The Secrets of Midwives (14 page)

“So, Floss,” Michael said as we sat adjacent to each other at the table.”Bill tells me you're a midwife? A noble career. I'd imagine it's very fulfilling.”

My eyebrows rose. I expected that a single, eligible farmer would have found midwifery a necessary but unremarkable career choice. The fact that he was interested made him rise several notches in my book. “It is,” I said. “Very fulfilling. I delivered my fiftieth baby yesterday, as a matter of fact.”

“Your fiftieth?” He gave me a little clap. “Well, I can't boast those kinds of numbers, but I've delivered the odd calf. Though I don't imagine it's quite the same.”

I laughed. “There'd be some similarities, I suppose. But I can't say I've ever delivered a calf.”

“I'll be sure to invite you along next time.”

“I'll be sure to accept.”

We smiled at each other. His stance—leaning forward, elbows on the table—betrayed his genuine interest. I only wished I could return it. His smile more than made up for his peculiarly shaped head.

“I see you two are getting along?” Bill said, sliding into the seat to my right.

“Just talking about our common interests,” Michael said.

“Midwifery,” I said. “Elizabeth used to be a midwife too,” I told Michael, “before she was married.”

“Is that right, Elizabeth?” Michael called out to Elizabeth in the kitchen. “You must miss it.”

Elizabeth entered the room with a roast chicken on a large brown chopping board. “I do. I was just about qualified when I gave it up. Some of the best times of my life.”

Bill, who sat between Elizabeth and me, raised his head. Elizabeth's face changed. It was curious. She returned to the kitchen, and a moment later she was back with the vegetables. “Anyway, I'm glad it's all behind me now,” she said. Her tone was aiming for bright, but not quite getting there. “Married life is wonderful. I certainly couldn't do both.” She held the knife out to Bill. “Would you like to carve, darling?”

“It seems like an awful lot of effort to go to if you quit before you're even qualified,” Michael said. “Do you plan to keep practicing after you're married, Floss?”

“I hadn't thought,” I answered honestly. “I suppose I would.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth's voice was tight. “And how would you do that? Abandon your husband at all hours of the day and night, cycling all over town, going into strange houses like a woman of the night. And what about children? What would you do with them? Strap them to the back of the bike? It's just not feasible, Floss.”

“I don't know,” Michael said. “A man could cook his own dinner from time to time, surely? And going into strange houses doesn't make you a woman of the night if you're there to deliver a—”

“Elizabeth makes a good point, though,” I said quickly. Something about the way she spoke made me nervous.
Woman of the night?
They weren't her words. And the stillness that had come over Bill—it worried me. “It's not always practical.”

“No, it's not,” Bill said. He moved to the head of the table, in front of the chicken. With a large knife, he sliced the bird in long, expert cuts. “I could hardly have Elizabeth cycling into town while she's pregnant.”

“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “Of course not.”

For a few minutes, we ate in silence punctuated only by the occasional scrape of cutlery. The mood had taken a funny turn and I wasn't entirely sure why. So what if I planned to work after I had children? I didn't have any children, and I was fairly certain my prospects of having them were slim at best. Even if Elizabeth and Bill didn't know that, were they really so insecure about their own choices that everyone needed to agree with them?

At least Elizabeth was eating. It reassured me. She was so thin, and at this stage of pregnancy, women needed calories. She ate like she was expecting twins—triplets!—though I wasn't about to point that out.

“This is delicious, Elizabeth,” I said, hoping to inject some life back into the party. “The chicken is perfect.”

“You're a lucky man, Bill,” Michael agreed, “a wife that can cook like this.”

Bill was looking at Elizabeth. “Slow down, darling. Are you eating for two, or two hundred? You'll give yourself indigestion.”

Elizabeth's smile snapped into place, frozen, if not for a slight quiver.

“Must be a boy,” he continued. “That's my guess. What do you think, Floss?”

I frowned. Elizabeth's cheeks were pink. Was he trying to humiliate her?

