Comes a Time for Burning (9 page)

Thomas accepted the offered hand. “It appeared that Huckla’s companion was feeling poorly this morning,” he said. “Sitzberger? He’s working now?”

“Suppose he is, but I couldn’t put my finger on just where right at the moment.” He turned at the waist, watching the flume crew work the sticks through the chute. “The kid workin’ the pig there,” he nodded at the last log in the chain, “that’s Todd Delaney. He shares the tent with Sitzy. He’d know, if you wanted to ask.”

“Well, if he feels poorly enough, he’ll seek us out,” Thomas allowed.

“’Spect he would be. That your man?” He pointed behind Thomas. Sure enough, a horse and rider had emerged from the timber, cutting across the open ground toward the flume. Thomas first recognized the fisherman’s knit cap, and then the tight, collected posture in the saddle. Howard Deaton didn’t allow the mare to slacken pace until horse and rider were nearly upon them. The mare danced to a halt, blowing hard.

“Doc, sure do needja down in town.”

“I was just on my way. What is it?”

“It’s Mrs. Parks, Doc.”

Thomas’ heart leaped. “She’s fallen?”

Deaton had already turned the mare toward Port McKinney, and she danced sideways at the delay.

“She’s…she’s had the baby, Doc.”

“My God.” The mare’s excitement had awakened the gelding, and Bertram caught the bridle even as Thomas stabbed a boot into the stirrup.

“You watch yourself,” the timber foreman said, but Thomas had already given the heel to the gelding.

Howard Deaton and his mare certainly knew the way, and Thomas urged Fats to keep pace. Myriad questions flooded Thomas’ mind, but he was caught, with nothing for it but to ride as he’d never ridden before. Reaching the village, Deaton chose one of the quiet back alleys of Port McKinney, and in a moment they burst onto Gamble Street, passing the clinic in a burst of hurled mud.

Deaton slipped off the mare and grabbed the gelding’s reins as Thomas dismounted. His fingers felt like sausages as he fought with the ties that secured his medical bag and then he was flying up the front porch steps of 101 Lincoln.

Chapter Eleven

“Congratulations, old fellow,” Dr. Lucius Hardy said. He put a hand on Thomas’ chest, effectively blocking his way for just a moment. “You have a healthy son.”

“Alvi…”

“As perfect a delivery as I’ve ever seen.” Thomas slipped past, but as he did so, Hardy added, “Go easy, Doctor.”

The room was flooded with soft light, only the fine inner curtain drawn over the window.

“She is asleep,” a woman’s voice said. Thomas stopped at the foot of the bed as a short, powerful figure rose from the bentwood straight chair.

“Mrs…”

“Mrs. McLaughlin.” Thomas could see that the folds of her voluminous white dress and apron were blood and fluid stained. “Yes, we’ve met on occasion.” Her voice, almost gruff, was barely a whisper. “Your wife summoned me this morning.”

“I…”

Why hadn’t
he
been summoned, Thomas thought in a whirl of conflictions. Those conflictions were written clearly all over his face, and Mrs. McLaughlin reached out a hand and touched Thomas’ forearm. “I know.”

“You
know
? What do you mean, you
know
. I talked with my wife at luncheon this very day. The child is…the child is…” and Thomas could think of nothing further to say. Alvi must have known that birth was imminent, and yet had said nothing to him. Still, such things sometimes came as a surprise, he’d been told. One moment all is fine, the next moment, the water breaks and the infant demands to meet the world.

“Your son is perfectly formed in every way,” the mid-wife said with considerable satisfaction. “And he sleeps like a perfect angel.”

Holding his breath, Thomas drew near. Alvi’s serene expression showed no traces of the agonies that Thomas had come to associate with childbirth. His wife was so beautiful, lying against fresh white linens, her reddish-blond hair fanned around her head. The infant, in fine white muslin, lay in the crook of one arm, and Mrs. McLaughlin drew back a corner. The infant was indeed perfect, a little wash of black hair on the front of his skull.

“They must both sleep,” the mid-wife said. She touched Thomas’ hand to intercept as he reached out to stroke the infant’s forehead. He waited for her to withdraw her hand, then with a feather-light brush of his fingers, watched the wisp of hair rise and then settle on the almost transparent skin.

