The Midwife's Dilemma (15 page)

S
tanding only a few feet away from her son, Martha was in a state of pure euphoria from head to toe and hand to hand.

Every member of the household was gathered around her son. They were so enrapt by a tale he was telling that no one even realized she was standing there, and she took a moment to etch this image of Oliver among the many sketches of her children she had stored over the years in the scrapbook of her heart.

The finely tailored frock coat and trousers he wore clearly befitted his status as the grandson of a wealthy and prominent figure in Boston society, and it was nearly the same color as his dark brown hair. His tall, sturdy frame paid tribute to his heritage as the son of a man who loved life as a yeoman farmer, and he so closely resembled his father that she trembled.

In temperament, Oliver had always been a no-nonsense sort of boy who grew up preferring books and school over farming,
rarely ever thinking with his heart. In hindsight, it gave him a decided advantage as a lawyer, where his clinical nature could shine.

Martha's one and only contribution to his physical appearance was the deep dimples in his cheeks that appeared on the rare occasions when he smiled. Quite surprisingly, she had had a continuous view of his dimples from the first moment she had laid eyes on him today. He looked healthy, but more important, he looked happier than she had seen him in a very, very long time, and she could not believe how much he had changed since last summer when she had stopped in Boston while searching for her then-runaway daughter.

Anxious to hold him in her arms again, if only to prove that she was not in the middle of a dream, she cleared her throat. “Although you appear to be reveling in being the center of attention, Oliver, might you spare a moment to give your mother a proper welcome?”

Oliver grinned the moment he spied her and immediately broke free from his audience. “You're back!” he exclaimed and embraced her as though he, too, needed reassurance they were truly together again.

She was duly unsettled by the amount of happiness that washed over her and his uncommon exuberance. “You're such a dear to come all this way.” Martha stepped out of his embrace and stood on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. “When Victoria wrote to you with her news, we never even entertained the thought that you'd come in person to give her your reply. I just wish I'd been here the very moment you arrived. You look exceptionally well,” she gushed, too excited to have him home again to worry about how that might impact the date Victoria and Dr. McMillan would ask to be married.

“And you look exceptionally tired. How's your friend Samuel
doing?” he asked, without explaining why he had come all the way to Trinity instead of simply writing.

“He'll recover, but I doubt he'll listen to reason. I expect he'll be out and about again before he should.”

“Not everyone follows your orders, do they?” he teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “If you ladies wouldn't mind holding dinner just a little longer, I'd like to take my mother out for a little while.”

Martha looked around and realized that Victoria was not even there. “Where's your sister?”

“She suggested we meet at Dr. McMillan's to discuss a matter of great importance to all of us, which is what brought me here. She's waiting for us there,” he replied and led her down the hall to the back door.

Concerned that he might have come all this way to oppose his sister's betrothal, she paused the moment they stepped outside and he closed the door. “Did Victoria's letter upset you to the point that you felt compelled to travel here?”

He took her arm and guided her down to the end of the alley before he answered her. “Apparently I left Boston before her letter even arrived. I had no idea she'd become betrothed until she told me so a few hours ago,” he replied and stopped to let several riders pass by before escorting her across the roadway.

Martha's heart skipped a beat. Rather than worry about the nature of the news he wanted to share with them, she asked him outright. “What's wrong? Does your news have anything to do with your grandfather? Have you two had a falling out?”

He let out a long sigh. “What I've come to tell you has everything to do with Grandfather, which I'll explain once we're all together.” He ushered her across the covered bridge and into the doctor's house without saying anything more.

Once they were inside, Martha learned Dr. McMillan had
left with Thomas not long after she had been there and had not returned. She led her son upstairs to the sitting room, where Victoria was waiting for them.

By this point Martha's mind was tormented by memories of Graham Cade that soured her mouth and lodged like a boulder in the pit of her stomach. If that man had caused any hurt to Oliver even remotely like the pain he had inflicted on the boy's father, she had every intention of riding straight to Boston to give him a good tongue-lashing.

