The Midwife's Tale (32 page)

Belinda nodded. “I’m sure that’s it. I don’t believe what Samantha said is true at all. And you shouldn’t either, Martha,” she murmured as she patted Martha’s arm.

A warning bell sounded in the deep recesses of Martha’s mind, but she ignored it. “Just what did Samantha say?”

Carrie frowned. “I told you not to mention it, Belinda, but you just couldn’t resist, could you?”

Martha took a long sip of tea, enjoying the banter.

“I’d rather tell Martha now so she can be prepared, that’s all.”

Martha’s spine began to tingle. “Prepared for what?” she asked as she took another sip of tea.

Belinda’s gaze softened. “Samantha said the mayor is going to speak to her father this week. He’s going to announce their betrothal at the party.”

Martha choked on her tea. Choked. Sputtered. Coughed.
Choked again. Overhead, a wicked clap of thunder shook the house and heavy rain pelted at the windows as the expected storm finally hit with a vengeance. Her throat tightened. Her heart raced, and her lungs pounded against the walls of her chest, demanding oxygen. Gasping, she finally squeaked in enough air to draw a breath. She wiped at tears and forced herself to breathe. Steady. Breathe again.

When her heartbeat returned to normal and her burning cheeks had cooled, she laughed out loud. “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard you say, Belinda. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but it is ridiculous. I’m afraid you’re the victim of a very cruel hoax or Samantha is going to be very embarrassed when her claims turn out to be wrong. I’ve known Thomas Dillon all my life, and he isn’t going to ask Samantha to be his wife in this life or the next. I think we should go back with Melanie and her family now. After our prayers, I have an important errand to run. I’ll stop to see Aunt Hilda and tell her Melanie needs her as an afternurse on my way.”

25

T
he new planked sidewalk along West Main Street could have been a gangplank, as far as Martha was concerned. There might not be an angry sea waiting to swallow her up, but the prospect of confronting Webster Cabbot in his shop held the same allure.

After sending Aunt Hilda to Melanie Palmer, Martha had returned home, retrieved the watch, and left immediately. She had not even bothered to open the invitation to Thomas’s party that Eva Clark had left for her. Many hours of reflection had convinced her she had no other choice than to return the watch to Webster. She’d probably known that the moment she discovered the watch at Samuel’s, since she disliked asking anyone to solve a problem she might resolve herself.

Most especially, she disliked Webster Cabbot. A gunsmith by trade, he was as arrogant and domineering now as he had been the day he had brought his family to Trinity nearly fifteen years ago. He rarely allowed his wife, Dora, to leave their living quarters above the shop.

When they were younger, their three sons had never attended school; instead, they had taken whatever lessons they had received at home and had worked alongside their father as apprentices. Now that they were nearly grown men, she had no idea how skilled they had become at gunsmithing. They had been apt pupils, however, when it came to emulating their father’s domineering nature, or perhaps it was an inherited trait they had received along with his dark looks and swarthy skin.

Webster had never joined the congregation or attended meeting or allowed his family to do so, either. He refused to vote or to attend town meetings. Quite ironically, he never participated in the militia, either, although he was more than willing to repair or replace a gun for any of the men who did.

He was about the last man in town Martha wanted to tell he had made a terrible mistake, particularly when he would have to admit very publicly he had been wrong. She did not have the right to assume responsibility for either the mistake itself or doing what it took to rectify it, and she prayed he would not disappoint her.

It was too much to hope he might act before Thursday and the monthly town meeting, but she hoped for it anyway.

After crossing Dillon’s Stream via the covered bridge closest to the tavern, she walked south past the first shops. The acrid smell of burning wood behind the cooper’s establishment and the pungent smell of processing leather laced the air. Pedestrians rarely gathered at this end, and she did not encounter anyone until she approached the general store and found Patience Greywald talking with Samantha’s mother, Ruth Leery.

Mindful that she was not supposed to know Patience was teeming again, she inquired about her husband instead. “Good morning, all. Has Charlie gone back to work yet?”

Patience paled. “He’s not doing as well as we’d hoped, I’m
afraid. Dr. McMillan is probably with Charlie now. We thought the infection had been cleared, but we’re hopeful it won’t be long now.”

Martha had not heard anything about any complications before now and tried to keep her smile in place by changing to a happier subject. “Melanie Palmer delivered another son early this morning. They’re calling him Isaac,” she ventured.

Ruth nodded approvingly. “Another son? That’s wonderful news. Men always prefer to have sons, don’t they? I’m sure Edward is no different. At least Melanie has Lucy to help her. I know Samantha is a great blessing to me,” she added. “Have you heard from Victoria?”

Martha had anticipated the question. She just had not expected to feel as if Ruth had plunged a knife into her heart. “Maybe in tomorrow’s post,” she murmured. “I understand the mayor is planning quite an event next Saturday.”

Ruth beamed. “We’re very excited, naturally. Thomas is a fine man, but of course, you know that, don’t you? I do hope you’ll be able to attend. Samantha is with Mrs. Ostermeyer right now, which reminds me. I must be going. I promised Samantha I would give her a chance to pick out the material for her gown by herself, but I simply must have a peek. You know how foolish and irresponsible young girls can be when left to their own devices. There’s nothing like a mother’s guidance, especially with something so important,” she added, and quickly took her leave.

Another stab. Deeper. More hurtful. Tears welled, despite Martha’s determined attempt to stop them.

“She’s just excited,” Patience explained. “She didn’t mean to upset you. Victoria is young and impressionable, but she has a fine head on her shoulders. She’ll realize her mistake and come home soon. I’m sure of it.”

