—”

“I'll take her with me,” the boy countered. “Don't worry about Mr. Samuel and Mr. Fancy. Nobody can resist her once they get to know her. 'Cept for you,” he added with a grin.

“Take her,” Martha replied, “but if Samuel upends this plan of ours, just walk her back to the stables at Mr. Dillon's, and I'll find someone else who wants her.”

“Mr. Samuel won't do that,” Will insisted. He untied the horse, turned her about, and walked her past Martha. Bella was just as docile as you please.

Still stymied by not knowing the name of the anonymous giver of this “reward” in the first place, she went back inside. With all that was happening in her life right now, this was one problem she could do without, and now it looked like she could—at least until Samuel nixed it.

Trouble, however, was waiting for her back in the kitchen. Cassie was still sitting at the table, as pale as a sugarloaf, and she had a bloody towel wrapped around one of her hands. A paring knife and the pile of carrots she must have been peeling lay on the floor, splattered with blood.

Blinking back tears, Cassie offered her a tremulous smile. “Poor Miss Fern. She almost swooned when she saw all this blood.”

“What about you?” Martha asked, but before she could reach the girl, Jane flew down the steps and hurried straight to her daughter.

“I've got what I need now,” Jane stated. Noting Martha standing there, she nodded toward the water pump. “I could use some fresh water and a clean cloth, as well as some bandages to wrap Cassie's hand. Miss Fern is just changing out of her blood-stained gown, but I'd rather not wait for her to help me.”

Struck by the oddity of following orders instead of giving
them, Martha secured everything Jane had asked for, placed them onto the table, and removed the ruined carrots to give her more room to work.

Jane had already removed the bloody towel and quickly used a fresh towel dampened with water to clean her daughter's hand. When she did, Martha saw that the girl had sliced the flesh from the tips of her four fingers, which were thankfully no longer pulsing out huge amounts of blood. While the injury itself was not serious enough to be life-threatening, it did pose the possibility of easily becoming infected.

Jane poured a good amount of honey onto the tip of each finger and wrapped each with bandages to keep the healing honey in place. “I hope you don't mind, but since you weren't here, I helped myself to some of the lavender you had in your room to make her some tea to help ease the pain.”

“Not at all. I'll heat some water,” Martha responded, quite impressed not only by how calmly and efficiently Jane was handling the emergency, but also, again, by her apparent knowledge of healing remedies, particularly the honey. Curious to know how Jane had acquired such knowledge and skill, she asked her point-blank.

“Credit should go to my mother, I suppose,” Jane said. The crisp tone of her voice left no doubt that she had no interest in saying anything more, leaving a silence in the air as uneasy as it had been when Martha asked her to consider being her replacement. Martha did not know if Jane's reluctance to discuss the matter further was due to some sort of strained relationship with her mother or not, but she was wise enough to let the matter drop for now.

Fortunately, the tea was ready, and Martha turned her attention to Cassie. Martha placed the cup onto the table in front of her and asked, “Would you like some honey in your tea?”

“Just cream, please.”

Although she had never heard of anyone putting cream into lavender tea, Martha smiled and added the cream. “Why don't you let your mama take you upstairs so you can drink your tea and rest awhile? Don't worry about all this, Jane,” she added. “I'll clean up here and finish up the carrots, but I'd be grateful if you could check on Miss Fern while you're upstairs.”

“I'm right here,” Fern announced, stepping aside from her place at the bottom of the steps to let Jane escort her daughter upstairs.

“It's all my fault,” she said as she approached Martha. “I should never have given that girl such a sharp knife. She's just so anxious to help that sometimes I forget to keep an extra eye on her. Mr. Fancy seems to be doing a lot better job at that than I do. He watches out for that girl like she was his own blood and more precious than all those gaudy jewels he's got poked in his ears.”

Martha quickly shared with Fern what Samuel had told her about Fancy's late daughter.

“Even so,” Fern said, “I just can't figure out how he manages to be here every time she leaves on an errand—though we're all not grateful.”

When the vision of a certain spyglass came to mind, Martha chuckled. “Old seamen tend to be a bit quirky, at least the ones I've met so far. And you can't watch her every minute any more than you can keep her from trying to be helpful or learning to do as much as she can. It's not your fault she cut her fingers. It was an accident.” Martha cleaned up the table and donned a clean apron before she sat down. “I've got nothing else to do while I'm waiting for my children to return, so I might as well help you finish up these carrots.”