She needed every inch of patience she possessed to rein in her questions. Hopeful that Oliver would get straight to the heart of the matter, she sat down next to her daughter on the settee and noted the look of concern and curiosity on her daughter's face that matched her own feelings.

Oliver picked up an upholstered chair, set it directly in front of them, and unbuttoned his frock coat before he sat down. His expression sobered. “I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news. A month ago, Grandfather suffered a mishap at home.”

“What sort of mishap?” Victoria asked.

He moistened his lips. “He tripped and fell down the central staircase. Despite the efforts of some of the finest doctors in the city, he succumbed to his injuries several days later. As he set forth in his will, he was buried in the family plot in Boston.”

When Victoria's eyes widened, Martha took her by the hand. Since the girl had had little contact with her grandfather, she suspected Victoria was reacting more to the idea of death itself rather than losing a grandfather she barely knew and had not seen for a good number of years. “I'm sorry, Oliver,” Martha said. “I know you admired him a great deal.”

He nodded. “He wasn't an easy man to know or to love, for any number of reasons, but he was very good to me, and . . .
and in the end, I believe he tried to be as fair as he could allow himself to be.”

Martha cocked a brow. “How do you mean?”

Before he answered, he took a sheaf of papers from an inner pocket in his frock coat and laid them on his lap. “I didn't notify you of his death right away or come here sooner because I had to resolve a number of legal matters first. Rather than leave the executor to send you this news by post, I've brought his letter with me to confirm what I'm about to tell you.”

Martha tightened her hold on Victoria's hand and tried to prepare herself to accept the likelihood that Graham Cade had favored Oliver in his will and left little or nothing of his considerable estate to Victoria.

“I hardly knew our grandfather, and I always knew he favored you. I don't expect to receive anything from him, so you needn't worry that I'll be upset,” Victoria said and squeezed Martha's hand.

Oliver smiled. “Then prepare yourself to be as pleasantly surprised as I was,” he replied and tapped the papers with the palm of his hand. “Other than generous donations to several of his favorite charities, Grandfather directed that his entire estate be split between the two of us according to custom, with two-thirds assigned to me and the other third to you, Victoria.” He sorted through the papers to find the ones he wanted. “I've placed your inheritance into a separate equitable estate, which means that your inheritance will remain yours and yours alone. Even after you marry, your husband will have no legal claim to your inheritance,” he assured her as he handed the papers to her.

Victoria held the papers with both hands and stared at them. “He did that for me? Truly?”

“He did, which means . . . well, it means we're each wealthy,” he said, but his expression grew troubled when he looked at
Martha. “I'm so sorry, Mother. Grandfather left specific instructions to the executor to make certain you received nothing at all and—”

“That's utterly selfish and hateful,” Victoria spat and tossed her papers to the side. “If it wasn't for Mother, you and I wouldn't be here. She deserved something from him.”

Martha treasured her children's concern for her but waved it away. “Your grandfather always blamed me for your father turning his back on his birthright, so I never had any expectations of receiving anything from him. I'm just thrilled that he recognized
both
of you as his proper heirs,” she countered. It was altogether amazing that both of her children would have lives of considerable comfort, as would her future grandchildren.

She drew in a long breath and smiled at both of her children. “Although your grandfather's death is sad indeed, I do believe it would be entirely appropriate to celebrate his generosity today.”

Victoria beamed. “And to celebrate my betrothal. Since Oliver is here, maybe we can even set a date for my wedding,” she suggested.

Oliver rose and stored the remaining papers back inside his frock coat. “If I may, I'd like to add something else we can celebrate,” he offered as a blush spread across his cheeks and moved down the length of his neck.

“What other reason could you possibly have, other than the fact that you're now a wealthy and very eligible bachelor?” Victoria teased.

His flush deepened from pink to crimson. “Wait right here, and I'll show you. I'll be right back. I promise. Just don't . . . don't leave,” he insisted before leaving the two of them sitting there altogether confused and decidedly curious.

