The Barefoot Bride (16 page)

Abruptly, Ethan caught Patch by the chin and said, “Don't be calling names, Patch. It's not something a lady does.”

Patch recoiled at Ethan's rebuke. She jerked herself out of his hold and scooted over to where she'd made her pallet. She
turned her back on him and pulled the quilt up over her shoulder. As she stared into the fire, her eyes blurred. Her chest felt achy deep inside. It hurt to swallow.

Why did Ethan's disapproval always seem so much worse than Pa's? And he had used that word again.
Lady.
Dora Deveraux wasn't a lady, but both Pa and Ethan gave the dang woman plenty of attention.

“I heard tell you're going to be getting a new dress,” Ethan said.

“I got measured for one,” she admitted.

“That's something I'd like to see,” he mused. “I bet you'd be a sight all gussied up.”

Patch rolled over to face Ethan. “A dress won't make me a lady,” she said, “if that's what you're thinking.”

“I was only thinking that you'd be awful pretty in a dress,” he said in a soft voice. “And it'd make your father happy.”

“All right. I'll wear the stupid dress. But only for Pa's sake.”

He smiled, and she was glad she'd agreed.

Ethan stood to go to bed. On his way past, he bent over and tousled her hair. He paused and let a strand or two slide through his fingers.

“Why, this is like cornsilk,” he said. “What'd you do to it?”

“I washed it,” Patch said, slapping his hand aside.

“You oughta wash it more often.”

It was one insult too many. Patch attacked, throwing her weight against Ethan's legs and tripping him. Ethan just laughed as he rolled into the fall. She quickly pinned him down on his back by sitting on him. The harder he laughed, the madder she got.

Patch hit at whatever part of him she could reach with her fists. “Durn you, Ethan! Smelling like you do, how dare you say that / need to bathe more often.”

He did little to defend himself, just parried the worst of her blows and laughed. “If the shoe fits, wear it,” he managed to say. Then added, “That is, if you haven't dumped them all in the river.”

Even the mention of shoes was like rubbing salt in an open wound. Patch used every swear word she knew and several new ones she made up for the occasion. Ethan just roared with laughter.

“That's enough games for now, Patch,” he said at last, capturing both her hands in one of his. “It's way past your bedtime.”

“I'm not a child,” she huffed. “I can stay up as long as I like.”

“Yeah, well, you're acting awful cranky.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I've got good reason.”

He shoved her off onto her fanny on the floor and got to his feet. “Suit yourself. I'm dead on my feet.” He ruffled her hair once more and dodged her hand when she swung at him.

Patch watched him walk out of the room without giving her a backward look. She could still hear him chuckling as his boots hit the floor.

Oh, the indignity of it all! Patch didn't understand why his cavalier treatment galled her so. She only knew it did. She felt peeved, put-upon, and provoked. But she would get her revenge. Just let Ethan try finding his boots tomorrow morning. She'd take great pleasure in telling him he could go fish for them!

The creak of floorboards in the hall woke Molly. It was still pitch dark, and she wondered who was wandering around at this time of night. She quickly rose and put on a robe to investigate. To her surprise, she caught Whit stealthily opening the door to Seth's room. “What are you doing out of bed?” Whit flattened guiltily against the wall. “I
was just—I just … I went out to use the necessary,” he said.

“Oh. Well, be careful you don't wake up Seth when you get in bed.”

“That's no problem/’ Whit said. “Because he's not in there.”

“He's not?”

“He never came to bed,” Whit said.

“Go on, then, and get back to sleep.” Molly made sure Whit got into bed and waited to tuck him in before she left. But instead of going back to bed, she walked over to the lace-curtained window. For a long while she stood watching as the sky slowly turned from a dark cocoon into a brilliant pastel butterfly of color.

Where was Seth? she wondered. Why hadn't he said he was leaving? And why should it upset her so much to know he had disappeared without telling her where he was going? More important, did she really want to be there to confront him when he returned?

Suddenly, the door opened, and he was standing there.

“Molly? Is something wrong?”

She kept her voice carefully under control as she replied, “You tell me. Where were you, Seth?”

“I was … with a patient. Mrs. Gulliver.”

“All night?”

