The Midwife's Dilemma (23 page)

Darling Martha,

I have finally made my way back to you. Because of the lateness of the hour, it would not be proper for me to call on you now, especially since I pray we'll be asking Reverend Welsh to marry us within hours of our reunion.

I'll pick you up with my buggy tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, unless you're as anxious as I am to begin our future together and prefer that I come earlier. Out of respect for your desire to keep our plans secret, please write your response and have Micah bring it back to me.

Thomas

Martha's eyes welled with tears. Jane had yet to attempt a birthing on her own as midwife and still needed much more time, which meant there would be no miracle to save Martha's future with Thomas. Now that he was home, she had to keep her promise to give him her answer. He deserved her answer. And as her
stubborn streak rose from the ashes of her despair, she realized she was not going to give up hope there was still a chance for them to be together as husband and wife.

She wrote her answer below his name:

Meet me at ten o'clock above the falls, where we had our picnic together.

M

Sniffling, she folded up the note and carried it back with her down the long hall. Her emotions were in such turmoil, she felt as if she were doomed to walk the length of a plank instead of just pretending, like she had been when playing with Cassie.

She returned to her room with a heavy heart. Her love for Thomas, however, was too precious to let go without making one last effort to convince him to change his mind, again, and agree to wait for her just a little while longer.

And that was exactly what she intended to do tomorrow morning.

M
artha started up the incline to reach the edge of the clearing above the falls just before nine o'clock. The extra hour she expected to have by arriving early in order to rehearse what she was going to say died the instant she reached the top.

Thomas was already here.

He was standing with his back to her, just beyond the fallen tree in the middle of the clearing. Even though she could not see his face, she would have recognized him from twice the distance.

She gave an involuntary gasp of surprise, and when he did not turn around to greet her, she assumed he had not heard her coming and had no idea she was there. She swallowed the lump in her throat easily enough, but she grew impatient waiting for her heart to stop pounding and her pulse to drop back to normal.

Her gaze never ventured from his image. Sunlight glistened on his ebony hair, which she noted had been neatly trimmed.
Long and lean and straight in stature, he was wearing the same dark blue frock coat that he wore to Sunday services and every other important occasion, at least in her recent memory.

She was tempted to step back down again, ever so slowly, to reclaim the hour she had wanted to organize her thoughts and practice what she wanted to say to him, but she never had the chance to take a single step.

He turned around, caught sight of her, and nodded, as if making certain that she knew he had seen her there.

When he did not start toward her and remained in place, she made her way to him, step by cautious step, until she was standing within arm's reach and separated from him only by the trunk of the tree . . . and the stubborn will that each of them possessed.

“You're early.”

His voice was deep and strong, just as she remembered it, except that now it was tinged with disappointment.

She moistened her lips. “Apparently you arrived even earlier.”

Her answer nudged the first hint of a smile from him. “I thought I might be able to find a spot up here to watch you leave the confectionery on your way here. Obviously, I didn't.”

“That's why I favor this particular place. It's very private,” she remarked, curious as to why he still held his place and kept the trunk of the tree between them. Or why he allowed a thick silence to grow until she found it unbearable. “I hope it wasn't as hot back East as it's been here. And I hope your journey was as successful as you'd hoped it would be.”

“I didn't come here this morning to talk about the weather or my journey, Martha.”

“Neither did I.”

“I came to hear the answer you promised to give me today, assuming you've made up your mind, one way or the other.”

“Yes, I have.” She worried her lips together for a moment. “I was hoping we might talk about this together, but it feels a little awkward with this tree trunk lying between us. If for some reason you don't want to step over it, I'll walk around it so we can sit together and talk—”

“Please don't.”

She pulled her head back and furrowed her brow. “Don't what?”

“Don't take a step from where you are. Please,” he said, and his gaze grew troubled. “If you're any closer to me than you are right now, if there isn't something between us as sturdy as this tree trunk, I'll lose control the moment I get a whiff of the scent of your hair and kiss you. And I'm trying very, very hard not to kiss you. In fact, I've promised myself that I'm
not
going to kiss you.”

“May I ask why?” she asked, disappointed that she would not be able to use at least part of her plan to get him to listen to her, just long enough to convince him to give her more time.

When his gaze softened, her heart trembled. “Because I know you, Martha, better than I know anyone else in this world. I knew the exact moment you reached the clearing. I waited for you to come to me, excited to tell me that you would marry me today. But you didn't do that, did you?”

“No, I didn't, but I—”

“You held back. But in all truth, I knew your answer the instant I turned around and saw you were dressed for a day of work, not for a day you expected to be married. Even then, I still held out hope, but the moment I was close enough to see the expression in your eyes, I knew you weren't going to marry me today. Instead of setting me free, you've got an argument all planned out that included more than a few of your sweet kisses—used to convince me to wait until you have a midwife
to replace you before we marry. Then to ask me to believe you won't change your mind by then.”