Nearly an hour later, Martha and Victoria had exhausted every possibility they could imagine about what Oliver would
be bringing back with him, and they could not decide which was more likely. Was Oliver going to bring back some sort of proof that he was going to move back to Trinity? Not likely at all. Was he going to show them an announcement that he was going to leave his grandfather's law firm to start his own? That made no sense. Or was he going to leave on a tour of Europe, something he had always wanted to do, but had never gotten the permission he needed from his grandfather? Maybe.

Martha was on the verge of sending Victoria to the confectionery to urge everyone to start dinner without them when footsteps coming down the hall kept her in her seat. When Oliver started into the room, she was about to chastise him for taking so long . . . until she saw that he was not alone.

He had a woman with him, along with two very little girls, each holding on to one of the woman's hands. Wearing a broad smile, he led them directly to stand in front of the settee. “Mother. Victoria. I'd like to present my wife, Comfort, and my new daughters, Lucy, who is almost four now, and Hannah, who just turned three.”

M
artha tried to wrap her thoughts around the preposterous idea that she had become both a mother-in-law and a grandmother in the little time it took for Oliver to utter a few words.

Comfort looked to Martha and offered her a nervous smile. “I'm honored to meet you, Mother Cade. Oliver has told me of the important work you do,” she offered before turning to Victoria. “Oliver told me just a few moments ago that you'd just recently become betrothed. You must be incredibly excited.”

Victoria clapped her hands, leaped to her feet, and stared back and forth between Comfort and her brother. “Married? You two are married? When did this happen?”

Oliver grinned. “Nearly two weeks ago, the day before we left Boston to come to Trinity.”

Comfort blushed. “We decided to make this trip a wedding trip of sorts, and we both agreed that this would also be a good way for the girls to get to know their new grandmother and aunt.”

As Victoria bantered back and forth with her brother and his wife about their courtship, which apparently had been rather short, Martha was still reeling from Oliver's news and his shocking decision to marry a widow with two young children.

Instead of interrupting them, she kept her focus on the woman who had claimed her son's heart. Comfort was a petite, slender woman with eyes the color of a strong cup of tea. Her dark gray gown was made of rather ordinary fabric and the design was a bit severe, but a band of needlework on the collar and the cuffs of each sleeve was exquisite. The top of her bonnet barely reached her son's shoulder, giving Martha just a glimpse of pale brown hair held firmly away from a delicate, oval-shaped face.

From a distance, Martha might have described Comfort as close in age to her son, who was twenty-four, but she was close enough to note the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and the laugh lines near her lips. This woman was a good number of years older than her son, which made his decision to marry her even more curious.

But Martha was also close enough to see that Comfort's expression was kind, her manner was gentle, and her eyes lit with absolute devotion every time she looked at Oliver. And it was that look of deep and abiding love in her eyes that encouraged this mother's heart to accept the idea that Oliver had chosen a woman who truly loved him.

Martha felt a tug on her skirts and looked down to see that Lucy and little Hannah had slipped free from their mother's grasp. Dressed in gowns the same color as their mother's and just as beautifully decorated with needlework, the girls wore straw bonnets that bore a bit of dust and dirt, just like the hems of their skirts. Although their little faces had been scrubbed clean, Martha suspected their mother had kept them busy play
ing somewhere outside while they had been waiting for Oliver to fetch them, if only to get rid of the energy they had stored up during their travels.

“Grandma? Can you bake some cookies for us?”

“Me want cookies, too.”

With one glance at those sweet little faces and the innocence shining in their dark brown eyes, Martha's heart melted and wrapped right around those two precious children. “I used to bake cookies for your new father when he was a little boy. I haven't baked anything at all for a long time, but I have an idea about how we might get some cookies for you,” she replied. She then urged Lucy to sit down beside her and chuckled when Hannah scrambled right up into Martha's lap.

