Maura was still explaining how to cook smooth oatmeal when she and Xan came upon a driftwood log, its surface gray and shiny, protruding from the sand. Xan led Maura to it. He spread the blanket he'd brought in front of it, and after a moment's hesitation she sat down beside him.
"Don't stop talking," he urged, thinking that he loved to watch the expressions on her face as they provided the backdrop for the mellifluous flow of words. "Tell me about your father."
"Oh, he's a big burly man who loves my mother and us and hunting, in that order." She laughed a bit. "Right now he and Mom are on an extended backpacking trip in Alaska. It was Mom's retirement present to Dad."
"Are you close to your father?"
Maura nodded. "We're all close. But my father—well, the thing about him that affected me most in terms of my life was that when I was a child he would disappear for weeks into the Michigan north woods or the wilds of Canada to hunt bear or moose or ducks, and when he arrived home with his trophies I'd be sickened by the thought of so much killing and throw up into the nearest receptacle." Her father's hunting expeditions left her with a loathing of hurting any live thing. She didn't know why she wanted to tell this to Xan. It seemed so personal.
Xan didn't laugh or make light of her feelings. Instead he gazed at her with respect. "I'm the same way," he told her. "There's a lot of wildlife on Teoway Island, and hunting isn't allowed, although the whole island used to be a private game preserve for the very wealthy. I look at the ducks and the raccoons and the deer who brighten my life by their very presence on the island and wonder how anyone could be so cruel as to harm any one of them."
They sat watching the waves chase each other toward shore, their bodies close and their thoughts so in tune that there might have been no space between them at all.
"Uncomplicated Maura," he mused, leaning on an elbow and staring up at her, one eye closed against the sun. "Move, will you? No, not that way—that's right." Now the sun was directly behind her head, backlighting her hair so that it looked as though she wore a bright golden aureole, and her head shaded his face so he didn't have to squint.
"Uncomplicated?" she said, sifting sand through her fingers. "Why do you say that?" Her eyes were on a direct line with his chest, which was covered with tightly curled dark hair tapering intriguingly toward the band of his swim trunks.
"You seem uncomplicated to me. Elemental, an earth-mother. Aren't you?"
Maura wasn't used to being talked to in this manner. It sounded fanciful to her, and she'd never been fanciful. She shrugged, smiling a bit and remembering what Kathleen had said about her learning to accept compliments, if indeed that's what this was. "The eye of the beholder," she said.
His eye beheld her as she looked now, sitting beside him. He couldn't imagine anyone being more beautiful. She wore no makeup today or yesterday, and that was good. He couldn't stand a face full of goop, all that fake stuff that made skin look like something it wasn't. He was dedicated to healing the human body, and this gave him a reverence for the miracle of bone and tissue and skin. To slather layers of artifice on such perfection seemed sacrilege to him.
"I'm glad you don't wear makeup," he said suddenly and startlingly.
Her mouth dropped open. She closed it again. "I thought we were going to talk about important things," she protested.
"That depends on what you consider important," he pointed out. When she made no comment, he sighed and took her hand, brushing off the remaining grains of sand. It was a wide and capable hand, and he remembered how her hands had looked when they'd caught Annie's baby.
Maura wished he'd get on with the discussion, having no idea how to impel the conversation forward herself.
Xan fixed his eyes on the blue-and-white sail of a catamaran far out in the ocean. "You should have seen what Shuffletown was like when I first opened my practice there," he told her.
"You came here straight from medical school?"
He nodded. "It was nothing but a ragtag community with no hospital, no school. We still don't have a school, but I made sure we got a hospital." He turned to look at her, hard.
"Maura, I begged, borrowed and stopped just short of stealing to bring the Quinby Hospital to Shuffletown. I beat the bushes looking for well-heeled donors who would help. I learned to write grant proposals and persuaded investors. Our hospital is a small facility, but it's direly needed. I've increased the infant survival rate in the area, and I'm hoping to do even more."
