The Midwife's Secret (21 page)

A train whistle sounded down the street. Tom looked up. “There is one more place we could look for Lorne Wilson.”

“I just thought of it myself. The train station?”

“He might be leaving on the nightly express that just rolled in from Calgary.”

“Do you really think he’d put his horse in a boxcar and leave by train?”

“Highly unlikely. He doesn’t strike me as having a whole lot of money. Do you want to go see anyway? He owes you the price of your bicycle.”

“Sure,” she answered, wiping her mouth, doubting that Lorne Wilson could afford to replace it.

As Tom signed his name to the bill, Amanda said goodbye to Ruby.

They left and headed to the train station, carrying nothing in their arms. Earlier in the day when they’d hunted for Wilson, she’d parked her kerosene jug at Tom’s sawmill, along with her broken bicycle, which he said he’d get rid of for her.

The express train was already in the station, unloading cattle, two horses, dozens of trunks, townsfolk and brand-new tourists. People crowded the platform, but none who looked like the disheveled man they were searching for.

A Mountie stood nearby, on guard at the station house, and they gave him a description. “I’ll look for Wilson,” the Mountie responded. “I’ll tell the conductor to search the train and if he’s on it, we’ll catch him.”

Amanda and Tom turned back and began walking down the platform. “I nearly forgot with all the commotion today, but Quaid’s arriving on this train. I told him I’d meet him here and help him with the luggage home. He’ll be with Beth. He didn’t want her traveling alone so he went to get her, all the way to Winnipeg and back. I’d…I’d like you to meet her.”

Tom’s nervousness filled Amanda with a fresh wave of sentiment. He could be so tender when he didn’t want to be. And Quaid was awfully nice to his wife, going that distance for her.

“I’d like to meet her, too,” replied Amanda, her curi
osity growing. What was the rest of his family like? Amanda had a sudden urge to meet Gabe, too, as well as Beth.

Why was that?

Because, she admitted to herself, she wondered how and if
she’d
fit into his family.

A familiar brown bonnet caught Amanda’s eye the same time it caught Tom’s. Amanda’s hopes unraveled.

Clarissa was mounting the train stairs, her luggage being handed through an open window on the car marked First Class. She was leaving.

With a nervous flutter, Amanda dared to peek at Tom to gauge his reaction.

Tom and Clarissa held each other’s gaze for a long moment, then Tom slowly lifted his long arm in goodbye.

Clarissa gripped the railing, then lifted her well-manicured hand in a sad, silent salute. Then, catching Amanda’s quiet, sympathetic expression, Clarissa didn’t wait for more. She spun on her polished heels and up into the compartment.

Tom’s veneer of self-command vanished. He tugged a hand through his black hair.

“Are you all right?” Amanda asked.

“At one time, I didn’t think I would be, but yeah, I’m fine.”

Amanda was glad to hear it. The heartache that was etched on his face left, and she hoped the pain of his loss wouldn’t remain for long. Today in court was the first time she’d heard that Clarissa had left him for Finnigan, and Amanda staggered at how stoic he’d been for weeks, keeping that information to himself.

“Do you think Finnigan’s back in the area?” she asked.

“He’s got no ties to this town. If he came back, he’d
be walking right into the hands of the Mounties, so I can’t see it. I hope he
is
back. I’d like to get my hands on him.”

When they swung around to walk down the other direction of the platform, they noticed Quaid standing in the crowd.

“Quaid!” Tom shouted, weaving his arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “Quaid! Beth!”

The eagerness in Tom’s voice rushed through Amanda. When Quaid turned around to them, his face was lined with worry. His mouth was set in a grim line as he helped his wife down the steps. What was wrong?

Then she saw Quaid’s trouble.

His wife, Beth, was in the family way. Amanda stopped for a moment to catch her breath. No one had told her Beth was pregnant.

That’s why Quaid had gone to get her. As an extra precaution in her pregnancy.

She was a heavy-set pretty woman, around twenty. By her engorged size, Amanda guessed her to be around eight months along, perhaps eight and a half. As Beth lifted her skirt to take the last two steps, she revealed slippers on her bare feet. No boots, no shoes, but wide, leather, men’s slippers.

She was wearing house slippers!
And
bare feet. Why?

