The Midwife's Tale (27 page)

She sat down on the bench next to him, plunged his hand into the bowl of water, and held it there.

“A week? Are you sure? Eleanor’s last letter said Dr. Park wouldn’t permit her to travel.”

“He wouldn’t, but since she’s my patient now, that’s not the issue.” While she cleansed his wound, she carefully recounted the details of her visit and Eleanor’s decision to return home to Trinity.

“Are you sure she’ll be able to make the trip? What if something happens to her or the babe?” His gaze grew troubled. “I . . . I wouldn’t want her to come home . . . because of me.”

Martha smiled. After she patted the wound dry and laid his hand on the table, she set the jewelweed into some warm water to soften. “She’s coming home because it’s best for her and for your grandchild. Micah wants to talk to you about maybe settling here permanently. Do you think there’s enough call for a lawyer here in Trinity?”

His eyes began to sparkle, as if reflecting the many ideas swirling through his mind. “I don’t know. Perhaps. But he wouldn’t
have enough clients to support a family. Not for a good while. I could help, of course, if they really want to settle here.”

“Micah doesn’t want charity. He made that quite clear,” she cautioned.

“He discussed this with you?”

She nodded. As accustomed as she was to acting as a go-between for her patients or their loved ones, she could see Thomas found the experience unsettling. “We talked about many things, some of which are to be left confidential. Some,” she added as she laid the jewelweed atop the wound, “Micah shared with me so I could talk to you about it before they came home. He didn’t want to trouble Eleanor by discussing financial matters, but he didn’t want to encourage her to entertain any thoughts of moving here without settling some issues with you before he brought her home.”

He stiffened. “What issues?”

“Micah wants to provide for Eleanor himself. He doesn’t want you to do that, but he also realizes the best place for Eleanor right now is back at home with you. He’d like for them to stay with you until the baby is born. By then, if he decides he’d like to practice law here, he’ll move Eleanor and their child into a home of their own.”

“He can’t make that kind of living here. Not right away.”

“He has an inheritance from his mother which will be enough to support them for now. Even longer while he builds his practice, although not quite in the fashion you might demand for your daughter.” She wrapped a bandage around his hand while he pondered what she had said. Although she had tried to cushion her words, she could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders he had taken offense.

“I wouldn’t interfere. You know that.”

“I know you would try not to, but Micah doesn’t. Unfortunately,
his experience with his own father has been . . . difficult. Once he leaves his father’s firm, he won’t be able to go back. If things don’t work out well for them here, he’ll have to take Eleanor with him to establish his practice elsewhere. That said, I’ve kept my promise to Micah and to you. How you control your sister, Anne, when she gets back in December is something you’ll have to handle. Now, suppose you tell me how an eight-year-old child managed to do so much harm.”

“I’m not eight yet. Not till March.”

She looked up and found Will standing only a few feet away, a forlorn waif swamped by the heavy blanket wrapped around him. How he had gotten back into her room without making a sound was a question she left unanswered, along with the question of how much he had overhead. She silenced Thomas with a shake of her head. “Sit by the fire to get warm. Spread out your clothes, too. I assume you have them somewhere under that blanket. And be still. You’ll have your turn to speak after Mayor Dillon.”

The boy shuffled to the hearth and plopped himself down on the floor so he sat with his back to them. Small hands emerged from under the blanket and set his shirt and trousers next to Thomas’s frock coat. “Lost my socks and my shoes ’cause of him,” he grumbled.

She put her hand on Thomas’s arm to keep him from bolting off the bench. “Tell me what happened, Thomas,” she urged.

He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Just before dusk, I went by the pond to look for my canteen. I’d lost it somewhere along the way coming home after militia practice. I couldn’t find it, so I decided to look again in the morning. That’s when I met up with Stanley Pitt. He’d been to the tavern with some of the other men. He was so far into his cups, I decided to ride along with him to make sure he didn’t topple off his horse and fall into the pond or the creek by his cabin.”

“Which ain’t got nothin’ to do with how—”

“Will! Not another word,” she cautioned. “Go on, Thomas.”

“As I was saying,” he snapped, “I took Stanley Pitt home. On my way back to town, I stopped at the top of the falls. It was well and dark by then, but I thought I heard something floating down the creek. I got closer and spied some fool poling a raft straight for the falls. I yelled, but it was too late. The raft went right over the falls. By the time I managed to ride down to the pond, I found him thrashing about—”

“I was swimmin’—”

“Drowning is more like it,” Thomas argued. “The raft was torn apart, and the individual branches he used to make the contraption were too small to support his weight. Fool that I am, I waded in and managed to grab him before he drank enough of the pond to sink himself.”

Thomas held up his bandaged hand. “And this is how he thanked me.”

Will sighed. “Why should I thank you? It’s all your fault my pack’s at the bottom of the pond.” He turned his head and looked at Martha over his shoulder. “It ain’t like he said. I rode my raft right over them falls, too. ’Cept the blame thing busted up. I had all my stuff and my food in that pack. I kept divin’ to find it, when all of a sudden I felt somethin’ big grab me by my shoulder. I thought it was a bear or somethin’ like that, so I gave it a big ole bite. He let go, too, squealin’ like a pig with its ring caught in a fence. That’s when I knew it weren’t no bear. Didn’t know it was the
mayor,
though. Not till he dragged me to shore and started rantin’ loud as thunder when he found out his horse run off. Dumb ole thing.”