“The gender doesn't have bearing on the amount of calories the mother needs to consume.” I sat a little straighter in my chair. “Elizabeth needs to eat plenty at this stage of her pregnancy.”

As usual, Bill held my gaze, but this time, it unnerved me. Perhaps I was a little sharp, but I considered it necessary. Silence fell upon the table yet again. Elizabeth wouldn't meet my eye, or Bill's. It was as though she were contemplating something very important. Finally, she married her knife and fork and rested them on her plate.

After dinner, I helped Elizabeth bring the dishes into the kitchen. While I filled the sink, she stood beside me. Right beside me. I got the feeling she was leaning on me. Physically (practically) but more so, emotionally. I was happy to prop her up. I had a strange feeling she needed it.

“So how is the pregnancy going?” I asked. I wanted to segue into Bill somehow but wasn't sure of the best way.

“Oh yes, fine.”

“No issues?”

“None at all.” She stepped ever-so-slightly away from me, scrubbing the same plate four times, front and back. “My blood pressure is fine, my weight and measurements are fine—”

“Actually, you look thin,” I countered. “Apart from the stomach, you look like you've lost weight.”

“Morning sickness. Can barely keep a thing down.”

I felt my eyebrows gather. Morning sickness was rare this late in pregnancy, and besides, she seemed fine and well. “Any kicking?”

“Yes. It's kicking right now.”

“May I?” I stepped forward and lifted the hem of her blouse. Elizabeth stepped back. But it was too late.

I thought I might faint. I cooled from the head down, giving me strange, falling sensation. Elizabeth tried to force down the hem of her blouse, but I held it tight. A purple, mottled bruise—red wine on cream carpet—stretched from her right hip to her navel. An angry bruise.

“It's nothing.” Elizabeth forced her shirt down. She turned away from me and resumed washing dishes. “I fell on the way to the outhouse, is all. It can be awfully dark at night, and it was raining.”

I stared at her.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Have you been to the doctor?” I asked.

She waved her hand. “The baby's kicking, I told you that. You have to be tough out here, in the country. I can't be running off to the doctor with every little sniffle. And keep it to yourself. I don't want Evie worrying.”

“Evie's your midwife!
You
should tell her.” I lifted her shirt again and ran my fingers over the mark. “Does it hurt?”

“No. You're sweet to be concerned, but my baby is growing beautifully, and it must be tying itself in knots, the amount it's wriggling about. Don't tell Evie, Floss. Please?”

“Okay.” I pressed a palm to my forehead. I could hardly force her to tell Evie, but I didn't understand her hesitation. “But you need to see a doctor.”

“I can't.” She took the tea towel from her shoulder and started drying dishes and returning them to their places. Still reeling, I picked up another towel and helped her.

“Well, at least come to a prenatal clinic so Evie can give you an exam.”

Elizabeth crashed a stack of plates onto a high shelf. “I'm a
midwife,
Floss. Why should I ride a bus all the way into town to be told things I already know?”

“How's it going in here, ladies?” Bill and Michael entered the room. They appeared good-humored, no trace of the awkwardness during dinner. Bill had a way of charming people, convincing them he wasn't such a bad guy. But now, I wasn't sure it was true.

Elizabeth placed the last of the cutlery into a drawer. “All done.” She turned, a bright, convincing smile on her face. “Now—who's ready for dessert?”

“You're in for a treat,” Bill said to Michael, all smiles. He winked at Elizabeth. “Elizabeth makes the best treacle pudding you'll ever taste. And after the dinner she's just had, I'm sure she won't be able to eat a bite. Help us, Floss.”

“Better not. I have a long ride ahead of me.”

“I can drive you home,” Michael said. “I was going to offer earlier. I'd be happy to.”

“You're very kind,” I said. “But I must go.”

At the time, it was all I could do to get out of there. Suddenly, standing there in that tiny house felt suffocating in a way that it hadn't when I'd arrived. What was going on with Elizabeth? I wanted so much to help her. But how could I, with her forbidding me to say anything?

With hindsight, of course, there were lots of things I could have done. But by the time I realized, it was too late.

