The Midwife's Dilemma (3 page)

I
f this was a dream, it was the absolute best dream she'd had in many months.

Martha kept her eyes firmly shut and held perfectly still in her cot for fear of bringing this sweet dream to an abrupt and disappointing end. The fact that she had eaten the entire basket of goodies from the groaning party before taking to her bed was irrelevant.

The aroma of cinnamon and honey was so strong, her mouth began to water. She could almost taste one of Fern's strudels. Or was it one of her kuchens or one of Ivy's pies? When she risked taking a deeper breath, she detected just a hint of molasses that inspired visions of thick molasses cookies that were so vivid her sweet tooth begged to be satisfied.

But when her stomach growled, she realized that unless she ended this dream right here and right now, she would spend every day until those two sisters returned craving their sweet treats beyond all reason—and every night praying for forgive
ness for coveting them. Resigned to that sad reality, she sighed and then forced herself to open her eyes and sit up.

She had pulled back the drapes to let in the warm summer air before she'd crawled into bed. In all truth, the air had turned much cooler while she slept, and the afternoon light coming into the room was dimmed by an overcast sky. Dismissing the muted voices she heard as nothing more than last-minute shoppers passing by on their way home, she took a good long stretch and let go of the silly notion that one of the voices she'd heard had been Ivy's. But when she drew several deep breaths to clear her head, her heart leaped with pure bliss, then leaped again.

She
did
smell cinnamon and honey and molasses and . . . and it
was
Ivy's voice she heard. And Fern's, too. And they weren't outside at all—they were right downstairs in the kitchen. “They're home! They're finally home!” she cried, and her heart whispered back,
Maybe Thomas is, too.

She quickly set that thought aside and slipped a fresh gown on. When she brushed her hair, she remembered the bump on her head a bit too late, but she had no doubt the bump would disappear faster than the memory of Victoria's escapade would.

Across from her cot, Bird was in his cage, walking back and forth on his perch, apparently as anxious for a few crumbs of a sweet treat as she was. When he began chirping at her, she chuckled. “You'll have a treat tonight. I promise.” She then fixed her hair in a simple knot at the nape of her neck like she usually wore and slipped out the door.

Martha rushed down the staircase, and the lower she got, the stronger the sweet aromas became, overwhelming the smell of raw wood that had permeated the shop after the recent renovations the sisters had ordered before leaving on the trip. Even hungrier to reunite with her friends and to fuel her lonely spirit than she was for sweets, she opened the door at the bottom of
the staircase only to discover she had used the wrong staircase. Instead of being in the kitchen in the back, she was standing in the shop at the front of the building.

Rather than waste time and retrace her steps, she practically ran through the expanded shop area, past the new display tables that were still waiting to be filled with all sorts of sweet treats again. When she reached the new swinging door that opened up into the kitchen, she shoved it open. She did not realize she had hit the door too hard until it slammed against an inner wall and swung back again, so fast that the door would have hit her square in the face if she had not grabbed hold of it. Thoroughly embarrassed when she heard several screams of fright, she eased the door open this time and stepped into the kitchen wearing a sheepish grin.

Before she could offer a word of apology, Fern and Ivy came right over to her and embraced her from both sides.

Ivy furrowed her brow. “Martha! You're awake.”

Martha gave each of them a hug filled with months of longing. “I'm so sorry I frightened you both.”

“It's not your fault,” Ivy insisted, slipping her arm around Martha's waist. “I've been having trouble with that silly swinging door ever since we got back.”

Tempted to remind the two women that they were four months overdue, Martha simply opened her arms and urged Fern to do the same so all three of them could share one giant hug together. “I've missed you both something terrible,” she said and urged them closer still.

“And we've missed you, too, haven't we, Fern?” Ivy offered before she eased back and gave Martha a hard look. “You look peaked.”

“And a tad thinner, as well,” Fern added, stepping back to join her sister. “Not to worry. There's a cinnamon strudel in the oven that I made just for you.”

“And I made a small batch of molasses cookies and a couple loaves of anadama bread, which has a good portion of molasses in it, too,” Ivy added.

