The Midwife's Secret (10 page)

But what of Amanda’s practice? Since Fannie’s leaving, no other patient had taken her place. In addition to everything else that weighed on Amanda, was it time again to worry about finances?

“Howdy.” Ellie’s voice cut through the wind as she came to pick up her husband. They could stay for only five minutes; long enough to clap for Margaux on her bicycle.

When they left, Amanda waved goodbye, watching Ellie stroll away. Would Ellie be her first delivery? How would Amanda respond to holding her first baby since that tragic night? It comforted her to realize that her hands never trembled during her appointments with other women; it was only thoughts of her own loss that affected her.

Tom had seen her tremble. First in the mercantile when Mr. Langston had handed her the kerosene jug, then later when he’d mentioned the word mother and she’d gone running.

What did he think of her? Was he wondering? Or was he troubled by his own problems? She glanced at his profile as he tapped and hammered a log in the wall, checking his work for the day. Yesterday, he’d brought the law with him, and she’d explained everything that had happened between her and Mr. Finnigan to Constable Graham Robarts. But come to think of it, Tom had been distracted by something.

Were those darker circles beneath his eyes? What was troubling him? Those receipts from the blacksmith?

Tom slid his hammer into the carpenter’s belt around his waist. Although perspiration drizzled from his temples and stained his denim workshirt, he looked like a solid statue
of brawn and sinew. He unhooked his belt, lay it to rest on a board, then stooped low beside Josh, draping his casual arm across Josh’s shoulder as the boy petted Wolf. “Look at your sister ride.”

They watched Margaux yelp with glee on the shaky bicycle. When she got to the end of the path, she fell over, unharmed, yanking the fabric of her skirt that was caught in the broken leather. She gave a proud smile of success to her brother.

Tom looked in Amanda’s direction, and for a brief moment the air charged between them, ripe with emotion. Amanda’s stomach clenched. She could see the hurt in his deep green eyes. That long dimple in his cheek that normally ran clear to his jawline when he smiled only flitted across his face. His black brows were set deeper, in a gruff line across his forehead. Obviously he didn’t understand her withdrawal.

Three nights ago, their drive to pick up the children had bonded them in an indefinable way. Amanda had felt the smoldering pull between them all evening, the double meaning of his glances, the rush of excitement when she’d accidentally brushed his knee beneath the table. When it came to saying good-night, she’d shamelessly melted into his arms.

Now, as she met his eyes, the memory of their warm embrace brought a tingling to the pit of her stomach, a galloping to her heart. Did he feel anything, staring at her behind that mask of indifference?
Her
lips still burned where he’d kissed her. Those strong, chiseled arms, muscled from lifting logs and chopping wood, had wrapped around her and felt wonderful.

But her
situation
wasn’t an easy thing to explain. How would she even begin?
Tom, I’m sorry, but do you really
think you should be kissing me? I have something important you should know first.
It was just a kiss, for heaven’s sake! No deep sentiments. Not that she wanted any. Lord, after William had left her, she’d never thought it possible to be interested in any other man.

But beyond a doubt, she had been interested in kissing Tom.

It just created more problems. For at what point should she tell him she couldn’t have children? Now, after their first kiss? Perhaps after their second? Before any public outings? How about before she met his brothers, but right after she’d planned their first meal together? It was all so convoluted and ridiculous!

She and Tom weren’t even close.

Did she want to be?

She gulped and glanced away from his resolute glare, back to Margaux on the bicycle. Deep down, her worst fear was…even if she mustered the courage to tell him, how would he respond to her problem? Would he react the same as William had? William had accused her, in a court of law surrounded by their family and friends, of being barren.

In a town where farmers, ranchers and businessmen prided themselves on the size of their families, what would Tom think of her? Not only was it a matter of masculine pride to have many children, but one of economics. Men needed sons and daughters to help with livestock, to plant seed and harvest crops, to continue their line of work. Tom would need them to carry on his sawmill, to cut logs, to handle customers, to care for him in his old age. How could she expect him to be any different in his needs and desires for a family than any other healthy, red-blooded male?

Barren.
What a lonesome, forlorn word. One she couldn’t divulge to anyone. The midwife’s secret, she thought. Her chest rose and fell with despair. She wasn’t the right woman for Tom.

