Judge Thee Not

by Edith Maxwell

  “But will the court allow thee to continue working while carrying thy baby?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “We’ll see. I didn’t have the interpreter position when I was pregnant with Rebecca. I confess I’m not even wearing a corset today, although I do at court. The fool things are so very uncomfortable. But I’m having several new garments made for me in the Aesthetic dress style. You know it? The garments have no defined waist and feature much free-flowing fabric.”

  “Wearing such dresses sounds wise for thy condition. I have tried to encourage other clients of mine to adopt such comfortable, unrestrictive clothing but most are reluctant.” I normally didn’t wear a corset myself, being naturally slim of build. “Does thee know the lawyer Sophie Ribeiro? She adopted Aesthetic dress some time ago. She always looks so at ease.”

  “I know her, of course, from my work at the court. It was from her I acquired the idea. I hope the new dresses will conceal my state for a few more months, depending on how fast this fellow grows.” She patted her belly. “I don’t know, of course, but I have the distinct feeling this one will emerge a son and even bigger than my firstborn.”

  “Lift thy skirts and let me check thee. We’ll see how he’s faring.” I proceeded to take her pulse and then measure the distance from her pubic bone to the fundus, the top of the uterus. I applied the wide flare of the Pinard horn to her belly and listened through the small end.

  I straightened. “It’s faint because it is small yet, but thy fetus has a good regular heartbeat. From the measurement I would say thee is about halfway through. I’d put thee at about four and a half months along, possibly five.”

  She narrowed her eyes, thinking back. “I suppose it’s possible. So I’ll have a fall baby.” She restored her skirts and sat up. “Rose, I heard some malicious gossip about Miss Ribeiro around the Armory yesterday. A society matron came in trying to lodge a complaint of lascivious cohabitation against her. She said Miss Ribeiro wasn’t fit to serve as counsel.”

  I rolled my eyes, not that she could see the gesture. “Let me guess. The complainer was Mayme Settle.”

  Jeanette turned her head toward me. “How did you know?”

  “She was in the post office this morning being rude to my friend Bertie Winslow, the postmistress. Perhaps thee knows she lives with Sophie.”

  “Of course I know. Who doesn’t? And it’s not a platonic friendship, either. But such talk is pure balderdash. Who gives a dead rat what two ladies do in the privacy of their own home? Luckily, the magistrate is of a similar mind and refused to lodge the complaint.”

  “I admire thee for speaking thy mind, Jeanette, and I’m glad we are in agreement on this matter.” I patted her hand, even though I knew she could hear the smile in my voice.

  “Land sake. It’s the only sensible way to think. Mrs. Settle ought to be shut up and banned from polite society.” She gave a vigorous nod. “Indeed she should.”

  I held up a hand in a reflexive but useless move. “In her defense, she does perform a great many acts of charitable service for the poor among us.”

  “I know, I know. And it’s not Christian of me to speak ill of her.” She pursed her lips, then slapped her thigh. “But you know what else she did?”

  “Do tell.”

  “Mind you, this is fact, not gossip,” Jeanette began. “I was standing in the hall outside the courtroom as plain as day, and I heard her talking to the banker, Mr. Irvin Barclay. I know his voice because Mr. Papka and I have our accounts with him at the Powow National Bank. The two were having a disagreement. He must have seen me because he tried to hush her, saying I would overhear. But Mrs. Settle claimed I was a deaf-mute and a moron and couldn’t comprehend their conversation.”

  I gasped. “She didn’t.”

  “She most certainly did. I hear it all the time.”

  “Doesn’t she know you work for the court?”

  “She might not, if she’s never had occasion to witness me interpreting.”

  “But Irvin Barclay must know better, about your abilities, from you and Stanley banking with him.”

  “Pshh. He pays me no heed, even when my husband and I go in together. Says banking is for gentlemen.” She laughed. “Mr. Papka knows well how I feel, but he still allows Mr. Barclay to have his way. My Stanley says it is a minor battle out of all those we might fight, and this way he saves me the grief of having to deal with an idiot.”