Martha chuckled and shook her head. Without the two sisters here for the past few months to tempt her daily with their sweet confections, she may have lost a bit of her girth, but Fern and Ivy still looked as plump and round as the scrumptious sweets they baked each week. “I hate to admit it, but I've actually had a dream or two about anything and everything you bake.”

Fern laughed for a moment, her blue eyes twinkling, but then her expression quickly sobered. “There's so much to tell you. Most of which can wait until later. I know you probably want nothing more than a bite to eat, but before you do, we have two very special people we want you to meet.” She glanced toward the far end of the kitchen to a new alcove with a window facing the side alley.

Martha's eyes followed her friend's glance, and her heartbeat quickened when she saw two women standing there. Complete strangers to Martha, one woman appeared to be slightly younger than she was, perhaps in her late thirties. She held hands with the other woman who, on second glance, appeared to be a girl who had only just reached womanhood. The woman's gaze seemed a bit haunted, as if concerned about meeting Martha, but the young woman wore a smile that was almost too genuine.

Fern quickly introduced Martha to Widow Jane Trew and her daughter, Cassie. In stature, Jane was built more like Martha's brother, James, who was also uncommonly tall and reed thin. Her posture, however, hinted at a strength that belied her frame. Her blond hair was mixed with white, and she wore it parted down the middle and joined at the back in a single braid that hung over her shoulder. Her complexion was equally pale,
but her light blue eyes offered a steady gaze that met Martha's and held it.

“I've heard a great deal about you, Widow Cade. It's an honor to finally meet you,” Jane offered.

“Call me Martha, please,” she replied, curious to know if the two sisters had brought houseguests back with them and how long they might be staying, or if Jane and her daughter were simply traveling companions they had met along the way home. She looked directly at the younger woman and smiled. “And you must be Cassie.”

The young woman edged just a bit closer to her mother. “Yes, ma'am,” she murmured and lowered her head.

“Cassie's a bit shy at first, but she'll warm up once she gets to know you,” Jane offered and slipped her hand free to put her arm around her daughter's shoulders.

Unlike her mother, Cassie was short and round all over. She had her mother's pale features, but she had a sprinkling of freckles across her chubby cheeks, just like Martha did. With a short, upturned nose and her hair in pigtails, she had a childish look that did not match her womanly curves.

Martha was stymied at guessing the girl's age. Curious to know how old she was for sure, she smiled at Cassie again. “My daughter, Victoria, should be home shortly. She's eighteen, and I know she'll be happy to meet a young woman close in age like you are.”

When Cassie looked up and smiled at her mother, her eyes were filled with the innocence of a girl much younger. “I'm nineteen, aren't I, Mother?”

“Yes, my dear, and a very fine young lady, too,” Jane said with a gentle but protective edge to her voice.

Cassie beamed. “And I can work really, really hard. I like licorice root; do you?”

“Indeed I do,” Martha offered. Cassie might physically be an adult, but her mind appeared to be a good bit younger, which meant that, unlike Victoria, Cassie had few options in her future and Jane had responsibilities as a mother that would probably never end.

“But there's no licorice root until after dinner and no work today. Not for either of you,” Fern insisted, then turned to Martha to explain. “With all the renovations that were made while we were gone to expand the confectionery, we realized that we'd be needing more help. We met Jane and her daughter in Pennsylvania, and we knew right away that they were just the ones we were looking for, didn't we, Ivy?”

“We did. Right off,” Ivy replied, nodding her agreement, as well. “We convinced them both to join our household, which is a story we'll share with you later.”

Caught by total surprise, Martha still managed a smile. “I hope you'll be as happy here as my daughter and I are.”

Jane returned her smile and held her daughter tight. “Thank you. I hope we will be.”

“Jane, why don't you and Cassie let me show you both upstairs so you can get yourselves settled in the sitting room, at least temporarily. Tomorrow we'll decide how we're going to rearrange things so you two have a proper bedroom. Ivy, perhaps you might want to give a thought to supper. Try to make it a little special so Jane and Cassie don't change their minds about wanting to live here with us, and maybe you and Martha can keep watch over the oven until I get back. There's still one more strudel in there, and I don't want it to burn,” Fern said, then shooed Jane and her daughter toward the staircase that Martha had intended to use earlier.