“But I only—”

“Am I wrong?” he whispered, and his eyes were filled with a longing that left her trembling. “Please. Tell me I'm wrong.”

Half of her heart wanted her to leap over that tree trunk, hurl herself into his arms, and stay there until his kisses convinced her to marry him this very day. The other half begged her to stay right where she was, because if she didn't, her heart would end up broken in the end, never to be whole again.

“It's all right. You don't have to tell me. It's written all over your face. You've set me free without saying a single word. Maybe . . . maybe it's best you do,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with regret, and started to walk away.

“That's it? You're leaving? You're not going to give me a chance to tell you why I'm willing to beg you, if I must, to wait for me? I have a woman who has agreed to replace me, but she won't be ready to deliver a babe on her own for at least another few months and quite possibly more than that. But she will. I'm confident she will. Why can't you wait just a little while longer for us to marry, like you promised before you changed your mind? Why is it that you get to change or conveniently forget a promise you've made to me whenever you feel the need, or to push me into accepting your last proposal, which was really an ultimatum, even though it's unfair? But I only get one chance to keep a promise I've made to you? And I can't take it back or . . . or replace it with another or give you an ultimatum you don't like, either?”

He paused in mid-stride and walked back to her, but he remained on the other side of the tree trunk. “That's not what I'm doing.”

“That's exactly what you're doing,” she argued gently. It took
all of her willpower not to step right over the tree and to march right up to him. “I love you, Thomas. I always will. But I know you very well, too. I need more time before she's able to take over for me completely, and she'll probably need my help until then. I believe you have every intention of keeping your promise to be patient with me when I'm summoned away, even if it takes a good while before I can give up my calling completely. But I also know that the longer it takes for me to stop, the thinner your patience will get.”

“Even if—”

“Even if I'm gone for a month at a time, like I was for almost the entire month of August? Or now? Dr. McMillan is back, which means I won't have to care for his patients any longer, but there may still be days when I'm not home for more than a few hours at a time. Can you honestly say you won't grow to resent the fact that you're almost always alone and eventually break the promise you made to be patient about that? No man could, Thomas. That doesn't make you any less than a man of his word. It just makes you what you are—a man who wants his wife by his side, day in and day out.”

She paused just long enough to grab hold of the thought that had just flashed in front of her mind's eye. “Did it ever occur to you that I might grow impatient and resentful, too? That as your wife, I'd want you to be by my side each and every day? I never really thought about it before right now, but I have to admit that I would. And I'm not willing to take the risk that if we marry now, we'll end up hurting one another when all we should do is love one another. Am I wrong, Thomas? Please, tell me something . . . anything . . . to convince me that I'm wrong,” she pleaded and reached her hand out to him, along with her heart.

His eyes churned and deepened in color. His jaw twitched, as
if he were fighting against the words she needed for him to say, and his shoulders slumped so slightly no one else would have noticed. “No. You're not wrong, Martha, but the longer I have to wait for you, the more I'll fear that this woman you claim to have found will change her mind or that you'll eventually do what you did once before. You'll turn me away. I can't let that happen. Not ever again. We have had our second chance to be together. Forgive me, but I can't ever let there be another.” Then he broke his earlier promise to himself and kissed the back of her hand before he turned and walked away.

And when he did, he did not only take her heart with him. He took her hopes. He took her dreams. And he left her with only one place to live—all alone, destined forever to live in the shadows of a life shaded by what might have been.

T
he first few weeks of September flew by quickly, but not easily.

In all truth, she had been blessed with days filled with the joy of spending time with her children and especially little Lucy and Hannah. With Dr. McMillan back and with Jane to help, she had far fewer calls to duty, which left her more time to spend with her precious grandchildren, a decided blessing. Jane had proven herself to be as skilled at diagnosing illnesses as she was with knowing which remedy to use and how to prepare it. Both Fern and Ivy agreed that Jane would be an excellent replacement for Martha, who had been encouraging Jane to do even more. Even so, Jane had yet to deliver a babe on her own. They continued to pray together every night that she would be blessed with His grace and given the courage to do so, but Martha still expected it would be months and months before that happened and even more before Jane was both willing and able to take over that essential core of Martha's duties.

On the other hand, she was so filled with grief that Thomas
had rejected her completely, she had to fight her malaise just to function. It took every ounce of her energy just to get out of her bed and dressed, in part because she had barely touched her meals—and not a single sweet treat in the confectionery had tempted her—and because her knee had recently been injured, and the pain added to her unrest.