  Jeanette was one of the most intelligent people I’d ever met. We’d become friendly even before her daughter’s birth, and she never failed to impress me with her breadth and depth of knowledge on any topic we’d ever discussed. Competent in all areas of life except vision, she knew people’s identities by their voices even if she’d only met them once. She played lovely music on the violin—all by memory. Her family was enlightened, caring, and comfortable financially. Jeanette had had tutors and had completed a full course of schooling. She’d taken additional courses in the law to familiarize herself with the jargon and nuances about the matters for which she needed to interpret. She had challenging and remunerative employment, and was a caring wife and mother, to boot. Not having sight had not held her back in the slightest. Mayme Settle and the banker had each gone down another mile in my estimation.

  “Don’t worry, I’m accustomed to such ignorant attitudes about the blind,” Jeanette said. “People who hold them? It’s truly their loss.”

  Three

  Irvin Barclay ushered his wife into my parlor with an officious air at two o’clock sharp. He introduced his wife and himself.

  “Mrs. Barclay insists on seeing you, a midwife.” The corners of his mouth turned down as if the mere word tasted sour. “I advised her to consult a medical doctor but she put her pretty little foot down.” The banker Jeanette had heard at the courthouse had to be at least twice his wife’s age, old enough to be her father and then some. Such marriages were not uncommon among men of his apparent financial standing. He looked like an affluent spouse, judging from the cut and quality of his suit and the circumference of his well-fed midsection. His young wife, by contrast, was both petite and slender except for her growing womb.

  I smiled. “I am pleased to meet both of you. Rest assured I will provide excellent care for thy wife, Irvin.”

  His nostrils flared. His bushy reddish sideburns bristled and he lifted his chin at the affront of my not addressing him as Mr. Barclay. “My driver will deliver me to the bank and he will return forthwith and wait for Mrs. Barclay to be finished with her appointment.”

  “I thank thee for bringing her.”

  “Goodbye, dear,” Sissy Barclay said to her husband. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  He clapped his top hat on his pate and bustled out without saying goodbye to either of us.

  “Shall we?” I gestured for her to sit on the chaise.

  “Miss Carroll, I don’t know how I will ever make it to my baby’s birth alive,” Sissy said. She perched upright, clearly still encased in a corset despite being well along in her pregnancy. She looked exceedingly uncomfortable, her breaths coming shallow and fast.

  “Sissy, I insist thee calls me Rose.” Despite being at least six or seven months pregnant, in my estimation, this was her first visit to me.

  She made a moue with her plump lips. “It’s not proper, Miss Carroll.” The pout made her appear even younger than her twenty years.

  I kept my sigh inside. “Be that as it may. Has thee been under the care of a different midwife for thy pregnancy?”

  “No. When I married Mr. Barclay last year, I moved here from Portland, Maine. Portland is where my mama and grandmamma are, and my sisters, too. It took me a while to realize I was in the family way. And when I wrote to Mama, she said I must find a midwife right away, even though Mr. Barclay wanted me to see a physician. You know, a man.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I’d let any man but my husband look at me down there.”

  “I’m glad thee found me. I do, however, insist thee abandon thy corset from this day forth until a
fter thy child is born. Lacing thy belly so tightly is not good for thy health or that of the growing child inside thee.”

  “But what if Mr. Barclay rejects me? He so admires my wasp waist.” She gazed down at the sprigged fabric straining over her thick and bulging midsection. “The waist I once had, that is.”

  “Surely he loves thee and wants the best for thee and the baby.”

  “Of course he does.” She lifted her pointed chin. “He’s been wanting to be a father for a long time. His first wife couldn’t bear babies and then she died.”

  “Then let’s loosen this corset right now. I can’t do a proper examination if thee cannot breathe adequately, nor if I can’t fully palpate the baby’s position in thy womb.”

  Sissy allowed me to unhook the back of her dress and let out the binding restricting her. She let out a little laugh of relief, then filled her lungs and exhaled before speaking. “Miss Rose, I have to admit you were correct in your estimation. I haven’t been able to breathe well during the day for several months.”