"And you think my plan to bring home births to the women of Shuffletown will affect your statistics," she said.
"I don't think, I know. Maura, women in high-risk categories shouldn't give birth at home. Such women should be in hospitals where they have access to life-saving equipment."
"I don't accept high-risk patients," she told him firmly. "I screen my patients carefully. Anyone who can't birth at home, I will send to my sponsoring physician."
His eyebrows lifted. "And just who is that sponsoring physician?"
"I was hoping it would be you." Her look was level, taking in his amazement.
"Me?" His astonished expression underscored the word.
She drew a deep breath. "I need someone to help me gain access to the hospital and the rest of the medical community. Why shouldn't it be you?"
He dropped her hand and lay back on the big blanket, closing his eyes as though they hurt. "Maura, you don't know what you're asking," he said.
"I'm talking about bringing my heart and my hands to the women of Shuffletown and to anyone else who wants my services," she said, fighting to make him understand. "Women having babies aren't sick. Most of them don't belong in a hospital. Birthing is a natural, normal process. I recognize that process and respond to it. Xan, you must comprehend what I'm saying." She was pleading now. Surely he would understand; he understood so many of the other things she'd spoken about during their short acquaintance.
Xan sat up and shook his head. "No way," he said with finality. "We don't need that kind of thing here. I can't encourage it."
"I know just how women give birth in your Quinby Hospital and other places like it," said Maura, her eyes flashing. "Why, you're still using the old delivery-room procedures, not even a modern birthing room with a comfortable bed and dim lighting and a comfortable chair for the father. The women are regimented and very seldom given any voice in how they want the birth of their babies to proceed. I'm willing to bet that the other children in a family play no role in the birth of a new family member and that fathers play a very little part, and—"
"Wait a minute," Xan interjected indignantly. "We allow the father to be in the delivery room, provided he's had some training."
"Do you see the father in your office when you see the expectant mother? Do you know anything about the family problems or environment?"
Xan shook his head. "If the father wants to come to prenatal appointments, that's wonderful. Most don't. Sometimes they can't get off work. Sometimes they're long gone. Maura, you don't understand the Shuffletown people. The thing to do is to push the services of Quinby Hospital for the safety of the patients, not to encourage births in the squalor of their homes."
"Like Annie's home, you mean? It must be obvious to you that Annie would have had her baby in her home no matter what you had done. She had no way to get to prenatal checkups, and I'm willing to bet she was intimidated by the thought of a doctor's office."
"There are all kinds of social programs, but Annie was too frightened of the system to take advantage of them. What was I supposed to do, track the woman down while she was expecting her baby and drag her in for checkups? I saw Annie Bodkin exactly twice for prenatal care, and then I never saw or heard from her again until her daughter called me on the day she was giving birth."
"I'm aware of how some people fall through the cracks. What I do is make prenatal and birthing services more personal so that people like Annie are comfortable enough to use them. Instead of a place where they're just a number, they deal with health care providers wh
o take into account all the issues they're dealing with in the personal lives, like not having transportation to appointments. You don't provide that."
Xan looked uncomfortable. "I'm a busy man. How could I have gone out and found Annie and brought her to my office for her checkups?" His eyes bored into hers, daring her to blame him for his supposed neglect of Annie Bodkin and all the women like her.
"That is exactly what I plan to do," Maura announced triumphantly. "When I set up my practice in Shuffletown, I'll provide transportation to checkups in my clinic in my minivan."
"When you set up your practice in Shuffletown!" exploded Xan. "Maura, that's folly. Haven't I managed to talk some sense into you?"
"You're not going to change my mind. But I'm going to try my best to change yours."
Xan's face was incredulous. "Maura, you'd better face facts before you go ahead with this. You don't belong in Shuffletown."
"All I'm asking from you is backup care so that my patients can be admitted to Quinby Hospital if there's an emergency such as a breech birth. Is that so much to ask?"