“P
lease say you’ll stay longer,” Margaux begged Tom. She stood in the half-cut entry to the new cabin, playing with the fishing reel the O’Haras had lent her yesterday. “You’re done early today, so we know you have time.”

“I’ve got things to do at home,” Tom answered, removing his muddy work boots and replacing them with the black cowboy boots he’d begun stashing in the wagon, trying to reduce the amount of mud he brought home. But quite frankly, he could use a diversion from his own problems. If he went home alone, he’d just get all worked up again.

He glanced from Margaux’s windswept features to her thin brother, who was dangling a piece of yarn in front of Sunset. Wolf looked on, his white head cocked in amusement. When the kitten pounced on the string, Josh buried his face in her russet fur and Wolf barked in approval.

It was getting close to the end of the children’s first week here, but Tom knew they hadn’t made their decision yet about staying. He hoped they’d say yes, for their own wellbeing.

Margaux was right about finishing early. It was only around three in the afternoon. Donald had already left be
cause they’d gotten an early start this morning, cutting and stacking more logs today than any other. Good thing, too, because judging from the incoming clouds, it looked as though a rainstorm was heading in.

Tom’s biceps ached from strenuous labor. Last night, he’d gotten another load of furniture varnished for the big hotel, and his men had delivered it this morning. A day of rest would do him good.

With a rustling of her skirts, Amanda came striding out of the shack, dressed in a freshly ironed white blouse and narrow black skirt. If he said yes to the youngsters, what would she have to say about it? “Done for the day?” she asked.

Tom nodded in reply. “Yeah.” He felt a slow trickle of sweat ease its way down the back of his neck. Was it hot today, or did he only notice the heat more when he gazed at her?

A thick belt cinched her narrow waist, emphasizing her jutting breasts and fine hips. An escaping curl tucked itself over her creamy forehead, deepening the color of her blue eyes.

Why did he wince, looking at her? Why did the memory of her frosty response the other night make him feel…well,
awful?

She didn’t want him here, that’s why. It was plain to Tom. Gazing at her solitary figure, he couldn’t imagine why he’d thought she wanted him to kiss her. He’d over-stepped his boundaries, but he damn well wouldn’t do it again.

Not so she could put him in his place. After all, he was the worker, she the paying boss.

He felt Wolf nuzzle his leg. His only true friend.

“Margaux, be careful with that rod please,” Amanda
warned. “I asked you not to practice with it around your brother. Someone might get hurt.”

“Okay, I’ll remove the hook,” Margaux said. She looked very comfortable reeling in the line, untying the sharp hook, and Tom wondered where she’d learned it. “I was just practicin’. Please say yes,” she said, tugging at Tom’s dusty pant leg. Adjusting her wire spectacles, she turned to Amanda. “Please, Amanda, you ask him. Josh and I thought we could take you both fishin’.”

“Fissin’,” Josh echoed.

With a rosy tint to her cheeks, Amanda opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Tom lowered his head and stared at her. He’d like to hear her ask him.

She didn’t.

He tried to tell himself he didn’t care. Glancing at the boy’s sun-kissed cheeks, Tom’s lips dragged up at the corner. He tugged Josh by his gray suspenders, then lowered himself to the boy’s level.
“Fishing,”
Tom repeated, enunciating slowly. “Can you say
fishing?
”

Tom watched Josh’s mouth try to form the words. “Fissin’,” the boy replied.

“He used to try to talk a lot more,” Margaux said wistfully. “People used to make fun of him. Now he only speaks one word at a time.”

Tom wasn’t sure what surprised him more about Margaux’s statement—Josh’s terrible situation, or Margaux’s matter-of-fact understanding.

Josh had the stilted vocabulary of a two-and-a-half-year-old, despite being four. What sort of life would Josh lead when he grew older?

Tom swallowed hard at Margaux’s comment and glanced at Amanda, who met his eyes with open dismay.

“Sweetheart,” Amanda said to Josh. “We’ll practice together. I’ll help you.”

Maybe the children needed an escape from their problems more than Tom did. To Josh’s giggling delight, Tom scooped the boy into his arms, then nestled him on top of his wide shoulders. “Fissin’ is close enough.” He turned to Margaux’s exuberant expression. “How come you know so much about fishing?”

“My mother and father used to take us on their boat. Josh doesn’t remember, but I do.”