“The birth was without complication, and the little boy was most prompt in joining the world. One of the quickest deliveries I’ve ever seen. But even so, rest is the best thing.”

Thomas stood by the bed, at a loss. He surveyed the room, and saw the minimal trappings of labor—the small cart with its twin pans, an abundance of clean towels that apparently had not been used, the black rubber pad folded in a bucket on the table’s lower shelf. And he had not been present.

“How has the episiotomy been managed?” he asked finally, the only thing he could think of, so flummoxed was he by this turn of events.

“The smallest amount of tearing,” the mid-wife assured. “Nothing that might warrant even a single suture.”

“And injury to the pelvic floor?”

“Doctor, there was none.” Mrs. McLaughlin folded her hands in self-satisfaction.

“But the infant weighs…” Thomas could see the outline through the muslin, and was certain that the boy surely totaled six or seven pounds.

“A healthy, full-term infant,” the mid-wife said. “What more could you wish?”
Full-term
. The impossibility of the words echoed in his brain.

“Assuredly,” Thomas said, and for a moment was sure that he would pass out on the spot. “Bleeding…” He said the single word with his eyes closed, waiting for the world to steady on its axis.

“Little. And now fully subsided.”

Thomas could think of nothing else to say, so Mrs. McLaughlin said it for him.

“You have a healthy wife, and a fine, healthy baby boy. You should be most pleased.”

“I am…I am.”

To her credit, Rachel McLaughlin did not laugh, even though Thomas was certain that she understood his consternation. She remained tactfully silent, letting the obvious speak for itself, allowing Thomas’ thoughts to jumble unhindered. He started to reach out toward Alvi’s right hand, curled in complete relaxation on the coverlet, but he stopped.

“She is a mountain for seven,”
Lucius Hardy had said.

“And how could I…” he started to whisper to himself, but stopped. “When did my wife first contact you, Mrs. McLaughlin?”

“That would be yesterday afternoon,” the woman said.

“She informed you that her labor was imminent?”

“She did so.” Mrs. McLaughlin leaned closer and lowered her voice until Thomas had to watch her lips to be certain. “She said that she wanted me to know, since you are so often called for emergency surgeries, Doctor. Just to be prepared.” That made eminent sense, of course, and Thomas could fully imagine Alvi, in her own thoughtful way, making such a preparation.

“And today?”

“Shortly after lunch, Miss James came to fetch me.”

“Gerti did?”

“Yes. It is my understanding that you had just gone up on the headlands. The moment the event seemed certain, Alvi requested that Mr. Deaton find you.”

He could feel the hot flush on his cheeks. “And did it occur to you that I would certainly
not
have ridden
anywhere
had I known the birth was imminent?” He sounded petulant, he knew—but in large part it was directed at himself. As a physician he should have
known
that birth was near and not two months distant. Yet he could not shake the revelation that so much had apparently transpired behind his back. Part of him said that he had no wish to argue with this capable mid-wife, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“I wouldn’t presume to say, but I would suppose so, Doctor.” She leaned just heavily enough on the final word that her meaning was clear. “And you know perfectly well that your wife is a woman of strong convictions.”

“That’s the truth,” Thomas said, and let it go at that. Mrs. McLaughlin was right, of course. Alvi’s independence was part of the young woman’s charm. She did not ask permission to take walks, or have the old dog in the house, or arrive at the clinic whenever she pleased, or talk with patients unannounced.

He leaned over and touched his lips to Alvi’s forehead, just a slight brush. “And we all love her for it, don’t we.” He straightened up and nodded at the mid-wife. “Thank you, Mrs. McLaughlin. I am forever in your debt.” Her wide face split in a smile.

“I will attend her until evening,” she announced. “And then I shall return in the morning. But there is no cause for any concern. Not even a little bit.”

“Thank you.” He did not bother to remind the woman that there were now two physicians in the house. Had he done so, he thought, her laughter might awaken both infant and mother. “Was it you who summoned Dr. Hardy?”

This time, Mrs. McLaughlin looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know the gentleman, sir,” she said. “But it is my understanding that Mr. Deaton informed the doctor before Howard rode out into the timber to fetch you.”