  She was halfway to using only my Christian name, which I preferred, but I didn’t mention it so as not to make her aware of her slip. I surveyed her shape, which looked like she harbored a very large ball attached to the front of her belly. It was a big ball, but more well-defined than the more voluminous wombs of some gravid women.

  “Thee will respire easily now. And as for thy waist? Thee has put on barely more weight than that of the baby and the womb. I daresay thee will return to thy prior shape within several months of the birth.” Or near to it, anyway. I did find that younger mothers more easily regained a facsimile of their pre-pregnancy figures than older ones. I lifted her wrist and measured her pulse against the sweep of my grandmother’s clock on the mantel.

  “A healthy pulse,” I said. “Does thee remember when thee last had a monthly?”

  She blinked, thinking. “It was in the cold months. Maybe November? I know I began to feel sick in December and could barely enjoy Christmas dinner, but I thought I had a touch of the flu.”

  Not realizing one was pregnant wasn’t uncommon for a young primigravida, but I would have thought with a husband so eager for children, Sissy might have been more alert for the signs she was carrying a baby. “So that would make thee about seven months along. Now, please lie back and lift thy skirts.”

  She complied, but fanned herself with her hand. “It’s a warm June, isn’t it, Rose?”

  I smiled at hearing her drop the final barrier to simply calling me by my name. “So it is.” I measured the mound of her belly. The number seemed a bit much for the seventh month. I laid my hands on her warm, taut skin and gently pressed in, palpating the baby’s position. Good. The head was down and the rump up. Then I stared at her belly. Next to the rump pressed out another shape, and it wasn’t feet. I moved my hands there and palpated more. Unless I was seriously mistaken, what I felt was another head, with its rump behind the other twin’s head. No wonder her belly was so large.

  I picked up the Pinard horn and listened in a number of spots, keeping my suspicions to myself. Try as I might, I could only detect a single heartbeat. This wasn’t unusual, though. Often one twin hid behind its sibling until the very birth. Should I tell her she was going to have not one baby but two? I was obliged to say so but I dreaded it. Not the telling as much as the birth itself. Multiples were always risky. The labor often started early and the babies were too small to survive. There could be other complications, too. Seven months along, Sissy’s pains could commence at any time. At least the single fetal heartbeat I’d heard was a good, fast, strong one.

  Still, I had to let her know. “Sissy, I have discerned thee is carrying twins.” I smiled, doing my best to keep my expression reassuring.

  “Twins?” Her hazel eyes flew wide open. “Two babies? Sweet mother of Jesus.” She crossed herself. “My little sister’s twin brother was born sickly and died before he was a year old. It about broke Papa’s heart, especially since all the rest of us are girls. Is that going to happen to one of my babies, Rose? Is one going to be poorly and go to heaven before it has a chance to live?”

  “No one can say.” I pressed on her ankles but blessedly didn’t notice any appreciable swelling. Oedema could indicate problems she didn’t need. I restored her skirts and helped her up to sitting. I perched on my chair facing her. “So thee already had twins in the family. They can present a more difficult birthing situation, but most are born alive and healthy.” If they didn’t come early, that is.

  She picked at a thread on her cuff for several moments. When she spoke it was softly. “Rose, I’m sure the only reason Mr. Barclay married me was so I could bear him children.” Her voice caught. “What if neither baby survives? What if he tosses me to the side and sends me back to my mother?” She looked up with tears threatening to spill over. “What if he finds another girl to bear his babies?”

  He wouldn’t be the first. I mustered a reassuring smile. “Only the good Lord knows what will come to pass.” I patted her hand. “It won’t serve thee to worry without cause. Thy job now is to breathe deeply, nurture these babies in thy womb, and partake of all the lovely green vegetables, fresh fruit, meat, and milk we are blessed with in this plentiful season. Go home and tell Irvin the happy news. He will surely be delighted.” He would likely imagine it was his prowess as a male that produced two babies at once, but he’d be wrong. I hoped he wouldn’t insist that Sissy deliver in a hospital. She’d seemed quite set against doing so.