While the three of them took to the stairs, Martha tried to silence the questions that hammered at her brain. Exactly how
did Fern and Ivy meet Jane and her daughter? Did they have experience as household help, or were they simply two more people like Martha and Victoria who needed a home? Further yet, had Fern and Ivy actually resolved the problem that had led them east to keep the truth about their past hidden?

Closer to her own heart, Martha wondered if Thomas had escorted them home. But Victoria blew into the kitchen that very moment, like a sudden gust of wind. She went straight to her mother and gave her a hearty hug. “When I was here earlier to welcome everyone home again, I checked on you, but you were sleeping. I had a feeling that once there was something scrumptious baking, you'd be down here waiting to devour it the moment it came out of the oven. I figured I'd probably get to see you when I stopped back to pick up the strudel Miss Fern promised to make for Aunt Hilda,” she teased.

Martha pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead. “I've missed you,” she said and wondered if her daughter had been too busy spending time with Dr. McMillan to miss her at all.

“I'm glad you're home, but if it's all right, I'd like to spend another night or two at Aunt Hilda's. There's a lot of heavy cleaning to do, and I'd really like to help her.”

Rather than suggest that Victoria would have had even more time to help Aunt Hilda if she had spent less time with Dr. McMillan, Martha nodded. “It's perfectly fine, but what about your work at Dr. McMillan's?” she asked, offering her daughter an opportunity to mention her new relationship with the doctor.

Victoria shrugged before whirling away to pick up the basket sitting on the table. “He'll hardly notice I'm not there. Is this the strudel for Aunt Hilda?”

“It is, and we packed up some molasses cookies, too,” Ivy offered. “Everything's still a bit warm, so carry it carefully.”

“I will. I'll see you all in a few days,” she offered, leaving just as abruptly as she had arrived.

Although Martha was disappointed not to have Victoria home for another night or two, she accepted the opportunity to have more time to decide what she was going to do about the affection that had apparently developed between Victoria and Dr. McMillan—affection her daughter did not appear to be in any hurry to admit.

At the moment, Martha was anxious to learn all the details of the journey Fern and Ivy had undertaken in order to resolve, once and for all, the secrets of the past that had forced them to live in fear and move from one small town to another for the past ten years. Since they had brought additional household help back with them and Fern had said they were home for good, Martha could only assume that they had indeed accomplished the purpose of their journey.

The only question Martha had at this point was a simple one that no doubt had a very complicated answer: How had they managed to do it?

W
hile I check to see if there's anything we can use to make a proper supper, why don't you set the table?” Ivy suggested and headed to the larder.

Happy to have something productive to do, if only to focus on something other than all the questions she had, Martha smiled. “Soup is always good, and it'll be done in no time. There's enough ham left on the bone from yesterday's dinner in there and a decent-sized basket of early peas Mr. French gave me as part of a reward just last night.” She quickly told her about delivering the newest little French late last night. “With your anadama bread, ham-and-pea soup would make a special meal. Especially since we have Fern's cinnamon strudel baking in the oven for dessert,” she teased.

Ivy, who was already poking around the larder, grabbed something and turned about wearing a hint of a frown. Holding the basket of peas and a small ham bone in front of her, she shrugged. “I can bake just about everything. I can manage
making most things for our meals, as well, but I'm not much good at making soup.”

When she held up the ham bone, her frown deepened. “I don't think we can do much with the little ham that's left on this bone—”

“But there's more than enough ham, and I'm good at making soup. Between the two of us, we should be able to make quick work of shelling these peas if we do it together,” Martha countered, pleased that the corners of Ivy's lips were beginning to form a smile.

Changing directions, Martha donned a work apron before she took two bowls from the cupboard, a large one to hold the empty pods and a smaller one for the sweet peas inside. “I'll help you, but I need to take a few minutes first to rescue as much ham from that bone as I can and make a good broth. Once that's started on the cookstove, I'll help you shell the peas. How does that sound?”

Ivy smiled and started in on the peas. “It sounds as if my sister is going to be very proud of the first meal we serve to Jane and young Cassie.”

“I think you're right,” Martha replied. She took the large pot from atop the cookstove, sat down opposite Ivy, then found a paring knife and started carving off every bit of ham she could, as well as a bit of fat that would help flavor the soup.