“And Dr. Hardy assisted you?”

“Well…” she began thoughtfully, “he offered one or two notions that were certainly helpful.” She looked pleased that she had managed to be so tactful.

Chapter Twelve

“What am I to do?” Thomas asked, and for a long time, Dr. Lucius Hardy let the question hang, as if unsure that the younger man actually wanted an answer. The evening was splendid, a few clouds scattered on the horizon, just enough to spread the final burst of sunlight. Thomas sat in one of the wicker rockers on the porch of 101 Lincoln, Prince curled nearby, watching. The dog had studiously ignored Hardy, instead positioning himself so that he could see through the front door to the interior of the house. Thomas knew that the animal was waiting for Alvi’s appearance, fretful that he hadn’t been allowed in the bedroom.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Thomas prompted.
What’s done is done
, he kept telling himself.

“I hadn’t examined your wife before I was summoned,” Hardy replied carefully. The physician’s large hands were quiet in his lap, wrapped around a fragile tea cup. He had refused an offer of brandy, but Thomas had served himself a generous portion. Hardy held up a hand. “I speak as an outsider, of course, and that’s easy to do. But I see a certain priority here. The child has arrived, he’s safe and healthy, as is your wife.”

“He cannot be mine.” It was the first time Thomas had actually given voice to the thought, and he was surprised at the awful lump that it produced in his throat. His voice dropped to a whisper as he repeated himself. “He cannot be mine.”

Hardy regarded his cooling tea. “How old is your wife, Thomas?”

“She will be twenty-seven in July.”

“And what month did you arrive in Port McKinney?”

“My ship docked on September twelfth.” He frowned and tried to clear his throat again. “Almost exactly eight months ago.”

The corners of Hardy’s eyes crinkled, but it was sympathy that prompted his amusement, not mockery. “You fell for Alvina immediately, I would say.”

“Yes. I like to think that it was mutual.”

“And you thought that the child was conceived a month or so after your arrival? That’s why you so firmly believed that she was seven months along?”

“One month, perhaps two.”

“Obviously not, then. I mean no insult, but Alvina was pregnant with this child some weeks before your arrival.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“And at first, why should she? Let me play the devil’s advocate with you, Thomas. Please be patient with me.” Hardy stretched his legs out, and reached down to place the cup and saucer on the porch deck. “An attractive young woman, then twenty-six years old—why should she
not
have relationships? At the risk of seeming crude, my word. At twenty-six, many women—
most
women—have an entire family under their roof.”

“I suppose…”

“You saw no signs during the long days you spent recuperating in this wonderful house? No one coming courting? No obvious interest in another’s presence?”

“There were
some
signs that she enjoyed a friendship with her father’s assistant. He shared the dinner table with the Haines family on a regular basis.”

“A
friendship?”

“Yes. That’s what I thought. Even more than cordial.”

Hardy chuckled softly. “Ah, Thomas. You’re wonderful.”

“I feel I should be offended by that.”

“Please, no. At the risk of sounding like a court’s advocate, let me ask this. At some later time, after the two of you had become intimate, did you
ask
her about this friendship?”

“No, of course not. On what grounds should I do that? What she did before my arrival is hardly my concern. Even
after
my arrival, I might add. But then her father passed away, and that consumed us both. The bond between us grew rapidly. And the gentleman in question had left Port McKinney shortly thereafter. Alvina seemed entirely content in my company. There seemed to be nothing between Alvina and the gentleman in question at that point, no lingering attachment, if that’s the word. When it became obvious that she was with child, sometime around Christmas, I think, we were both delighted.
Both
of us. And I just assumed.”

“So there you are.”

“I don’t know
where
I am.”

“Your wife has been entirely faithful to you, Thomas. That seems obvious to me, for what my opinion is worth.
You
, somewhat blinded by love, have assumed that the child was yours all this time, despite…and I mean no offense, my dear chap…the rather obvious signs that Alvina was somewhat further along in her pregnancy than
you
suspected.”

“Somewhat,” Thomas said wryly. “I don’t understand any of it. I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me when she first suspected her pregnancy.”

“Put yourself in her place, Thomas. If she
had
told you, would it have affected your attraction to her?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. I would hope not.”