Xan let out a sigh of exasperation and raked his fingers through his dark hair. "Yes, it is. If you botch your deliveries, I won't take responsibility for your mistakes."
Seconds ticked by as Maura gazed down the beach at a flock of brown pelicans flying in formation over the water. Xan's comment about botching her deliveries had cut her to the quick. "Then I guess we're on opposite sides, Xan," she told him, trying not to reveal by her expression how much he'd hurt her. "Because I'm going to establish my practice."
He had never seen anyone display so much single-minded determination. She had won his admiration, too, because she honestly believed that she was right. He watched her unhappily as she unfolded herself with her own peculiar inborn grace and rose fluidly to her feet before looking down at him, her chin tilted upward.
"So it's goodbye forever?" he said with a hint of sarcasm, knowing that his tone of voice wouldn't endear him to her. He didn't know how else to react other than sarcasm. If she'd ranted uncontrollably at his position, even if she had cried, he would have known how to handle her. But this accepting serenity of hers, accentuated by the calm courage of her convictions, was something he couldn't fathom.
"Perhaps we'll see each other occasionally," she said, really hoping that this was true. She liked him. She couldn't help it. Even though he had closed one possible avenue of obtaining the necessary medical backup, she couldn't really hold it against him. Xan was the product of his training and background. She had seen doctors become defensive and angry and even abusive when confronted with the threat of midwifery.
Xan said nothing. A bitter feeling of frustration washed over him. He hadn't handled any of this well. He had wanted to impress her and make her like him, and he hadn't known how. What she did want from him, he couldn't give.
"Goodbye, Xan," she said, and she wheeled swiftly and walked away from him.
He rolled over on his stomach and let the last rays of the afternoon sun warm his back. He hadn't even had a chance to touch on the hospital as a major employer in the area. Nor had he pointed out that many of their patients were uninsured but received free or reduced-rate medical care. And he certainly didn't want to be drawn into any discussion that dragged him into opining on the state of health care in general. All he knew is that he was doing his best to improve things as he saw fit. Which, come to think of it, Maura was too.
As he rested his head on his arms, he tried to think of a way to let Maura know that even though he disagreed with her philosophy of childbirth and wished that she'd take her practice someplace else, he admired her and liked her and wanted to know her better than he did.
Chapter 6
Two weeks after her disastrous talk on the beach with Xan, Maura drove into Charleston to attend a party. She'd been invited by Bonnie Trenholm, a midwife whom she'd met through her professional midwives' association. Bonnie worked with an obstetrician who had privileges at the largest hospital in Charleston and suggested that he might provide backup for Maura as well.
"Dr. Urquehart is coming to a party at my house Friday night," Bonnie had told her over the phone. "We're a group of medical professionals in the Charleston area. You'll feel right at home."
Meeting Dr. Urquehart on a social basis appealed to Maura, and after her disastrous idea about having Xan Copeland examine her, she couldn't entertain any foolish notions about making herself a guinea pig again. Bonnie was so friendly that Maura had agreed to come to the party. It wasn't until afterward that she'd worried about what she'd gotten herself into.
It wasn't the kind of party she'd expected, she thought as she stood indecisively in front of the house, which was located in a new suburb on the outskirts of town. She'd thought there would be a few serious-minded medical people sitting around a well-furnished living room in a gracious old Charleston home, talking quietly above soft flute music from a CD. Instead here was a brightly lit modern house rocking on its foundations with loud music and a stream of nondescript people flowing in and out the front door.
"Don't just stand here, you'll get trampled," shouted one of several rowdy young men who stampeded toward the door as Maura was trying to decide whether she should stay or go. All of a sudden that question was decided for her as two of the men on either side of her wrapped their arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground as they swept her along with them into the hallway of the house. "She who hesitates is lost," one of the men intoned with a wink and a leer before abandoning her for the kitchen, where it appeared there were drinks.