Her soul, too, was numb, to the point that she still had no desire to pray to God for relief and had not even bothered to try after praying for Jane. She had even made an excuse not to go to Sunday services this week.

Already haunted by too many painful images of Thomas, she could not bear to add even one more. She avoided going anywhere near his house and averted her eyes when she had no other choice. Although she tried to keep her grief hidden and refused to discuss anything related to Thomas with Victoria, she knew she'd ended up being nothing short of completely grumpy with everyone except her grandchildren.

When she greeted the first light of the day today, however, she decided that things were going to change, because she could not continue to live this way. She forced herself to get out of bed and dressed for the day. After she brushed her hair, she plaited it to form a single braid she left hanging down her back instead of shaping a knot at the nape of her neck. “That's just one change,” she murmured.

She went over to take Bird's cage, her swollen knee causing her to limp. He chirped to life at once, and she tossed a few seeds into his food bowl. “I know I haven't taken you up to the falls for over a week, but as soon as this knee is better, I will. And we'll take the girls with us, too,” she promised and sat down on top of the trunk at the foot of her cot to think about how she might lift herself out of the doldrums.

A series of six yawns in a row convinced her that when she
went to bed tonight, she needed to get a decent night's sleep. Instead of lying awake and remembering her last meeting with Thomas over and over again in her mind and wondering what she could have done or said to keep him from leaving her, she had to think about something else.

She just had not thought of what that would be yet.

Today, at least, she did not have to worry that Fern and Ivy would continue to harass her about what was troubling her. Hoping for relief, she had let them wheedle the truth out of her—simply put, that she and Thomas had been planning to marry but had changed their minds. She hoped they would leave her in peace to mourn now, which would be welcome and needed. She just was not ready to be as honest with Victoria, in part because she knew her daughter would not let the matter rest.

As she looked ahead to her day, she knew there was nothing she could do about the weather. Extremely hot, humid air continued to drape the town like a wet wool blanket, helping swarms of mosquitoes, flies, and other annoying summer critters to flourish, and there was no relief in sight.

Already feeling the heat, she undid the top button on her bodice. “I can certainly try not to wallow in self-pity today. Everyone else who calls Trinity home is suffering, too—although the relentless heat is at the root of their misery rather than a broken heart.”

And since they had been suffering from the heat for a while, they had changed their daily routines. Canal and mill workers took a long break at midday when the heat was most intense. Most people strolled along Main Street only in early morning or late afternoon, and wagon traffic grew sparse. Good tempers and patience seemed to be as rare as a cooling breeze, and more than a few folks could be found with their gazes glued to the sky, searching for any sign that a good storm was coming to
save them from the heat. She had heard Reverend Welsh had even led everyone in prayer at services the other day to ask for God's mercy and divine intervention.

The other members of the confectionery household had also found ways to adjust. Fern and Ivy had actually stopped baking three days ago, much to Lucy and Hannah's dismay, although the confectionery remained open to offer what was left of the tins of hard pretzels and soda crackers. They also limited using the cookstove to every other day until after the sun had set, and Jane and Cassie performed only the most necessary of limited household tasks.

For her part, Martha had developed a routine that usually allowed her to avoid the greatest heat of the day when treating her patients, and she also reduced the number of occasions she was out and around town. She spent most mornings in the room Dr. McMillan had set aside for her use months ago in his office, although she continued to make visits to those in town who weren't able to come to her.

After taking time for a midday rest back home and a bite of dinner, she would return to the office and spend every moment she did not have a patient with her granddaughters. She had taken the time to write a note to Thomas and had sent it over to his house days ago asking him to meet with her, but he had never replied. In fact, she had heard just yesterday that he had moved out to his cabin on Candle Lake.

She drew a long breath and gently rubbed her swollen knee before wrapping it tight, hoping it would not swell any more than it already had. “I can't control how many people get sick and need me, but I can try to stop grumbling so much,” she said and eased onto her feet. “I'm afraid that's about all the change I can handle for today,” she admitted and headed off to see how successful she would be.

By the end of the morning, Martha had grumbled more, not less, than yesterday and twice as much as the day before. Grumbling under her breath yet again, she limped her way back to the confectionery, swatting at flies attracted to her soiled apron along the way. She plopped her bag of simples on the bottom step of the staircase that led up to her bedroom, untied her apron, and dropped it on top of her bag.

She had not seen anyone here so far, and without a single sound to indicate anyone else was even at home, she was more than curious to know why.

She plopped down into a chair in the kitchen to wait for them, anxious to finally prop up her knee. Despite the tea she had been drinking and the wrap she had applied to her knee, the pain still stole her breath away every time she put her foot to the ground, and her knee throbbed almost nonstop, even when she rested it.