Hardy pursed his lips. “Well, I doubt it. I say that as a newcomer, based on first impressions only. But my impression is a strong one. She would not have wanted to
lie
to you. You
do
love your wife, do you not?”

“Yes. Unequivocally.”

“Then we have answered the question.” Hardy leaned forward, his hands clasped over his belly. “We cannot presume to know what went through her mind when she knew for certain. So recently bereft of her father, she may have feared that you would turn from her. She may have thought that, with many months before term, that situations could change, making such an announcement unnecessary. Tragic or not, much can happen between conception and birth. It’s a long nine months.”

“She should have told me,” Thomas insisted.

“Perhaps so. Perhaps so. We aren’t privy to your wife’s rationale. But again, at some risk, may I gently add that you, as a physician keen of eye and understanding in so many
other
respects, should have known. But there you are, Thomas. I can assure you, given the mother’s natural propensities, that Alvina loves this perfect infant with all of her heart—and will share that love with you, my lucky fellow. It appears that the actual father is out of the equation, so to speak. He has moved far away?”

“Yes. San Francisco.”

“And not apt to return to Port McKinney?”

Thomas laughed dryly. “Most likely not. There were some legal issues that would face him should he do so.”

Hardy’s eyebrows shot up. “An interesting fellow, it would seem. So, you see, it’s up to you. I…” Hardy started to say something else, but stopped as footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs and then advancing across the wooden floor to the front door.

Prince’s bedraggled ears perked but otherwise the dog remained motionless.

Thomas turned to see Gert James standing in the doorway. “Doctor, Alvina wishes to speak with you.” Gert’s manner was so stiff, so entirely proper, that Thomas experienced yet another lump in his throat.

She knows as well
, he thought, looking at the housekeeper’s wonderfully hatchet-like face.
Well, of course she does
. “Will you excuse me?” he said to Hardy, and the other physician picked up his cup and rose to his feet.

“I shall stroll back down to my grand suite at the clinic,” he said. “Should you need me, there I’ll be. I took the liberty of borrowing a copy of your father-in-law’s book to browse through. It appears to be a fascinating tome, this
Advisor
.” He handed the cup and saucer to Gert. “And my thanks to you for the most wonderful dinner that I’ve enjoyed in many years.” She accepted the cup and saucer without a gracious nod.

“May I ask that tomorrow morning at nine, you join me in my conversation with Carlotta Schmidt and her husband?” Thomas asked. “I think that will contribute to their peace of mind. By then, perhaps I will be able to think in something other than a muddle.”

“Indeed I would. Thank you for the confidence. And please…will you pass on my very best wishes to your wife? If medical assistance is required, you know where I am.” He chuckled. “The Presidential Suite atop the clinic. And I still have the pleasure of meeting the rest of the nursing staff this evening. Mrs. Crowell? Miss…”

“Stephens.”

“Ah, yes. And I’ll look in on both the child and Mr. Malone from time to time.”

Thomas paused in the doorway and extended his hand to Lucius Hardy. “Thank you for your counsel, Lucius. And thank you for dealing with Mrs. McLaughlin. I appreciate your being there.”

The physician ducked his head. “For whatever it’s worth, my friend, you’re very welcome. Mrs. McLaughlin is a force of nature. We’re fortunate to have her in the community.” As Hardy said that, Thomas saw a softening on Gert James’ face, a warmth in the eyes when she looked at Lucius Hardy. “Good night, then. Miss James, good night to you, too. What an adventure to have a child in the house again, eh?”

Gert James brightened a bit more. “Not a moment’s peace and quiet, I fear.” She managed a smile, and the expression reminded Thomas of a cracked porcelain cup. She stuck out a well-worn shoe, moving to block Prince’s determined advance over the threshold. “You don’t need to come inside, you wretched beast,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” Thomas said. “For a few minutes, it will be fine.”

“Honestly,” Gert muttered, her generalized comment on most things of which she disapproved. “Mrs. McLaughlin said that she will call at nine o’clock this evening for a few minutes.”

“That will be fine,” Thomas said. “Unless Alvi is asleep, in which case we shall not awaken her.”