“If you peel the rest, I'll start grating these,” Fern suggested. “Did you happen to see that that awful horse was tied up by the back door again?”

“I did indeed,” she replied and quickly explained the arrangement she had made with Will.

“Do you think Samuel will let the boy keep the horse?”

Martha chuckled. “I doubt it, but once I explain how much longer that boy will be content to live on land if that horse is around instead of wanting to run off to sea again, I'm hoping I can convince him it's a good idea, at least for the summer.”

Their conversation was interrupted when a group of people poured into the kitchen from the front of the confectionery. Oliver, Victoria, and Dr. McMillan were the first to enter the room, but Comfort and the girls were not with them. When Reverend Welsh filed in last, Martha couldn't keep a small gasp of surprise from escaping. She hadn't known he'd returned. And she couldn't help but wonder if somehow her daughter and her future husband, aided by Oliver, had convinced the minister to marry them while Oliver was here visiting—and had brought him here to convince Martha to agree to the idea.

To be fair, Martha had suggested a similar idea, although at the time, she thought it would be at least Christmas before Oliver would come to visit.

“If ever I needed Your guidance and wisdom, it's now, Lord,” she whispered, silently praying that He would help her to convince everyone else, even Reverend Welsh, that it was far too soon for Victoria and Dr. McMillan to exchange the vows that would make them husband and wife.

Far too soon.

For Victoria?

Or for herself?

F
ern rose and offered the minister a huge smile. “Welcome back, Reverend Welsh. We've all missed you, haven't we, Martha?”

“Very much,” she managed, then noticed the wrapped confections he was holding in each of his hands. Perhaps she had misjudged the purpose for his visit to the confectionery. “I hope Mrs. Welsh is feeling better now.”

“She is, indeed. Sarah and I missed everyone here in Trinity while we were gone.” He chuckled. “But I have to confess that we missed these sweet desserts, as well.”

Victoria approached her mother wearing a nervous smile. “We'd just gotten back from taking Comfort and the girls with us to show them the farm where we grew up when we saw Reverend Welsh, so we . . . well, we invited him to join us all . . .”

“At Dr. McMillan's home,” Oliver added quickly. “Comfort's already taken the girls there, along with a good assortment of treats from the confectionery, and she's asking Mrs. Andrews to make some lemonade for us. Please come.”

“Go on, Martha. I can finish up here,” Fern insisted. “We'll make our supper a late one.”

Apparently, Martha had been so engaged talking with Thomas that she had not even seen that her children had come back. Sabotaged by everyone else present, Martha had no choice but to agree to join them for some refreshment. She paused just long enough to wipe her hands before retrieving her bonnet and tying it into place. “I'm glad we have the opportunity to be together since I've got something very important to discuss with you all, including Reverend Welsh,” she ventured, putting them all on notice that she was not about to relinquish her role as the matriarch of this family. She wasn't certain whether or not they understood her subtle message that she knew what they were about to propose, but if they did, they would have a good chance to think about that while walking back to Dr. McMillan's house.

And so would she.

Reverend Welsh's presence helped to mitigate the fact that the sitting room at Dr. McMillan's house was not a neutral domain. While the girls were downstairs with Rosalind, Oliver and Comfort sat together on the settee. Victoria and Dr. McMillan sat side by side in a pair of wooden chairs brought into the room and placed next to the newlyweds. Martha and Reverend Welsh, appropriately, sat facing the two young couples in very comfortable upholstered chairs.

Once the refreshments and fanciful conversation were well spent, Martha was ready to initiate a conversation that would address more pressing needs than Victoria's marriage.

“I wonder if any of you have given thought to where Oliver and his family are going to be staying while they're here. Obviously, there isn't room enough at the confectionery for everyone.”

Dr. McMillan smiled. “Since I have all sorts of empty rooms here, I've offered them a place here with me.”

“I have another idea that's much more suitable for a family of four, but you all need to keep what I'm about to tell you in strictest confidence since not all of the details are quite worked out yet,” Martha stated.