Hors d'oeuvres on the dining-room table languished neglected in lank beds of wilted endive. People in the adjoining room were dancing with wild abandon, and Maura stared fascinated as various parts of their bodies jiggled in frenzy.
"Want to dance?" The question came from behind, and she whirled to recognize one of the fellows who had borne her into the house.
"I can't," she said. He looked woozy, as though he had already had too much to drink.
"Hah," he said. "That's pretty good. You can't?"
Maura nodded, sure it wasn't worth explaining. But she couldn't imagine herself in that crush of people, flinging her body around in such an obviously sexual way. Those long-ago dances in St. Bridget's High School gym had been comparatively prim.
"Why don't you just say you don't want to dance with me?" He was leaning toward her belligerently. His tone of voice made her uncomfortable and she recoiled sharply at the blast of his beery breath. She should have left, she thought despairingly, before she ever came inside.
Then, rescue. "Maura McNeill?"
She whirled to see a young brunette, petite and personable, looking up at her with interest. "Yes," Maura said, no longer worried. There was warmth and depth in the other woman's eyes.
"Bonnie Trenholm," said the brunette, holding out her hand. "Bob," she said to the young man, "DeeDee is looking for you. In the den."
"DeeDee," he bellowed, forging off down the hall, Maura forgotten. "Where are you, dear heart?"
"Ignore him," advised Bonnie. "He's an intern from the hospital. Gets drunk every weekend. I didn't invite him, but DeeDee did. She's a student nurse and has the most disgusting crush on him. Can't imagine why. But that's the way it is around hospitals, particularly hospitals attached to medical schools. You know all about that, I suppose."
Maura shook her head. Bonnie guided her up a nearby flight of stairs and sat on the carpeted landing. She patted the stair beside her. "Sit down," she said, grinning up at Maura. "This looks like a fairly quiet place for the time being."
"I don't know much about... well, dating situations around hospitals," Maura confessed. She felt she could be frank with Bonnie, since the other midwife seemed kind and understanding. "I—I came here right out of a convent. I took my nurse's training as a nun."
Bonnie stared for a moment. "Good heavens, and I invited you to this party? You must feel completely out of your element."
"That's for sur
e," said Maura fervently. "I really only came to meet Dr. Urquehart. I thought a social situation..." and then her voice died out uncertainly as she peered through the rungs in the stair railing at the bodies writhing to music in the room below.
"Don't worry," said Bonnie sympathetically. Her very sympathy made Maura trust her. "I'll corner Alan Urquehart and tell him you want to talk with him privately. I won't tell him you're an ex-nun unless you want me to."
"No, don't. When they know I'm an ex-nun, people see me in a different light. I want to appear as—as normal as possible. And my being an ex-nun shouldn't enter into whether Dr. Urquehart wants to sponsor my practice or not."
Bonnie squeezed her arm. "Of course it shouldn't. Okay. Wait on the patio and I'll send him out. Then you can stay at the party or leave afterward, whichever makes you more comfortable."
"I think," Maura said slowly, "I'd better go. Life in the convent didn't prepare me for this. I have some growing up to do before I can handle it."
Maura waited uneasily on a wicker settee for Alan Urquehart. The back of the settee cut uncomfortably into her upper arms, so she edged slightly forward and folded her hands in her lap as she rehearsed what she would say. She knew she'd have only a few moments to make Dr. Urquehart see the urgency of her situation. Dr. Urquehart was one of the best ob-gyn doctors in the Charleston area, and he was on the staff of the largest hospital in Charleston.
Finally, after what seemed like a long time, a middle-aged man came out of the house, closing the door quietly behind him. "Ms. McNeill?" he said, peering at her through thick glasses.
"Yes," she said, thinking that she needn't have worried so much. Alan Urquehart was a kindly, portly man who smiled at her reassuringly.
Maura's qualms faded away, and suddenly it was easy to talk to Dr. Urquehart about her hopes and dreams for the people of Shuffletown.
Cherished Beginnings Page 7