Amanda peered closer. Because her ankles were swollen like sacks of water. No wonder she couldn’t fit into her shoes. Her wrists were also thick with excess water—edema. She looked pale from traveling. The woman needed bed rest.

When Quaid clenched his medical bag close to his side, looking as though he never wanted to let it go, Amanda realized he’d traveled all this way with his wife, alone and anxious. A first-time father.

Amanda knew all too well the anxiety he felt.

Tom burst through the crowd toward his brother and sister-in-law, happily dragging Amanda by the wrist. “Beth, how wonderful to see you. I’d like you to meet Amanda Ryan.”

After a round of warm introductions, Amanda looked at Quaid and shared a private, mutual look of concern.

“She’s been having contractions for the last three hours,” he whispered to Amanda. “She was fine before she left two months ago to visit her mother, or I never would have allowed her to travel. It started halfway through our trip. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, on the plains, and didn’t know which way to turn.”

“You did the right thing, bringing her home where you can care for her. Are they strong contractions?”

“No, thank God.”

“How far apart?”

“Every thirty minutes or so.”

“That’s not too bad,” said Amanda, feeling relieved, at the same time trying to encourage Quaid.

Amanda stepped up and tucked her arm under Beth’s, falling naturally into place as a midwife. “I think you need to rest. It must have been a weary ride. Tom and I will walk you home.”

Lorne Wilson obviously wasn’t there, so there was no need to stay.

Beth was an affectionate woman, and readily took Amanda’s hand.

Amanda knew the walk was only two blocks away. She debated whether to ask Tom to carry his sister-in-law home—seeing how much bigger and stronger he was than his brother—but on second thought, knew it might only frighten Beth, embarrass her and cause more anxiety than relief. Which might in turn, speed more contractions.

“It was such a long haul over the prairies,” Beth re
sponded. “Nothing but acres of grassland to see. And my dear Quaid, so concerned over a few small contractions.”

“Mild contractions are normal for the most part, this far along in your term,” Amanda reassured her. Tom looked over Beth’s head to Amanda and she silently sent him confirmation of her own apprehension.

“Quaid told me you were a midwife,” Beth said to her. The train roared around them and Beth’s words were lost.

“Quaid also told me about Clarissa,” Beth whispered to Tom above the screech of wheels, probably thinking Amanda couldn’t hear it. “I think that’s awful. You deserve someone a lot better than her. Quaid also told me about you know who—” she nodded toward Amanda, making Amanda like her all the more. “And personally, I think you should pick whoever makes you happy.

“Thank you for the cradle, too,” Beth said a little louder, but the train had already stopped its rumbling so her words were clear again. “Quaid told me you finished it early.” Beth patted Amanda’s arm. “He’s going to be the godfather, you know.”

Amanda found herself enjoying the banter, despite her concerns for Beth’s health. Tom had once told Amanda she’d enjoy the company of Quaid’s wife, and Amanda could understand why. She was a natural talker, one who tried to make Amanda feel at ease.

“Some men are just happier being married.” Beth squinted beneath the lamplight. “And I feel like Tom here is one of them, even though he might not know it.”

Amanda warmed to her, smiling with renewed pleasure at Beth’s gentle teasing of her brother-in-law.

“He’d like to have plenty of his own children one day,” Beth added in Amanda’s direction.

The cutting comment was quick to fade Amanda’s smile.

She picked up the pace, hoping the topic would change.
As far as she knew, neither Quaid nor his wife was aware of
her
medical problem, so she swallowed her distress, determined to take the comments of others in the way they were meant—a harmless attempt to be kind and friendly.

“Beth, please,” said Tom, his step faltering as his quiet gaze sought Amanda’s. “Don’t say that. It’s not…true.”

Beth stopped to catch her breath. “Don’t deny it,” she insisted with a broad smile. “How many times have you told us you can’t wait for children of your own?”

Amanda felt queasy.

“I don’t recall ever saying that.” Tom’s eyes pleaded for understanding.

“Why, you said it just before I left. Five or six, you said to me.”

“I was only teasing you,” he said, his eyes still on Amanda.

“You were not.”

“But that was two months ago,” he whispered coarsely.

Beth peered at him with curiosity, but kept talking. “You’d make a mighty fine father. Wouldn’t he, Amanda?”

The sting of the truth delivered a brutal blow. Amanda nodded softly in agreement, lowered her lashes, and kept walking.