“I didn't intend to be gone so long, but she was having trouble. So I stayed.”

He was lying. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his tone of voice. But why would he lie? What could he possibly have been doing that he couldn't tell her about? The possibilities were endless and distressing, to say the least.

Molly wasn't sure what she would have said next, but she was never given the chance. There was a sharp rap on the door, and when Seth opened it, a heavy-set man wearing overalls and workboots stood there. His hair was standing on end and going every which way, and he was nervously curling the brim on a battered brown hat.

“It's Iris,” the man said. “It's her time.”

“I'll get my bag,” Seth replied. He explained to Molly, “It's Iris Marsh, our closest neighbor. She's having labor pains at last. The baby's late coming. I've got to go. We'll have to postpone our trip into town.”

Molly saw the worried look on Seth's face and said, “I'll go with you. Maybe I can help.”

“The children—”

“I'll wake up Whit. He can take care of Nes-sie. Just give me a minute to get dressed.”

Seth was waiting outside with the buggy harnessed when Molly came through the front door. “Let's go,” she said.

It was a quick five miles to the Marsh place, which turned out to be a sod house cut into the side of a hill. Molly was astonished when she entered to see how many people were living in the small, dark space. There were identical twin boys about Whit's age, an older girl with deep-set brown eyes who held a year-old baby in her arms, and a pig-tailed girl about Nessie's age. Five children. And Iris Marsh was expecting a sixth.

“You kids stay out of Doc Kendrick's way, you hear?” their father said. “How's that boilin’ water comin’?” he asked the oldest girl.

“It's ready, Pa,” she said. “Whenever Doc Kendrick needs it.”

“I'll leave you to it, Doc,” Henry Marsh said. “I've got some plowing to do.” He called the twin boys to come with him and left the room.

Molly couldn't believe he would simply walk away like that. Didn't he want to be near his wife in case something went wrong? But then, he wasn't going far—no farther than a voice could call.

Molly had experienced childbirth with and
without her husband present. James had been at sea when Whit was born. She had cried out in vain for him when the pains were at their worst. She had wept tears of joy when she saw their son for the first time. How she wished James had been there to share the moment with her! Whit had been two when James finally came home. Her son had been frightened of James's enthusiastic homecoming, but he had soon come to love his father. He was inconsolable when James took to the sea again.

When Nessie was born, James had been home, but he had been no more a part of the birthing process than he had when he was gone. Oh, he had come upstairs when she called. But when Molly saw how much her pain distressed him, she had sent him away again. Perhaps that was the case with Henry Marsh. At any rate, as many times as Iris had been through this ordeal, the two of them must have worked out this arrangement between them.

Molly met Seth's eyes and smiled. This must be the most rewarding part of his work, she thought. To help bring new life into the world.

A small portion of the room had been curtained
off with a blanket hung from a rope. A constant low moan was coming from behind the partition. Molly stepped behind the blanket and was immediately drawn to the woman who lay there.

Iris Marsh was rail thin, except for her immense belly. She had a piece of leather clenched between her teeth through which guttural groans were escaping. Her hands gripped the brass bedstead above her as her body strained to disgorge its burden. Her chambray nightgown was draped at her waist, and her knees were up and widespread. To Molly's amazement, the woman's abdomen rippled under the powerful contraction.

As soon as the contraction was over, Iris let go of the bedrail, heaved a sigh of relief, and reached out to shake Molly's hand. “You must be the new Mrs. Kendrick. Heard the doc got hitched. It's a pleasure meetin’ you, ma'am.”

Molly responded to the woman's overture with equal warmth. “I'm pleased to meet you, too, Mrs. Marsh.”

“Call me Iris. Everybody does.”

“And I'm Molly. You have a lovely family, Iris. Are you wishing for a girl or a boy?”

“Henry wants a boy. But I'd like to have me another little girl. Heard you brought a couple kids with you. How are they taking to the west?”

Molly looked up at Seth, wondering where all this information had come from, but he just smiled and shrugged. “The children are adjusting very well,” she said. If it was a lie, it was in a good cause.

“I know you ladies would like to chat some more, but there's some business needs tending,” Seth said. “Molly, see if you can find a clean sheet to put under Iris. And get me some of that boiling water for my instruments. I don't think it's going to be long now.”