*   *   *

The phone was ringing. Lil had finished hanging the washing and was sitting in front of me. She was available to talk, she
wanted
me to share this with her. She sat, ignoring the shrill, metallic ring of the phone.

I snatched it up. “Hello? Floss speaking.”

“Mom, it's me.”

“Grace.” Lil sighed, picked up the laundry basket, and left the room. Discreetly, I picked up my purse and tucked the envelope farther inside, out of sight. “Are you all right?”

“I'm wonderful. You'll never guess what? I did a delivery with Neva last night.”

“You did?”

“I was short a birth partner, so she said she'd do it. It was wonderful, Mom. I was so proud of her. Oh, and listen to this: She brought a man with her. A gorgeous man.”

In the kitchen, Lil was not exactly slamming cupboard doors, but certainly closing them firmly. “She brought a man
to the birth
?”

“Yes. A pediatrician.”

“Oh.” I wasn't following, but from Grace's triumphant tone, I got the sense that she would fill me in.

“Something was going on between them. Something romantic. I'm sure of it.”

“You think he's the father?”

“No.” Her tone dipped. “No, I don't think that. At least, I don't see any reason that she'd hide it if he was. He's single. Respectable. As I said, gorgeous. It's a shame, because he was lovely. A good match for Neva.”

“Why is it a shame?” I asked.

“Call me a dreamer, but I'm still hoping the baby's father will swoop in and everyone will live happily ever after. I can't help but feel that the child will be missing out, not having the opportunity to know its real father.”

“Like … you missed out?” I spoke carefully, trying to keep the waver out of my voice.

“This is different, Mom. It's preventable. My father died—you didn't pretend he'd never existed. What Neva is doing to her baby—denying it a chance to know its father—that'd be pretty hard to forgive. And I don't want Neva to destroy her relationship with her child before it's even born.”

Grace chatted awhile longer, and then we signed off. But after I hung up, the room began to blur. A throbbing pain hammered in my chest, and my hands coiled around the base of my throat, over the pain. I couldn't breathe. I tilted my head from one side to another, trying to find Lil. A sharp rattle came from somewhere—from me?—and then there it was—her face. Even amidst my alarm, the sight of her soothed me.

“Floss?” Lil's voice rang out. “Darling, what is it?”

Another great rasp came from me, stealing the last of my breath. I pointed at my chest, where the fire raged. I managed to suck in a short breath. “I think … I think I'm having a heart attack.”

 

13

Neva

“Looks great, Annabelle. Does it feel better?”

It was late afternoon and I was teaching a breast-feeding clinic at the birthing center. I was exhausted. I'd finished up at Mom's place about 6
A.M
. but when I'd arrived at my apartment an hour later, I found I couldn't sleep. I'd called Grace a couple of times to find out how Gillian and the baby were doing, but she must have been busy. I hadn't wanted to disturb Patrick for the second time in twenty-four hours, so I just waited for news. It was hard to focus on the task at hand, but luckily, my muscle memory for these clinics was good enough to fake it.

“It feels a million times better. Neva, you are a lifesaver.”

“If it hurts, take her off immediately and relatch. It's meant to feel one hundred percent comfortable.”

Around the room, all the mothers and babies were nursing comfortably. “You're all A-plus students. Breast-feeding doesn't always come easily. It's a learned skill; every mom-and-baby unit is unique. But you've all done brilliantly. We're about done; I'm just going to grab some samples of the nipple cream I told you about. Feel free to exchange numbers while I'm gone. Other moms are invaluable when it comes to sharing knowledge.”

In the corridor, I opened the cupboard where the samples were kept and began rifling through.

“There you are.”

I spun around. Patrick stood by the front desk with Anne. He was dressed in suit trousers and a rumpled shirt under his white coat. He looked as tired as I felt.

“There
you
are!”

I crossed the room and, without a thought, wrapped my arms around his neck. Patrick stiffened at first. It wasn't like me to hug. But after the emotion of last night, I still didn't entirely feel like me. “How's Gillian? How's the baby?”