Would she ever be able to make Tom happy?

“B
eth didn’t mean to, but she made Amanda feel awful yesterday. How can I fix that?”

Wolf whimpered.

“Don’t know, huh?”

Carrying a basin of warm water, Tom stepped over the dog, who lay at his boots panting in contentment in the small room off the sawmill office. Wearing his rugged denims with the orange stitching, and stripped to the waist except for the sleeveless undershirt that clung to his skin, Tom prepared for his nightly scrub.

“I figure if I pay Quaid and Beth a call, I can see how Beth’s feeling. If she’s up to it, I’ll explain to them about Amanda’s condition, so that neither one of them will bring up the subject again.”

Wolf headed to the far corner to lie on his sheepskin rug.

“Hey, are you listening to me? I need your advice. I have a feeling Amanda won’t like me telling anyone about her private business. But they’ll keep it quiet if I ask them to.”

The husky barked in approval, then lowered his head.

“Okay, glad you agree.”

With a quick yank, Tom peeled off his undershirt then splashed water over his face and chest. The sizzling heat from the nearby stove seeped into his skin, drying the water that drizzled down his muscles.

Two months ago he never would have thought he’d be able to say goodbye to Clarissa as he had yesterday.

At the train station, watching Amanda interact with his brother and sister-in-law, he realized if he had to do it all again, he’d make the same decisions. The very ones that seemed to irritate Clarissa most—taking care of his family, building his sawmill from scratch, sending Quaid and Gabe to their schooling while he worked outdoors at what he loved to do.

Amanda
made him feel proud of his accomplishments, proud that he’d chosen the simpler things that matter in life, such as family and home, over money.

Could he convince her what he’d said to Beth about wanting children was something he’d worked through in his heart and felt at ease with? He wasn’t sure he knew how. He was a lumberjack and a carpenter and big oaf who knew how to chop wood, but he didn’t have the finesse of insightful words.

Well, tomorrow morning, he’d bring back the jug of kerosene she’d forgotten, and try to explain what he’d been unable to explain at the train station when he’d flubbed his words and could only stare at her shrinking face.

Lifting the sea sponge, he rubbed it against the cake of soap, then lathered the dark expanse of his chest and underarms. Another round of furniture was varnished, which meant three more dollars profit to buy back his house.

His men had been asking questions ever since Tom had moved into this room, so Tom had simply told them the truth. He was strapped for cash, but rather than letting go
of any one of them, he let the bank rent his house for the summer.

Gazing into the square mirror, Tom rubbed his bearded jaw with satisfaction. And didn’t his men surprise him? Instead of walking away, they’d dug their spurs in a bit harder, with Patrick suggesting they all stay an extra half hour in the evenings as free labor, which would contribute at least another thirteen dollars per month.

A far way off from two hundred and forty, but he was headed in that direction.

Dabbing his towel beneath his arms, Tom heard a faint rustling sound. Wolf jumped to attention, his ears pricked.

What was it? A pebble? The wind? A bird trapped in the rafters?

Tom went to check. Away from the stove’s heat, the cool office air blasted his bare flesh, but he saw nothing. The windows above the saws and tables—and water pails that lined the ceiling—indicated a clear black night.

He locked the doors. Settling back into his bedroom, he slapped the towel on the dresser and prepared for shaving. It was nothing but his nerves.

The warm, evening air lapped against her cheeks. Amanda rode high in the saddle of Donald’s mare, trotting through town. Since her bicycle was useless, and Tom had promised to dispose of it, the O’Haras in their kindness had insisted Amanda borrow what she need from them.

She needed to speak to Tom. Her thoughts turned to Margaux, the girl’s anguish and turmoil of the day, and the incident that triggered Amanda’s desire to speak to him tonight. She’d head to the sawmill right after she checked on Beth’s condition and Quaid’s fragile state of mind.

Earlier in the afternoon, Margaux had come running to Amanda in terror. After she calmed the panic from Mar
gaux’s face, Amanda explained that menstruation was normal. She’d already explained it a couple of weeks before, when she’d quietly asked about Margaux’s personal history, but her first time still came as a surprise. Amanda repeated that it meant Margaux could now conceive and have babies of her own, that she’d someday cherish that and be very proud she was a woman.