Molly did as she was told. But long after the sheets had been changed and the boiling water had cooled, the child still had not been born. More than five long hours had passed since they had arrived. Molly now knew more about Iris Marsh than she had learned about Aunt Hattie in the six months she'd lived with her.

She knew Iris and Henry had come west from a farm in Kansas trying to escape memories of atrocities that had occurred in their town during the war. That Henry preferred suspenders to a belt and that he wore false
teeth. That Iris had always wanted a red satin dress and had dreamed of performing on a steamboat traversing the Missouri. That they had named their girls after flowers—Rose, Amaryllis, and Daisy—and their boys after trees—Ash and Alder. This baby would be called Lily if it was a girl, and Birch if it was a boy.

If Molly had even suspected something might go wrong, she wouldn't have let herself get so involved with the other woman. But it had seemed when they arrived that everything would be over very quickly. The baby's head had crowned some time ago, yet it refused to be born. Molly didn't dare voice the fear that had been growing over the past several hours because she didn't want to frighten Iris. But in that, she had underestimated the older woman.

“Something's wrong, Doc,” Iris said. “I been straining, but the babe just won't come. Ain't there something you kin do?”

Seth took the woman's hand in his to check her pulse. It was weak; Iris was tiring. “I can try using forceps to pull the baby out. Don't know if it'll work. But it's all I know to do.”

“You won't crush its skull or nothing like that, will you, Doc?”

Molly saw Seth swallow hard. “I'll be careful, Iris. As though it were my own child.”

“I trust you, Doc,” the exhausted woman said as her eyes fell closed. “Don't know how much longer I can hang on. Better go ahead and give it a try.”

“Don't give up,” Molly said as she squeezed Iris's hand.

“Don't you worry none about me,” Iris murmured. “I ain't forgot you promised to throw me a christenin’ party at your place.”

In fact, they had planned the entire party down to the date and the guest list. Molly only hoped there would be a reason to celebrate.

“I'll need your help,” Seth said to Molly. “I'm going to try and situate the head a little better for what I need to do. And I may have to cut a little. Be ready to hand me the scalpel and forceps.”

Molly saw Seth's hands trembling, and she realized suddenly the tremendous courage it must take to play God. What followed happened mercifully quickly. He made a small incision, and the forceps did what all Iris's hours of pushing hadn't. Moments later, the baby was lying on the sheet between Iris's legs. Molly watched with growing respect for Seth's skill as he cleaned the mucus from the
baby's throat and gave it a slap on the rump that forced out a lusty cry.

Molly felt the sting of joyful tears as she met Seth's jubilant gray eyes. She wondered at that moment what it would be like to have Seth's child, to see the joy on his face at the moment of birth.

“You have a daughter, Iris,” Seth said. “Lily looks just fine.”

Seth cut the cord and laid the baby beside her mother, while he waited for the afterbirth and disposed of it. He made sure there wasn't any additional bleeding, then stitched up the cut he'd made.

Iris was too tired even to open her eyes to look at her new daughter. But Molly saw her feel the tiny fingers and toes, and smile when she realized they were all there.

“I guess I owe you that christening party,” Molly said. “I'll take care of sending out the invitations.”

Iris just nodded and kept on smiling.

A moment later, Henry appeared at his wife's bedside. He looked harried, worried, and Molly realized that even though he hadn't been present in the room, he had never really left it.

“She looks awful pale, Doc,” Henry said.

“It was a hard birth,” Seth said. “But give
her a little rest, and she'll be fine. By the way, you have a daughter.”

Henry grinned, exposing the full set of false teeth. “She's purty as her mama, ain't she, Doc.”

“Sure is, Henry. Guess we'll be going. I hoped to get to town today. May still be able to make the trip if I hurry.”

It was shortly after noon, and Molly felt wrung out. And exhilarated. As Seth headed the buggy back toward home, Molly put her arm on his sleeve and said, “I don't pretend to know much about you, Seth Kendrick. But you aren't a coward. That was the most courageous act I've ever seen in my life. I am so proud of you, and proud to be your wife. You saved Iris's life. And you brought Lily into this world whole and healthy.”