Although she was bursting with curiosity, she did not want to broach the subject of the sisters' mission before Fern returned. Instead, she asked about the newest members of the household. “If you don't mind me asking, how are Jane and Cassie going to help out here in the confectionery?”

“Actually, we settled the matter with Jane before she accepted a position with us,” Ivy replied and tossed an empty pod in the larger bowl. “She'll take over most of the household chores,
cleaning and cooking and laundry and such, and she'll have Cassie help her. With all the renovations finished now, Fern expects we'll be baking almost double what we did before we left.”

Martha set down her knife and cocked her head. “Double? That would mean you'll be taking on an awful lot of work for yourselves, even with Jane and Cassie here to help out. Are you sure it won't be too much?” Guilt tugged at her conscience, reminding her that she had been called away so often after moving in here that she had not been able to help them as much as she should have.

Ivy shrugged and popped a few peas out of a pod so quickly they hopped all over the top of the table. “In all truth, I think Fern's being a bit unrealistic, but she needs to see that for herself. Unless there are thirty or forty hours to a day, which I suppose might be the case in the fairy-tale world Fern lives in these days, it won't take more than a couple of weeks for Fern to realize that for herself.”

Martha chuckled and turned the bone upside down to get at a bit of ham. “I'm afraid to admit this, but I sometimes wish I could live in that world with Fern, especially lately. Some days there just aren't enough hours.”

“And once in a while, some days have too many,” Ivy noted as she reached around the table to gather up the peas that had escaped.

“Now that you're back, I'll ask Victoria to help out more than she did before you left, and I'll make a better effort at helping you, too,” Martha promised, although between Victoria's hidden hopes to marry and Martha's own unsettled future, she was reluctant to share any thoughts of how long they would each continue to live there because she had no idea herself.

Ivy reached one hand over the table and stilled Martha's
hand. “You look so tired, dearie. Have you found anyone who might be interested in taking over your duties?”

Martha swallowed hard before letting out a long sigh. “Not yet, but I'm still hoping to find someone interested in developing her skills as a midwife. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be. Being summoned out so often makes it hard for me to be as helpful to you as I'd like to be.”

Ivy gently squeezed Martha's hand. “You have important duties as our midwife here in Trinity and for folks who live miles and miles away. We knew that your duties would always come first when we invited you to come live with us, as they must.”

Martha held firm. “Even so, I'd feel better if we could revisit the arrangements we made when I first moved in with Victoria. Instead of putting the full value of my rewards on my account, I'm going to tell Wesley Sweet to put half on yours.”

Wearing a frown again, Ivy continued with the peas. “As far as I'm concerned, that idea is wholly unnecessary and completely unacceptable. And, I might add, my sister will like your idea even less than I do.”

Martha scooped out the marrow from the center of the bone, then dropped it and the bone itself into the pot. She went to the sink and filled the pot half full with water. “Unless you can see my point of view—”

“Am I interrupting a squabble between the two of you?”

Caught by surprise, since she had not heard Fern return to the kitchen, Martha nearly dropped the pot.

Ivy piped up before Martha could say a word. “Not at all. Martha and I were just having a discussion,” she insisted and quickly summarized Martha's offer.

“Don't be ridiculous. If you do any such thing, I'll march straight down to the general store and make Wesley put whatever the amount is back on your account,” Fern quipped.

“I think we need to discuss this further,” Martha insisted before setting the pot on top of the cookstove to bring it to a simmer.

“Since Jane and Cassie are going to rest upstairs for a while, why don't we spend our time talking about Thomas, instead? I suspect you'd prefer news of him, rather than continue a discussion that will provoke my sister and me into an argument you're destined to lose anyway,” Fern stated. She nudged Martha aside, opened the oven door to check on her strudel, and promptly closed it. “Just about ready,” she announced before making her way to the cupboard for a couple of heavy cloths she would soon need to take the strudel out of the oven.

At the mention of Thomas's name, Martha's heart started beating just a little faster, and she tried to keep her voice steady. “Thomas returned with you, I assume.”

“He did. We couldn't have accomplished what we did without his help,” Fern assured her before returning and taking the bubbly cinnamon strudel out of the oven. “I really must apologize for keeping him away for so long. He made us promise to let him know the moment you got back. Dear man that he is, he missed you, but he held fast to his promise to help me in my mission.”