Margaux thought about it carefully, and then asked in her gentle-hearted way, “Are you proud?”

Amanda had paused, so shocked by the question that seemed to be the key of what had been distressing Amanda for the last months, that she couldn’t at first respond.

“Yes,” she’d finally said. “I’m proud of being a woman—and a midwife—and being able to guide you through it, too.” Margaux didn’t need to know yet that Amanda lacked her monthly cycles, but it was important and necessary to explain her joy in this part of life.

Menstruation was a topic no one discussed, yet most men understood this about their women, if they were tenderly involved and cared about their wives. They knew what it meant when they saw the carefully hung white cloths drying on the lines; that the intimate bonding of marriage would be interrupted for a few short days. It was this intimacy, this quiet understanding of life, that Amanda felt with Tom.

He was a noble man, and she wanted to share what she’d learned about herself tonight. She wanted to be with him, she thought as she got off the mare and tied it up outside Quaid’s office.

It was Tom who answered Quaid’s door when Amanda knocked. His eyes flashed at her when he spotted her standing there. As he leaned back to stare at her startled expression, his limber stance emphasized the force of his thighs. All the way here she’d been practicing what she’d
say to him, but now that she had the opportunity, all sensible thought escaped her.

“You look surprised to see me,” he said with a dimpled grin, leaning against the door of the huge log house. He ran his gaze down her clenched shawl, then over her split skirt right down to her boots, making it clear how happy he was to see
her.
“Come on in. I came by to speak to Quaid and Beth, but as soon as I got here, Quaid got called away. Mr. Langston broke his wrist.”

Amanda caught her breath as she squeezed past his lean body. “Is he all right?”

“I’m not sure. His wife came racing over from the mercantile.” Tom nodded in that direction, just around the corner. “But I haven’t heard how Mr. Langston is.”

Tom stared down at her. He’d just shaven; she could smell the scent of mint. His presence always seemed to overpower her.

“How did he manage to break his wrist?”

“He fell off his stepladder.”

“I hope it’s minor.” She gulped, peering down the bustling street. “Do you think Quaid needs my help?”

“I don’t think so. Besides, I’m sure he’d rather you stay here.”

“Why?”

Tom’s shoulders moved beneath the cotton of his shirt. His tone turned rather serious. “Well, the housekeeper is tending to Beth at the moment, but she’s looking a bit peculiar to me.”

Amanda focused her concern. “Where is she?”

Frowning heavily at Amanda’s sense of alarm, he motioned to the room behind him. “She’s been in bed for two days. The spasms—”

“You mean, contractions?”

“Yeah. They’re still coming at regular intervals, but she looks pale. Her eyes are sort of…big.”

Apprehension took hold of her and began to gnaw. “Did Quaid say anything about her condition?”

Tom snorted and swung around, rubbing a hand along his belt. “He’s paler than she is. I’ve never seen him so upset. He’s lost his concentration. Lately, I have to nudge him to answer me when I say anything.”

“He’s probably worried sick.”

“Could you come take a look at her? She took a sip of water from me just now, but told me she’s got a headache.”

Amanda’s heart tripped and thudded.
Please don’t let it be anything.

“I’ll follow you,” she said. Last time she was here, she’d entered by the public door, around the side above the sign that read Dr. Quaid Murdock. This private area she walked through was filled with polished wood, ivory candleholders, English knickknacks and even a small piano pressed against the wall.

“She’s back behind the parlor.” Tom opened the makeshift curtains dividing the room in two, letting his hand linger over Amanda’s back as she stepped in.

It was considerate of Quaid to put his wife in a large room off the main hall, where she wouldn’t feel as cut off from the world as she might in a back bedroom, and therefore more likely to remain in bed.

When they entered, Beth called from the bed, propped up against several fluffy pillows. “How lovely to see you.” She struggled to rise on an elbow. Her hair, done in two plaits, spilled over rounded shoulders.

Amanda nodded hello to the elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Garvey, who was preparing a hot tea by the window, then lowered herself to a stool beside Beth.

Tom was right. Beth’s eyes were enlarged, almost bulging, with dark circles. Her face was puffier than before, and Amanda bet if she pressed her fingers into Beth’s swollen wrists, she’d leave an indentation of pitting edema. An indicator of poor circulation.