Martha swallowed the lump in her throat. “I pray she will, but the longer she’s away, the harder it seems to be.”

Patience smiled. “I know. Then to have this happen . . .” Martha cocked her head.

“The betrothal. Thomas and Samantha. The whole town is buzzing. Everyone thought . . . well, after people saw you and Thomas at the market together . . . I mean, some people assumed . . .”

“Thomas is an old friend. Nothing more,” Martha assured her. Apparently, Belinda’s tale had not been as far-fetched as Martha had assumed. She still found it hard to believe, given her conversation with Thomas not six weeks ago, when he was still clearly missing his wife.

“Well, I’m glad,” Patience said. “You have enough to contend with right now. And I have two boys at home who are probably getting in Dr. McMillan’s way.” She shifted her parcel from one hand to the other. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d best get home.”

“Give Charlie my best wishes. Tell him I’ll be praying for him.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Unnerved, Martha turned to continue on her way when Sarah Welsh, the minister’s wife, emerged from the general store. “Martha? Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.”

The older woman looked drawn and haggard, despite her warm smile. “I wonder if you’d be free Wednesday night to sit with Mrs. Armstrong? She’s fading, poor dear. I’m spending as much time with her as I can, but I’d really like to be home that night. It’s Stuart’s birthday. If you can’t, then I’d understand.”

Anxious to give Sarah some time for her husband, Martha did not hesitate to agree. “What time would you like me to go?”

“Seven o’clock?”

“I’ll be there, and tell Reverend Welsh I wish him many blessings.”

“Oh, I will. I will, dear, and thank you,” she gushed before heading toward home.

Martha’s spirit filled with good humor that did not fade until the moment she reached the gun shop. She took a deep breath for courage. Heartened by the delicious smells coming from the confectionery next door, she made herself a promise to stop to see the Lynn sisters and purchase a large, thoroughly decadent treat for herself. If she succeeded on her mission now, she certainly would deserve a reward; if not, she might need to drown herself in something sweet to ease her disappointment.

When she opened the door and stepped into the gun shop, the bell tinkled overhead. She glanced around the shop and waited for someone—she hoped it would be Webster—to come to the display room.

An impressive array of hand-crafted weapons, from pistols to long-barrel rifles, decorated the walls. Finely forged barrels had been shaped and shined to perfection. Most of the stocks were carved from local wood, although there was a glass display case devoted to pistols with ivory handles.

She felt like she had trespassed into private male territory, much like any man might feel upon entering the dressmaker’s shop. The sound of approaching footsteps kept her from dwelling on the analogy, which reminded her of Ruth’s conversation. When the door creaked open, she shivered and wrapped her fingers around the watch she had stored in her cape pocket.

Once Webster Cabbot emerged from the back workroom, he took one look at her and scowled. He closed the door behind him and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t make donations to any cause,” he snapped.

Her hold on the watch tightened. “I haven’t come to seek a
donation. I’ve come to make one to the cause of justice,” she responded. She laid the watch on top of the glass display case and locked her gaze with his. “I’ve been asked to return this to you. Apparently, you lost it out by the trash pit. I trust you’ll see that Sheriff Myer drops the charges against Burton Andrews.”

His dark eyes flashed with recognition when he looked at the watch, but not a glimmer of guilt shined in their depths. He snatched the watch and inspected it closely before hanging it back in place on a peg next to the door at his back. “Tell Andrews he’s a bigger fool than I thought if he thinks he’ll get himself cleared by hiding behind a woman’s skirts or if he thinks he can hide from the law forever. I’ll see Myer, all right. To give him the watch as evidence.”

He narrowed his gaze and clenched his fists. “No man enters my shop, feigns friendship, and then turns thief the minute I turn my back. And no woman dare plead his case for him. Not even you,” he spat.

She stiffened her spine and locked her knees to keep them from shaking. “I haven’t seen Burton Andrews since long before I left for New York, and I have no idea where he is now. I have no interest in protecting him, either,” she added, hoping to extinguish at least one of the sparks of anger he shot at her.

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you,” he countered. “You might start by giving me the name of the person you claim found the watch.”

“I can’t give you that name because I gave my word I wouldn’t. The reasons why are irrelevant. What matters is that you admit to a mistake and right the wrong that’s been done to Burton. And his wife. You should believe me for one reason only: I give you my word what I’ve told you is the truth.”

He snorted. “The truth? The truth is that Andrews is a thief and a coward. He stole my watch. My grandfather’s watch . . .
that’s hung on the wall in this shop every day while I’ve worked for the past fifteen years and in my shop in York for ten years before that. Why do you think I left York? To get away from scoundrels like Andrews and from riffraff like what’s out there at that academy, just waiting till folks let down their guard so they can steal them blind.”

He snatched the watch off the peg and shook his fist at her. “Give Andrews a message for me. Tell him I wouldn’t drop the charges against him if he marched down Main Street barefoot in the snow and begged me. Tell him—”

“I can’t tell him anything,” she protested. “I have no idea where to find him. Even if I did, I know Burton would not come home unless you admitted the whole affair was a mistake. A dreadful mistake . . . made by a man who truly regrets nearly destroying his friend’s reputation, along with his marriage, because he’s no better than the rest of us. We all make mistakes,” she murmured. “Not all of us have the courage to admit them, but I think you do. You’re a vain, self-centered man, Webster Cabbot. You rule your life and your home with an iron will. Ask anyone in town. They’ll agree with me. But there isn’t a soul for fifty miles who wouldn’t also agree you’re a righteous man. An honorable man. I know you’ll do what’s right. That’s why I came directly to you and not Sheriff Myer. And that’s why I won’t speak a word about this to anyone. Ever,” she vowed.