Flushed and overheated from walking the short way home, she tugged at her bodice, which was stuck to her skin. She was sorely tempted to scratch at the welts left by mosquitoes, who had feasted on her flesh again last night, and barely managed to resist it.

Jane entered the kitchen just as Martha was easing her leg up to rest on the opposite chair. Looking even more overheated than Martha felt, Jane went straight to the sink, where she pumped out enough water to wash her hands and wet a cloth that she pressed against her flushed cheeks. “I'm sorry I'm a little late in getting dinner started. I was over at Mrs. Reed's tending to the garden and lost all sense of the hour. I'm surprised Miss Fern and Miss Ivy aren't here waiting for me with you. They expected to be back long before now.”

Martha mopped her brow. “I thought I told you that what's left
of the garden during this hot spell can wait until it breaks. Do you know where Fern or Ivy went? Did they take Cassie with them?”

“They left after breakfast, but they didn't really say where they were going. Cassie didn't go with them, though. I gave her permission to go fishing at a lake with Will and Mr. Samuel today, although I suspect she'll have more fun just dangling her feet in the cold water and splashing around a bit to cool off. Mr. Fancy will be there to watch over all three of them.”

Jane glanced out the window. “I'm getting worried about those two sisters. They shouldn't be walking in this heat, and if you'll forgive me for saying so, I might say the same about you—especially since you promised to let me help you care for your patients more often, especially with that knee of yours.”

“Don't bother. I'll say it myself and save you the trouble,” Martha replied, unable to keep herself from a moment of self-pity. “You're right. I should have let you take over all of my work at Dr. McMillan's office. It's nearly been my undoing.”

“Nearly?” Jane frowned, moistened another cloth, and handed it to Martha, who promptly pressed it to her forehead. “I know you said it wasn't intentional, but when poor old Widow Pitt whacked your knee with that stick two days ago, she actually
was
your undoing. Unfortunately you're too stubborn to follow the very advice you'd give to one of your patients and stay off your feet for a while.”

Martha sighed. “It wasn't a stick. It was her cane, and she really wasn't aiming at me. She was trying to strike out at her son because he'd brought her out in all this heat to see me,” she countered. “Poor old woman. She's not very congenial, even when she's feeling well.” She paused. “In all truth, I think it's time you took over my duties with anyone who is ill. I'd much rather be cooling off with Cassie instead of going back to my office at Dr. McMillan's this afternoon.”

“Except you'd never be able to walk that far with that knee,” Jane teased. “I'll take care of anyone who needs help this afternoon as long as you promise to keep your weight off of that knee. Unless you're summoned to a birthing, of course.”

“I don't expect I will be, but let's hope I'm not called out to a birthing for at least a couple of days, since I'll never be able to kneel down on the floor with this knee of mine to deliver a babe. If I am, I'll just have to let Dr. McMillan take my place . . . unless you think you might be ready to go for me.”

Jane moistened her lips. “You'd really trust me to go in your stead when I haven't even attended a birthing with you yet?”

“Only if you can trust yourself to go,” Martha replied. “Do you think you could?”

“I think I might be able, but I'm not sure,” Jane admitted.

Martha nodded and gently patted her sore knee. “I think I will accept your offer to rest my knee this afternoon. But before you start dinner, I wonder if I could bother you for a fresh cold cloth.”

Jane furrowed her brow. “I do believe this is the very first time you've ever asked me for help with something you always do for yourself,” Jane teased and walked away. She had the cloth ready within minutes, but instead of handing it to Martha, she motioned for her to pull up her skirts.

“It'll be easier if I do it,” she offered, and Martha posed no argument to the idea.

Jane took one look at the knee and the cloth Martha had wrapped around it and scowled. “That knee is twice the size it should be. You need to do more than drink a cup or two of sneezewort tea each day and wrap it.” She removed the cloth and set it aside before going directly to the larder.

She returned with a bottle of apple cider vinegar. After saturating the cloth with the liquid just short of leaving it dripping,
she wrapped the cloth around Martha's knee. She wrapped it again with a thicker towel and put a folded towel underneath her foot to elevate her leg. “There. That should do it. If you'll let me change that poultice every time it dries out and keep off your feet for a few days, you'll be good as new. But if you insist on hobbling your way to and from Dr. McMillan's office and all around town, you just might damage your knee permanently, which is precisely what I warned last night to Miss Fern and Miss Ivy.”

Martha wrinkled her nose, put off by Jane's remedy and the fact that the three women had been talking about her. She could not remember the last time anyone had admonished her for her choice of remedies, and she did not take it well. Not at all.