“What brings you here?” Beth asked.

“I came to check up on you.”

“That’s kind of you. But you know, I’m getting the best care in the world from my husband.”

Amanda nodded, knowing that sometimes doctors who cared for their own kin overlooked symptoms and problems because they were too emotionally involved to make a detached analysis. Quaid sounded like one of those people, and if there was anything Amanda could do to help the situation, she’d try.

“Would you mind, Beth, if I examine you? Tom told me you have a headache, and since Quaid’s not here, I’d like to make certain we give you back to him in the same splendid condition he left you.”

“You’re fussing over me too much.” Beth pressed her palm over her forehead, as if rubbing away an ache. “I told Quaid my mother gained a lot of weight with every child of hers, too…” Her voice began to fade. “But she never ran into any problems.” Overcome with fatigue, she fell back into her pillows.

Amanda reached for the sleek medical equipment on the dresser. By the glass thermometer, Beth’s temperature was slightly elevated. Using the brand-new experimental sphygmomanometer that Quaid had taught her how to use when she’d assisted in Josh’s procedure, Amanda pressed the cup against Beth’s radial pulse, while her other hand felt the diminishing pulse. Good Lord, her blood pressure was much too high! Amanda broke into a clammy sweat. Although the experimental equipment was the only method
they had to gauge blood pressure and it wasn’t entirely accurate, it gave Amanda an indication that something was terribly wrong.

By stethoscope, Amanda heard crackling rales in Beth’s chest, another indication of too much water retention. Thank goodness the baby’s heartbeat was strong and even, but Beth displayed hyperreflexia, jittery with every touch. With rising distress, Amanda returned the stethoscope to the dresser. When she turned around to face Beth again, Amanda stopped cold.

Beth was having a seizure! She rolled her eyes, stiffened, and seemed to lose consciousness.

Oh, no! Shock wedged in Amanda’s throat. “Tom!”

Tom lurched to her side, complete horror on his face. “Beth…?”

Amanda knew what needed to be done. They only had a few minutes to do it or the baby would be damaged. “Run and get Quaid! I need you both back here in one minute flat!”

Tom dropped everything and ran.

She stayed with Beth, watching the seizure finish. It lasted roughly fifteen seconds. Amanda had heard of it, but never seen it.
Eclampsia.
High blood pressure and edema in pregnancy, culminating in seizures or coma. For some unknown reason, the baby caused a toxic condition. Once the baby was delivered, the eclampsia would disappear. The only thing that might save the lives of mother and child was immediate Cesarean delivery.

While Mrs. Garvey stayed with her, Amanda raced to Quaid’s office to gather what she’d need. Scalpels, sutures, retractors, surgical scissors.
She’d
have to perform the surgery, and prayed Quaid would be coherent enough to keep his wife under choloroform.

Quaid and Tom burst into the bedroom as Amanda was dashing in with her second armload of supplies.

Quaid gently shook his wife, trying to get her out of her stupor. “What is it?”

There was no time for formalities. Amanda glared from Tom’s stark face to his brother’s. “Beth had a seizure.”

“Oh, my God.” Quaid’s face darkened. As he looked down at his fragile wife, his eyes began to water with a faint touch of hysteria.

Amanda needed him calm. “Scrub your hands. You’ve got to assist me.”

“We can’t cut her open,” Quaid sobbed.

Although Amanda was torn, as well, she took a deep breath and braced herself. “She won’t feel it. You’ll put her under and together we’ll do this. Scrub
now.
”

“It may be a death sentence.”

“She’ll die for sure if we don’t do this. So will the baby.”

“Come on, Quaid.” Tom gently tugged his brother by the arm to the washstand. Amanda was grateful Tom was here.

Battling tears, Quaid scrubbed.

Would he be of any use, or better if he stepped aside?

“What can I do?” Tom asked her as she donned her surgical frock. He was equally pale, but more in control than Quaid.

“Stay beside your brother,” Amanda said in a feverish whisper. “If he happens to collapse, you’ll have to take over. I’ll guide you.”

“Oh, my God,” blurted Tom, echoing his brother’s words.

Beth was just coming out of her woozy trance when Amanda placed the cloth, soaked with chloroform, over her mouth and nose. There was no time to explain it to dear
Beth. She faded off into unconsciousness as Quaid whispered loving words.