  After she left I closed my eyes and held her and her growing fetuses in the Light for some time. I opened my eyes when I heard the three younger Bailey children arrive home from school, but I had found no sure solace in prayer.

  The field of medicine had made great strides of late. We now knew disease was caused by germs, and we could prevent much sickness by acts of cleanliness. But two babies passing through the birth canal one right after the other and often at dangerously low weights? If only it were possible to delay natural labor. There was no medicine to successfully halt uterine contractions once they had begun in earnest. If only it were safe to surgically remove babies at term. Surgery wasn’t a real option, either. The procedure called a Caesarean section often led to the mother dying of infection and didn’t always guarantee the survival of the newborns, either. It was simply too risky.

  I would consult with my darling David when next we spoke. He might be aware of some new medical advance I hadn’t yet heard about. But I was afraid Sissy’s near future would be fraught with peril. And I would be her trusted provider. I wasn’t looking forward to receiving a call telling me her labor had begun.

  Four

  I arrived at Lake Gardner before Bertie. I’d packed our picnic supper into the basket on my bicycle after I’d donned my new split skirt, a cleverly designed garment which resembled a skirt in the front but was actually full-legged trousers. Wearing it made bicycling so much safer than when one’s skirt always threatened to get bound up in the spokes of the back wheel. After I’d seen mention of it in a publication, I’d had the garment made in a lightweight brown wool, so it was comfortable for warm-weather cycling but also didn’t show dirt as much as my pale gray work dress.

  David had insisted on lending me a horse and buggy for the winter, which had been a great help during the cold, icy months. Now with the weather warm again, I was just as happy to return the ever-patient Peaches and the conveyance and resume riding my simple bicycle. It took me everywhere I needed to go and kept me in good health at the same time by virtue of the vigorous pedaling required in our hilly town. In addition, keeping a horse was more work than it was worth for someone like me without a real stable or someone designated to care for the animal.

  I spread a cloth under an arching oak tree and plopped down. Winnie Hanson, my brother-in-law’s lady friend, had been at the house before I’d left, bustling around making dinner for the family. I quite liked her, and expected Frederick would be asking her to marry him any day now. She had a gentle way with
everyone, particularly the younger children, who still sometimes expressed the pain of losing their beloved mother two years earlier in their behavior. Winnie wasn’t trying to replace my sister, but she was so warm and welcoming none of us could help but love her. And she was indeed a positive influence on moody Frederick.

  However, she’d asked me to accompany her to another meeting of the Ladies Circle at Mayme Settle’s home tonight, one I wasn’t keen on attending. Chitchat with women who liked to talk mostly of fashions and recipes was not my favorite way to pass an evening. Still, what harm would there be in a gathering of civic-minded knitters? I’d told Winnie I’d meet her there at the appointed time of seven thirty.

  A horse’s whuff aroused me from my reveries to see the smiling face of Bertie as she slid off Grover’s back. She patted his neck and tied him to a nearby tree. She unlooped a sack from the pommel and handed it to me before flopping onto the cloth. Pulling off her leather gloves, she fanned herself and undid the top button of her shirtwaist. She turned her back to the sun sinking across the lake.

  “This was a splendid idea, Rose. If only I’d thought to bring my bathing costume.”

  In truth, several young ladies and men were splashing in the still-cold waters. While yearning to cool off myself, I still found the garments a touch scandalous, despite the ladies’ black stockings.

  “Let’s eat, instead.” I drew out the two meat pies I’d absconded with from Winnie’s baking session and proffered a bowl of strawberries I’d purchased from the fruit vendor in Market Square. “As it happens I must be off by sunset. Winnie convinced me to go a-knitting again, as long as I’m not called to a lady in labor. This time the gathering is to be at Mayme Settle’s home.”

  “Eat it is, then.” She took a bite of pie and uncorked her flask of sherry. “But going to Mrs. Settle’s? Are you sure you want to socialize with the likes of her?”