Amazingly, love for these two little girls was as immediate and all-embracing as the love she had felt the first time she held one of her newborn babes in her arms. “Would you like me to tell you where we might get some cookies for you?” she asked as she hugged Lucy close to her.

When they both nodded hard enough to make the blond curls poking from the bottom of their bonnets bounce, she chuckled. “I live just a short walk away with your Aunt Victoria at the confectionery, where my friends bake lots and lots of cookies. We're going to have dinner there very soon, I hope, but I think you'll be able to eat some of the cookies you like best when it's time for dessert, don't you?”

Hannah leaned her head back until it rested on Martha's chest, just below her chin, and grinned up at her, but Lucy squealed with delight to seal the first promise Martha made to her granddaughters.

She nudged Hannah off of her lap just long enough to stand up and take each of the girls by the hand. Once she cleared her throat, hard, conversation stopped immediately, and she smiled
when Victoria and the others blushed, apparently realizing they had all been ignoring her, as well as the girls. “If any of you would care to join us, we're going to the confectionery for dinner. Otherwise, we'll see you all later—perhaps by then you'll have decided to include us in your gaiety,” she teased.

Waving off their attempts to apologize for ignoring her, Martha led the girls away, and the others followed along behind them. She entered the confectionery with the girls by way of the front door, but she sent the others around to the back. Relieved to find the shop empty, she took Lucy and Hannah directly to the room on the left, where Fern and Ivy had displayed the cookies they had made earlier that day, and decided to make her first act as a grandmother a memorable one.

Lucy was just tall enough to be able to see cookies displayed on the tabletop, but Martha had to hoist Hannah up on her hip to give the smaller girl the same advantage. “There's a custom here in Trinity that both of you should know about before you choose your cookies. You might not be old enough to understand the tradition completely, but for now, you should know that the girls and the women who live here in Trinity get together on very special occasions to celebrate how important it is to love one another and to help one another whenever we have a problem. And when we're all together during a snowstorm, too!”

The memory of the women who had gathered together last winter, right here in this confectionery, to start this tradition while they hatched a plan to help young Nancy Clifford escape her abusive husband, warmed her heart yet again before she continued. “When we do get together, we celebrate by eating sweets instead of our dinner. Does that sound like something you'd like to do with me today? To have cookies for your dinner?”

Lucy grinned. “Yes!”

“Yes!” Hannah echoed.

“Then let's pick out your cookies and take them with us to the kitchen,” Martha suggested and helped them each choose two cookies. Lucy wanted two of the sugar cookies, while Hannah preferred the molasses. Martha helped herself to several of each before she took them back to the others. “After we go to the kitchen, I want you to meet a little friend of mine,” she said, certain the girls would be fascinated with Bird.

Everyone was here now, standing around babbling, but this time it was Comfort who was truly the center of attention. At least, she was the focus until Martha entered the room with those two darling girls.

Before they all surged forward, she held up her hand and stopped them cold. “My granddaughters and I are dining upstairs in my room, but there's no need to send up dinner. The three of us are going to follow a very important tradition today, which means we've got our dinners right here in our hands. I'll bring the girls down afterwards and give you all a chance to meet them.”

Fern and Ivy covered their mouths with their hands but failed to smother their chuckles. Jane and Cassie wore expressions of total surprise, while Victoria and Oliver merely grinned and shook their heads. Martha, however, waited to see the most important reaction of all—from Comfort.

Her new daughter-in-law looked down at the cookies they were carrying and let out a very long breath that made Martha's heart beat just a little faster while she waited for the woman to comment.

“Traditions are very important,” Comfort finally offered. “After eating their cookies, I think the girls will be very thirsty, so I'll bring up some milk for them. May I bring you something to drink as well, Mother Cade?”

Martha smiled. “A glass of milk for me too would be nice,”
she replied and took the girls upstairs, satisfied for now that God had indeed led her son to choose a wise and good woman for his wife.