Reverend Welsh raised a brow. “Are you certain that you want me here?”

“Absolutely. I might need you as my ally. Is there anyone else who has any reservations?”

Everyone, including Oliver, shook their heads, but her son's expression was dubious at best.

“What's wrong?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “Nothing more than a healthy dose of curiosity. It's difficult to imagine that anywhere I choose to stay with my family during our visit would require such secrecy.”

Martha smiled and quickly explained that Aunt Hilda and her husband had left Trinity for good, but as far as anyone else in town was concerned, they were simply on an extended trip, on the odd chance that one or both of them might one day return. She also added the thought that the cottage would provide more room and some privacy for a family of four.

Oliver furrowed his brow. “If she doesn't have any plans to return, why did she even keep the cottage?”

Martha drew a deep breath. “She didn't. She gave it to me.”

Oliver cocked a brow, but Victoria gasped. “She gave you the cottage? You
own
it?”

“Not quite yet,” Martha admitted. “I won't actually own the cottage until I sign a document Aunt Hilda left for me and it's recorded properly. There's no rush to do that, though.”

“That was a generous and kind thing for her to do,” Reverend Welsh added.

Comfort, however, looked thoroughly confused, and Martha eased her concerns by suggesting that Oliver could explain her relationship with Aunt Hilda later.

“In the meantime,” Oliver suggested, “I can take a look at that document for you.”

Before Martha could reply, Victoria interrupted. “Does that mean we'll be moving out of the confectionery soon?”

“No. Not that I wouldn't love for us to have a home of our own again, but for now, there are a number of reasons why we won't be moving into the cottage. For one, since I'm often called away for days or weeks at a time, it wouldn't be proper for you to live there on your own when I'm gone,” she cautioned. She paused to organize her own thoughts before she admitted that she had not decided what to do about the cottage since her own plans for the future were a bit uncertain.

Oliver grinned. “I think it's a grand idea for us to stay in the cottage. It's just a short walk to town, and we wouldn't have to worry about overstaying our welcome with anyone. What do you think, Comfort?”

“I think I'd like to see the cottage first. The girls are very young, and I'd hate to spend all of our time there worrying about whether or not they'll break something valuable while they're playing or—”

“Once you see the cottage for yourself, you'll realize that's not something you'll have to worry about,” Martha insisted. In order to get back in time for supper and allow Oliver to get his family all settled in before dark, she asked Oliver to bring his family to the confectionery with her straightaway to get the key to the cottage and invited Victoria and Dr. McMillan to go with them.

Everyone agreed to leave right away, except for Oliver. “Before we go, I have a question or two to ask you, Mother, and
whether or not you decide to be stubborn about answering them honestly might keep us here until long after dark.”

She huffed at him before she pursed her lips. Having her lawyer son speak to her about being stubborn did not sit well, but rather than provoke an argument, she nodded for him to continue.

He grinned at her. “Let's assume that you're already the legal owner of the cottage. Would I be wrong to assume that your primary concern about moving into the cottage is first and foremost financial?”

Martha was embarrassed to discuss her financial situation with her children or with Reverend Welsh, for that matter. Her cheeks started to burn, but she could not lie to Oliver, any more than she could simply refuse to answer his question.

“Since your father died, I haven't had much choice,” she began. Speaking frankly but carefully, she explained that financial considerations would be first and foremost in any decision she made about where she might live or what she might do. “You've been gone a long time, Oliver, but the rewards I receive for the work that I do haven't changed. Frankly, some of the women and children I've treated now seek out Dr. McMillan instead of me.” She glanced at the doctor and smiled. “It's the way it is, and with Trinity growing, I know there's a need for an extra pair of hands more often than not.”

Oliver looked at his sister for a moment before he leaned forward, took a document out of his pocket, and handed it to Martha. “Consider your problem solved. Victoria and I want you to have this.”

When Martha's heart started to pound in her chest, she pressed the document to her lap. “What are you talking about?”

“We're talking about loving you and wanting the best for you,” Victoria offered. “We asked Reverend Welsh to be here
with us, just in case you get all stubborn and need a bit of convincing to accept our gift.”

“Why is it that both of my children find it quite appropriate to call me stubborn?” Martha snapped.