Again, Tom and Amanda exchanged a tender glance. Margaux didn’t seem to have any difficulty talking about her past, even though Tom knew her folks had drowned. He tried to bury his sympathetic moan, but Amanda pressed her moist lips together and shook her head.

“Whaddya say?” Tom said to Amanda, deciding to forget about their personal differences. She didn’t have to like
him
but he wanted her to like the children. He liked children, too, maybe because he grew up as the oldest and was always tending to one brother or another. Whatever the feelings between him and Amanda, he respected her for caring for these youngsters.
With no man to help her.
“How about we take them down to the river for an hour? Before it rains.”

Amanda cupped Margaux’s shoulder. “That’s a nice idea. Grandma’s taking care of supper.”

The children whooped with excitement.

“But,” Tom added, “I’ll only go as long as Josh promises to bait my hook. I don’t like worms,” he said, pretending he was squeamish, making the children laugh.

After Amanda had told Grandma where they were headed and they’d gathered their other supplies—another fishing rod from the shack, a basket filled with weights, tackle and equipment for scaling fish—Tom slid the forty-pound boy off his shoulders. “The trees on the path are
too tall,” he explained. “I’ll have to set you down so you don’t bump your head.”

Glancing at Amanda’s rosy cheeks, he told himself he was doing this for the children, not for her.

“You look tired,” Amanda said to him as they wove through the pines and poplars to the river. She dipped her body beneath a blossoming branch. He tried to ignore her lovely shape.

Was she concerned about him? He ran a hand along his cotton sleeve. “I guess I am.” He realized with a snort that he’d never felt this tired. Exhausted from working, but he ached more from thinking. Twigs cracked beneath the shiny silver toes of his boots. Up ahead, the children raced between the trees, insisting on independence, carrying their own rods. Wolf and Sunset tagged along at their heels.

Amanda craned her neck, lifting her face up at his. “Are you working too hard?”

Was that why she was concerned? Did she think he might be too tired to finish her cabin on time? “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll get your cabin built. Maybe even a couple of days early, and you’ll get your dollar bonus.”

She pressed her lips together in frustration. “That’s not why I asked.” He watched the rise and fall of her breasts. “How did…how did it go for you last week, when you met with the blacksmith about his receipts?”

Tom shoved a hand into his denim pocket. “Fine. I handled it.” He didn’t feel like confiding in her. Besides, it wasn’t something he was proud of.

He owed Bill Seger and Sully Campbell money. Finnigan had cheated them for a combined total of two hundred and three dollars. Neither knew about the other’s over-charge, and Tom, so far, had been able to keep it confidential. When the bank manager came to call, expressing concern for what he’d overheard at Ruby’s, Tom had no
choice—he placed his home up for collateral and repaid the two men.

Now his sawmill and his house were both in hawk.

Tom cursed under his breath. Gabe’s law tuition was looming. It was Finnigan’s blasted fault. Yesterday, the Mounties had received a sighting of him in the far north, in the town of Edmonton. Where the hell was he hiding? Was Clarissa still with him?

Tom stopped when Margaux crouched beside a spruce tree, her hem trailing the dirt.

“What’s this set of animal tracks?” Margaux asked. The children had been quizzing him about animal and bird tracks for the past few days, and he was amused by their questions. So was Amanda.

Tom fingered the single line of paw prints, marked with claws, that led behind a boulder. The tracks were several hours old, judging by their dryness.

“What do
you
think it is?” Tom asked, pushing thoughts of Finnigan out of his head. “I’ll give you a clue. It’s an animal that walks on four feet.”

Josh tapped his wool cap, then pointed to Wolf, who was sniffing the tracks. “Woff. Awggie.”

“No, it’s not Wolf. Dogs don’t walk in a straight line like this. They imprint all four paws, side by side.”

“Are they kitten tracks?” Amanda asked, her face enraptured by the puzzle.

“That’s close,” said Tom gently. “The tracks of a cat’s hind feet fall exactly in the tracks of their front feet, so it looks like they’re walking in a straight line. But cats retract their claws when they walk, so they don’t leave behind these claw marks.”

“That’s why cats are silent when they walk across a plank floor,” Amanda offered. “Because they retract their claws.”

“Just like Sunset,” said Margaux. “She’s quiet.”

“That’s right.” Tom nodded. “And dogs can’t retract their claws, so they click across the floor.”

Josh thought for a moment. “Foss,” he mumbled.