When Martha woke up, the girls were still asleep, nestled on either side of her, and the sunshine filtering into the room hinted that it was rather late in the afternoon. She closed her eyes again, just for a moment, to savor the feel of their little bodies curved against her own and the smell of their cookie breath while they slept on.

As far as she was concerned, there was nothing on this earth that could compare to having a child to cuddle up with for an afternoon nap, but having two grandchildren beside her felt like sheer heaven. She looked over and saw that Bird was still in his cage, taking a nap, too, and she chuckled. The girls had gotten more cookie crumbs on the floor than they'd managed to slip into the cage, and Bird had wisely decided it was safer to stay in the cage when there were two giggling little girls in the room who wanted nothing more than to take turns cuddling the little bird, a request Martha had refused for fear they might accidentally crush him.

Reluctant to disturb the girls, she eased very gently from her cot to answer a soft rap at her door.

Comfort peeked in, looked at the girls, and smiled. “I was hoping they'd take a rest. After a rather arduous journey, this has been an eventful day for all of us. May I come in? I'm certain you're curious, and I'd like to tell you a bit about myself and answer questions you must have.”

“Perhaps we should talk somewhere else so we don't wake the girls,” Martha suggested, even though there was little privacy to be found anywhere else in the confectionery.

Comfort chuckled and slipped into the room. “Those two girls sleep through heavy storms and thunder. I doubt a little conversation will disturb them,” she countered, although she did keep her voice a little softer than usual.

When she sat down on top of the trunk at the foot of Martha's cot, Martha took a place at the end of the cot to be next to her. Before she could decide which question to ask about Comfort and the circumstances that had led to her marriage to Oliver, the young woman poured out her tale.

“I'm nine years older than Oliver, which I'm sure you noticed,” she began, glancing down for a moment. “When I was twenty-four, I married a man named Jack Whitman who was a store clerk in the city. We were married for six years, but he'd struggled with periods of time when he was very depressed for many years before that. When Hannah was only a few days old, he . . . he committed suicide.”

Martha clapped her hand to her heart. “Oh dear!”

Comfort smoothed one of the folds in her skirt. “I don't know how I could have prevented my husband from killing himself, but I blamed myself for a very long time before I was finally able to ask God to forgive me for anything that I did or failed to do to help him.”

Martha's heart ached for the woman, and she placed her hand on her shoulder. “How very difficult for you.”

“It was very hard,” Comfort admitted. “As you might imagine, the girls and I were in rather desperate circumstances. I was thirty years old, a widow with two very young children, with few ideas of how I might support us all,” she admitted.

“What about your parents? Couldn't you return home to live with them or another relative, perhaps?”

Comfort folded her hands together on her lap. “I was just about Hannah's age when I was placed in an orphanage, so I
don't have any memories of my parents, and I just assume I don't have any relatives, at least any who would take me in. I was put out to service when I was twelve, trained mostly to do laundry and mending and such, and I served in half a dozen households before I came of age. Fortunately, I was able to stay on in the last household until I finally got married and made my home with my husband and, eventually, our children.”

Moved by Comfort's tale of a difficult childhood and her very painful experiences as a young wife and mother, Martha also wondered how Oliver had come into her life. “After your husband died, how did you survive? What did you do to support yourself and your daughters?”

Comfort tilted up her chin. “It isn't possible to maintain a household and support two children on the wages I could earn doing menial work. The little talent I do have is with the needle, which is something I learned from watching the daughters of some of my employers. The wages paid for needlework would have been better, but there wasn't a seamstress in the entire city of Boston who would hire me without references for that kind of work, even though I carried samples of my work with me everywhere. Even if one had, providing board for me and my daughters would have been out of the question.”

Reminded of her own dependence on others after John died and her own inability to maintain a home of her own, even now when she had Aunt Hilda's cottage to call her own, Martha's heart trembled. “Without family, a widow's lot is never, never easy,” she said, grateful that God had surrounded her with family and friends.