“Because you are, Martha,” Reverend Welsh said. “Apparently, you've got two fine children who've turned out to be just like their mother, at least in that regard.”

“I wish you'd all stop worrying about my faults and just tell me what you've done,” Martha said and waved the document in the air without looking at it.

Oliver smiled. “We did what was right.”

“And what was fair,” Victoria added. “Grandfather Cade had every right to design his will any way he chose, but Oliver and I have rights, too. We want to take care of you properly, and since Grandfather Cade chose not to do that, we did. Oliver and I have talked this over a great deal, and we discussed it with Comfort and Benjamin, too. And we all agreed that this is what we wanted to do.”

“That document you're scrunching up in your hand is rather important,” Oliver cautioned.

Martha immediately smoothed the paper against her lap, but her heart was still racing. Feeling guilty for assuming that her children had planned this little meeting to get Martha to agree to let Victoria marry within a matter of days or weeks, she had a hard time absorbing their true intentions. “What . . . what does it say?”

Oliver quickly explained that she now had a rather substantial sum of money deposited in her name at the First Bank of Trinity, enough to guarantee that she would be well able to afford most anything she needed or wanted.

Her eyes widened. The fact that she did not have to depend on her rewards or the charity of others to provide a home for
her was just as foreign as the idea that for the first time in her life, she was a woman of means, free to spend every day of her life exactly as she pleased.

Victoria smiled at her. “What we're really giving you, Mother, is an opportunity to freely choose how to spend the rest of your life and know that your financial situation won't dictate what that choice has to be.”

Martha shook her head, almost too overwhelmed by her children's gift to think very clearly. “B-but what about you? You can't just give away your inheritances. You have long lives ahead of you. You'll need—”

“We won't need any more than what we have left,” Oliver argued. “Trust me, Mother. We still have quite enough. Grandfather Cade was a lot wealthier than any of us imagined.”

Martha turned in her seat to face the minister and blinked back tears. “What should I do?”

Reverend Welsh took her hand. “As I see it, you can do one of two things. You can be stubborn and reject your children's gift. Or you can accept their generosity and enjoy the freedom that wealth brings to those who have it, as well as the responsibilities. Naturally, I suggest you do the latter.”

Sniffling, Martha searched in her pocket, found her handkerchief, and wiped away her tears. Earning enough funds to survive was all she had worried about as a widow, and the prospect of having more funds than she might ever need was almost more than she could comprehend. “Did you have to call me stubborn, too?”

He chuckled. “It's a sin to lie, Martha, and over the years I've discovered that being stubborn can even be a blessing at times. But it's a greater sin not to recognize a blessing when you receive it, and that's what this is. Your children's gift is a blessing. Can you accept that?”

Martha let out a long, long breath. She bowed her head for a moment and with every beat of her heart, she sent gratitude to heaven for a God who never abandoned her, for children who were very special indeed, and for a future where she could make all her choices based on what God led her to do—for herself and for others.

When she lifted her head, she looked at Oliver and Victoria first. They were both encouraging her to accept their gift by nodding their heads. She found Comfort smiling her approval, and even Dr. McMillan was nodding in agreement. Fortunately, the choice she had to make now was not a dilemma at all, and she pressed the document to her heart. “Rather than disappoint you, I accept your gift. Thank you.”

Oliver grinned, Victoria beamed, and Comfort wore a sheepish smile. “Can we go to see the cottage now?” she asked.

“Not before we all agree to keep Mother's gift confidential. I've only been back a day, but I've already noticed that the gossipmongers are just as fierce as they were the last time I came for a visit,” Oliver cautioned.

When no one objected to his comment, Martha started to rise, but Victoria urged her to remain in her seat. “Before we go, there's one more thing we should talk about first.” Victoria took Dr. McMillan's hand. “We don't want to wait until Christmas. We want to get married now, while Oliver's here,” she blurted and locked her gaze with her mother's. “It's only a matter of moving up our marriage a few months. Oliver's promised to try to make arrangements to stay for another few weeks, and now that they have the cottage to stay in, that shouldn't be a problem and . . . and Reverend Welsh said it would be all right if he only read the banns once or twice instead of three times and . . . and . . . please? Won't you let us get married now, Mother?”