Thomas gritted his teeth.

Will glowered back. “You can’t say nothin’ now, neither, ’cause it’s my turn.”

Martha caught her lower lip and stifled a laugh just begging to be set free. “Tell us why you were on the raft in the first place. And what in heaven’s name ever made you think you could go over the falls? You could have been killed!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “They ain’t that high. Besides, I got no horse. The only way I can get to Clarion quick is to ride down the stream.”

“I see. And you were going to Clarion for . . .”

“A ship. I heard you could get a ship there.”

“Don’t you like it at the academy?”

He yawned and did not bother to cover his mouth. “I wanna be a sailor. I sure can’t do that here. P. J. says I’m old enough to be a cabin boy. Just for now.” He yawned again and curled into a ball facing the fire. “I got to get me some sleep so I can build a new raft in the morning. After I find my pack.”

Thomas rose.

She urged him to sit back down again. “Let him sleep a while. I’ll tuck him into bed later.”

“What are you going to do with him after that?”

“Take him to Sunday meeting with me tomorrow. I can hand him over to Reverend Hampton then.”

“Better think of a way to let them pick up the boy on their way to meeting. The fewer people who know about tonight, the better.”

“That means someone has to ride out to the academy to let them know he’s here. Are you up to the ride?”

“I don’t have a horse at the moment, remember?”

“Take Grace. Maybe you’ll find your mount along the way.”

He sighed, grabbed his frock coat from the floor, and started for the door.

“Don’t forget to watch out for Leech.”

He stopped, but kept facing the door. “Fine. I’ll watch out
for the cat before I ride out on a slowpoke of a draft horse, soaking wet, in the middle of the night, to tell the Reverend Mr. Hampton that one of his incorrigible little monsters is safe and sound after nearly breaking his neck in a daredevil escape over the falls and then nearly biting off my hand—a tale which will cost you dearly if you breathe one word of it to anyone, especially my daughter. Then I’ll ride back, hoping I find my horse, and go home, where I’ll find an incorrigible feathered monster asleep on my pillow.”

His words had tumbled out in a rush, apparently spending his frustration. When he turned around and glanced at the boy, his gaze softened. “Make sure he’s good and warm,” he murmured, and left before she could thank him.

In point of fact, a thought that had been simmering in the back of her mind began to boil into an idea so preposterous, so impossibly wild, she had no inclination to ponder the complexities of the man who had just left her.

21

S
unday meeting.

Martha dreaded the thought, fought the demons of fear and worry, and let her hunger for worship keep her steps sure. She had not attended Sunday meeting since Victoria ran off, and she was not at all certain what she would do if her customary place had been relegated to someone else.

She passed the market and rounded the bend in the road. Just ahead, townspeople were entering the meetinghouse, where Reverend Welsh still stood outside to welcome them. Inside, the faithful who had arrived earlier spent their time waiting for the service to begin by scanning those assembled to see who had not come, providing fodder for gossip that would last until the ritual began again next Sunday.

After a night of very little sleep, she had spent the early morning turning over one very recalcitrant guest to Reverend Hampton and keeping her promise to herself to visit with Samuel Meeks and deliver his new eyedrops. She had every excuse for
being late, but dug deep for the energy to hurry her steps. Once Reverend Welsh closed the meetinghouse door, no one dared to slip inside. He was a good minister and a kindly man, but no one interrupted his service without regretting it.

When she was just yards away from the meetinghouse, he turned to close the door, saw her approaching, and waved. She ran the rest of the way. “I’m so sorry to be late,” she whispered.

“‘And the last shall be first.’ Welcome home, Martha. We’ve missed you. I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to talk at the market the other day. I wanted you to know how badly Mrs. Welsh and I feel about Victoria.”

“Thank you. It’s good to be home.” She slipped inside while he closed the door behind them and made his way through the crowd of people standing in the aisles to get to his pulpit. A sea of curious faces watched as she followed him toward the front of the meetinghouse, where members of the church vestry and town officials sat as one, leaders in the community of faith here as well as in everyday life.

Greeted by some genuine smiles of welcome, fewer frowns, and hushed whispers, she found her customary seat, on the end of the second bench next to the sheriff and his family, empty and waiting for her.

Relief she still had a place of honor at meeting did not ease the pounding of her heart for several long minutes. Winded, she drew in shallow gulps of air before joining in with the rest of the congregation as they sang the opening hymn.

Here, surrounded by the people she loved and the people she served, her famished spirit found nourishment. Here, she could find the strength, week by week, to wait for Victoria to come home and to return the whispers of gossip and scandal about Victoria’s disappearance with a smile as she continued her work.

Before the echo of the final notes faded, Reverend Welsh began the service, so familiar to her she could have recited the prayers from memory. He finished his sermon nearly an hour later. His message, as well as his delivery, was not nearly as powerful or as moving as the one Reverend Hampton had given at the market, but Reverend Welsh did have a deep and abiding faith and a sincerity that precluded an unfair comparison of each man’s gifts. Thus, she had no thoughts beyond his message and sang the closing hymn with gusto. Armed with joyful satisfaction, she looked forward to the impromptu reunions that lay ahead when the congregation gathered in disparate groups outside.