They all glanced up at Tom, waiting for his response. “Fox?” How in tarnation did the boy know that? Tom rubbed his bristly jaw in amazement. “That’s right,” he said, sharing a proud smile with Amanda. “How did you know that?”

“Because he’s smart,” Margaux simply said. Josh beamed.

Amanda’s eyes twinkled at Tom, making his pulse hum.

“You sure are,” Tom said to the boy. “A fox walks in a single line, like a cat, but it leaves claw marks like a dog.”

When they were finished, they walked in amiable silence to the riverbank and gazed over the rushing water.

Tom wanted the children to show him and Amanda all they knew of fishing. He sensed their independence was particularly important to Margaux, so he decided to step aside and let them lead.

The children removed their boots and socks and traipsed around in muddy feet. Amanda sat on a boulder and watched as Margaux proudly raced to show them what she knew. That’s how he and his brothers used to race, Tom thought as the tension left his muscles, when they were younger, trying to prove themselves to each other and their folks. Ma had now been gone for twenty years from her heart illness, but Tom still warmly recalled racing to her with his first trout.

Margaux caught the dew worms on her own. She and Josh baited their J-shaped metal barbs, but when she swung the rod over her shoulder to toss the line into the river, Amanda reared back, out of the line of fire. “Be careful,
sweetheart, I know you want to do a good job, but those hooks are sharp.”

“They’re fine,” said Tom from another boulder. “I’m watching them.”

But instead, he was distracted by Amanda’s warm smile as she interacted with the children. He should have heard the reel unwinding, he should have heard the line snap.

But all he felt was a sharp jab in his left biceps. Then an excruciating yank that shot down clear to his fingers. He’d been hit. “Ah-hh.”

He pulled hard on the line to stop Margaux from reeling further. When he looked down, the fishhook was imbedded in his left sleeve. Blood seeped through his torn checked shirt. The worm had fallen onto his boot, luckily, so it wasn’t impaled inside his flesh. A dirty cut, nonetheless.

“Ah, hell,” he groaned, trying to rise to his feet, but stumbling back on his behind instead.

“Tom,”
Amanda shouted. She dropped to his side, blocking the view of both children.

Beneath Amanda’s elbow, Tom saw the rod tumble out of Margaux’s hands. “Oh, no, did Tom get hurt?” Her face paled and her body began to shake. “I’m sorry…”

Josh began to cry, but Amanda was still blocking them.

“It’s all right. I’m okay,” Tom tried to tell them. But when he looked down, he wasn’t. More blood had poured out, his upper sleeve soaked. Dammit! He tried to cup his hand over the wound, knowing he should clamp pressure on it to stop the bleeding, but how could he press down with the hook still imbedded? His arm throbbed like thunder. His head ached.

“Don’t move,” Amanda whispered over him, ripping at the shirtsleeve.

Tom felt woozy. Bile bit at the back of his throat.

Amanda glanced frantically to the basket of fishing sup
plies, looking for
something,
then commanded the children. “Margaux, take your brother! Run along the riverbank then up to the O’Hara’s!”

Margaux and Josh didn’t move. “It’s my fault,” sobbed Margaux. “I was showin’ off.”

Amanda raised her voice and then they scrambled. “Honey, it’s no one’s fault. Please run!” The leaves beyond their heads vibrated with her shouts. “Tell Pierce to get my medical bag from the shack, and tell Mr. O’Hara to get Dr. Murdock!”

Amanda steadied her breathing, barely noticing her thumping pulse as she examined the jagged tear. The wire fishing line was still attached to the hook, and it all combined to bulge out of the muscled, bleeding hole. “You’re bleeding an awful lot. It must have snagged a large vein.”

Tom moaned. She noted that his face was white, but his heartbeat and breathing were steady. Propped on the grass with a boulder behind him, he braced his arm against his body.

With speedy hands, she removed her white cotton petticoat then grabbed the basket of supplies. Above them, clouds moved over the sun, casting them in shadow.

“Pull the damn hook out, will ya?” he groaned.

“I can’t.”

“I can.” When he went to yank on the wire, she caught his hand.

Amanda met his eyes and tried not to show that she was trembling. “Don’t. You can’t remove a fishhook the same way it went in. The barb would rip your flesh and cause more injury. You might lose the use of your arm if nerves are damaged.”