Gert nodded and closed the front door firmly, glancing after Prince, who had already started up the long stairway, one slow, careful step at a time as if he were a hundred years old. “You watch him,” she added sharply. “There’s never any way to predict how such a monster will behave around infants.”

“He’ll be fine,” Thomas said. He also took the stairs methodically, more to give himself time to think than as a means of favoring his now fully-healed hip.

The master bedroom’s drapes and curtains were drawn wide to let in the soft glow of late evening. Alvi looked lovely as she cradled the infant, and even from across the room, Thomas could hear the tiny, greedy sounds of the baby’s feeding. The physician drew closer, astonished at the color blooming across his wife’s cheeks.

“You are astonishingly beautiful,” he said softly. The dog’s tail thumped the side of the bed, and Thomas frowned at him. “She’s fine, hound. Find a quiet corner now.”

“He frets,” Alvi said.

“Yes, he does. But we don’t need dog hair fretted all over the room.” Thomas drew the infant’s blanket down a trifle. The baby’s eyes were closed, one tiny hand clutching breast as he suckled, the other wadded up under his chin. “You’re beautiful, and so is he.”

“You were in earlier,” Alvi whispered. “You should have awakened me.”

“Mrs. McLaughlin would have taken an axe to me had I done so. She leaves word that she will be back at exactly nine this evening to check on you. I told Gert that if you’re asleep at the time, you are not to be disturbed.”

“I shall sleep
a lot,”
Alvi said with a sigh. “And if we’re lucky, so will he. He’s even decided that he can eat while asleep. Such talent.”

Thomas touched his little finger to the curled hand, and smiled with delight at the tiny grip. “How much did he weigh?”

“Just under eight pounds.”

“My word.”

“And you know, he must have a name other than ‘
he.’”

Thomas sat down on the bed beside Alvi, and she clamped his hand in a ferocious grip with her free right hand.

“You’re upset,” she said.

“No.”

“And now, you’re fibbing. I can see it in your eyes, Dr. Thomas. I can always tell when you are cast adrift.”

He covered her hand with both of his. “Will you explain to me why you didn’t tell me from the very beginning?”

She didn’t reply for a very long moment. “May I tell you right now what is the most important thing to me, Dr. Thomas?” He smiled at her perpetual use of her private nickname for him, one that she had settled on the first time she’d spoken with him—while standing at
his
bedside.

“I hope so.”

“Twenty-five years from now, I want to be able to look at one of those wonderful framed photographs that will be standing on the mantle above the fireplace in the library,” she said. “Perhaps we can hire the wonderfully adventurous Mr. Kinsey to produce it for us. It will show Dr. Thomas Parks,” and she reached up to run her fingers through his thick locks, “touches of gray beginning to enhance his already distinguished appearance, his wife Alvina Haines Parks, perhaps a bit matronly by now in
her
appearance, and the fifteen Parks children arranged around us. One of them will be this child, and I want nothing more…
nothing
more…than for him to be a Parks, Dr. Thomas. That’s what I want. That’s the whole and substance of it.”

For a moment he couldn’t speak. His wife had presented the “whole and substance” of it in a way that brooked no misunderstanding. The baby shifted and gave his finger another squeeze, as if prompting him for an answer.

“Fifteen,” Thomas said in wonder.

“That’s in the
first
twenty-five years.”

“I should have been here for his birth, Alvi.”

“Bosh,” Alvi said. “There is no way to predict such things. You know, in the past few months, several of the town’s more adept gossips have made
sure
that I heard an endless litany of gruesome tales about the birth process. ‘
Why, when Millie Jones had
her
baby,’”
Alvi mimicked, “‘
the labor went on for thirty hours!’
And so on. You can imagine, I’m sure. They made sure I heard
all
the tales.”

“I can imagine.”

“It’s going to disappoint all the wagging tongues to hear that the arrival was so prompt and free of complications.”

“I’m sure they’ll find other things to wag about. I really don’t care what they think.”

“It gives me joy to hear that, Dr. Thomas. Let them wag. I know what
I
want, and I hope you do as well. I don’t care what the wags say.”

A loud thump drew Thomas’ attention. Prince had allowed his remarkably bony, gangly carcass to slump to the floor, knees akimbo, front paws stretched out, head lowered to them, eyes sleepily fixed on the doorway.