“
Our
mission,” Ivy reminded her. She grabbed a large tin plate and walked over to Fern.

Smiling, Fern eased the strudel from the baking pan to the plate with a spatula. While Ivy returned to finish the last handful of peas, Martha took her seat again, and when the sisters joined her, Fern placed the sweet treat right in front of her.

“Don't cut off more than a little slice. That's our dessert after supper,” Ivy cautioned.

Fern nodded. “And you best let it cool a couple of minutes, or you'll burn your mouth.”

“It might be worth it,” Martha teased. She cut off a thin
wedge from one steaming end and dropped it onto the plate Ivy had placed in front of her. Despite how badly her mouth was watering, Martha decided to let the strudel cool, along with her burning desire to get answers to her many questions about Thomas.

“I can only imagine how difficult it was to travel as far as you did, especially since it was winter when you left,” Martha stated, hoping that introducing the topic might lead right to the heart of her most pressing question.

Ivy sighed, then rose and dumped the empty pods into a slop bucket. “Not as difficult as untangling the legal quagmire we found waiting for us in Philadelphia, even after we found Mr. Pennington. Fortunately, Thomas is a lawyer, so his help was invaluable. He even helped us sell off the pieces of family jewelry Fern had taken when she escaped from her bully of a husband instead of returning them—which you know is why we went to Philadelphia in the first place. Thank heavens everything is settled now.”

Martha's mouth dropped open. “You sold the jewelry instead of returning it? I thought your husband had been searching for you for nearly fifteen years to get the Pennington family jewelry back.”

“He had wanted it
all
back, even the pieces I still have that he had given to me as gifts, but he wanted to find me and punish me for leaving him even more,” Fern whispered. Still sitting at the end of the table, she took one of Martha's hands, then reached across the table to take one of Ivy's hands, as well. “We discovered many things about Mr. Pennington while I was gone. According to what we were able to learn, he wasn't even my husband anymore. He divorced me several years ago.”

She paused for a moment to swipe away a tear. “As scandalous as it is to admit, I'm a divorced woman. In Philadelphia, at
least, I think
divorcée
is the term they use now.” She shuddered, as if the scandalous label were too much to bear.

Ivy snorted. “What he did to you was awful. He should have just let the two of you live apart. To most folks hereabouts, or in the city for that matter, it's not proper to be divorced at all, so it really doesn't matter what term you use.”

Fern's cheeks turned the same bright shade of pink as the blossoms on mountain laurel. “Which is why I don't want anyone in Trinity to know about the divorce or that I'd become a runaway wife because he nearly killed me. I took some of the family jewelry completely by accident when I left. I only intended to take the jewelry that he gave me each time he begged for forgiveness after beating me.”

Ivy shook her head. “You don't have to worry about any of those things anymore, and you don't need to even consider yourself a divorced woman.”

The more the sisters bantered back and forth, almost completely ignoring Martha, the more confused she became. But when they started arguing the difference between a divorced woman's status and reputation as opposed to a widow's, she broke her silence. “Since I know almost nothing about your experiences in Philadelphia, this conversation is confusing. I think you've drifted into matters that aren't really relevant,” she suggested.

Startled into silence, both sisters stared at her, as if they had both just realized that she was sitting there.

“But it's entirely relevant,” Fern argued. “God be just and merciful, Mr. Pennington died a little over a year ago.”

“He's dead?” Martha blurted, shocked by the one possibility she had not even considered when the sisters had left to find him.

“Yes, he is,” Ivy replied. “So in my opinion, which is wholly different from Thomas's legal point of view and my sister's,
she's earned the right to be called a widow and respected as such,” Ivy argued.

“Maybe we should slow down a bit and explain to Martha exactly what we learned as we learned it,” Fern offered.

Ivy shrugged and got to her feet. “It's mostly your tale. Tell it as you want. I'll just fill in if you forget something important. But first, I'm going to set some water to boil so we can all have some tea.”

Still reeling from the news they had just shared with her, Martha decided now would be the right time to sample her piece of cinnamon strudel so that her mouth would be full and she would not be tempted to interrupt either one of them again.