“I feel I’ve adopted a grandmother,” Leah muttered to herself, stomping up the stairs to her house. And that wasn’t all bad, she admitted silently. It was just that some day, she yearned—
“Mrs. Gunderson.”
The voice was dark, deep and richly resonant. It halted her in her tracks, one foot on the porch, the other on the top step. From the shadows beneath the steep roof, a tall figure stepped forward, and Leah watched as one long arm reached up to scoop the wide-brimmed hat from his head.
“Ma’am?” That single word held the power to set her heart beating almost double time, and Leah pressed her palm against her chest.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Leah made her way slowly, carefully, to her door, her legs trembling as she turned to face Gar Lundstrom. “You only startled me, Mr. Lundstrom. I was thinking about my neighbor. About her quinsy, actually.” She peered up at him. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am. I was told you might be able to help, since the doctor is…indisposed,” he said carefully.
She leaned forward. “Are you hurt? Have you sustained a wound?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not me, ma’am.” He stepped closer and she caught sight of his face, strained and anxious in the twilight.
“What, then? Your boy?”
“My wife. She is about to give birth, and she needs help. The women in the store have told me you are learned in the art of healing, and I thought—”
“I don’t deliver babies, Mr. Lundstrom,” Leah interjected forcefully. “I can sew up a cut or give herbs for some ailments, but babies are the business of the doctor.”
“He’s—”
“Yes, you said. Not available.”
He stepped closer, and his dark eyes burned with an intensity that stopped Leah’s breath in her throat. “I’ve driven my team hard to come back to town, ma’am. I fear to leave my wife alone longer.” He reached to grip Leah’s arm. “I need you to come with me. Surely you know about birthing babies. There is no one else to ask.”
“Doesn’t your wife have any women friends?” Leah asked, her voice hopeful.
He shook his head. “She doesn’t leave the farm much. Only to church, when she’s able, and to the store.”
“I haven’t seen her for quite some time.” Leah tried to remember the last occasion.
“She’s been in bed most of the time. For months,” Gar Lundstrom said tightly. “She’s not been well.”
“I can’t do it,” Leah told him, tilting her chin and gritting her teeth as she faced him.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “You must. There is no one else. My wife needs your help.”
She shook her head even as her heart raced in response. How could she turn this man away, knowing that, as they spoke, his wife was probably in the throes of labor, alone in a farmhouse, miles outside of town.
Gar Lundstrom’s big hand slid up her forearm and gripped her elbow more firmly. “You must come with me. Do you need a warmer coat?”
He hesitated only a moment as she stared up at him. “Come then,” he said tightly, tugging her to the steps.
Leah closed her eyes. It was too much. How could she deny the woman what small help she could give? Either she would deliver a healthy baby or she wouldn’t. “I’ll get my bag,” she whispered, snatching her arm from his grip.
He followed her into the house, and she fumbled for the lamp, striking a match and lighting it quickly.
“Wait here,” she said, striding purposefully through the doorway into her bedroom. Falling to her knees before the big chest she kept beneath the window, she opened it wide. Under her summer dresses was a leather bag, and she gripped the handles, feeling them warm in her palm.
She rose to her feet and drew a deep breath. It was happening again. She could feel the hopelessness grip her as she turned to face the man who had followed her into her bedroom. As if he were afraid she would disappear, he stood in the doorway, eyes alert and scanning the simple contents of her room.
“You needn’t follow me, Mr. Lundstrom. I said I’d come with you.”
He nodded his head. “Yes, you did.” His eyes were bold as he surveyed her. “Are you stronger than you look, Mrs. Gunderson?” He waited for a moment and nodded again. “Yes, I think you are. You may need to be, ma’am.”
He turned and she followed him, her gaze filled with the broad back, the slight hitch in his gait and the glow of his golden hair in the lamplight.
She blew out the lamp and they walked out onto the porch. “I need to tell my neighbor where I’m going, and I promised her some salve for her quinsy,” she said, suddenly remembering Mrs. Thorwald. “Pick me up by her gate.”
She hurried down the path, aware of his big sleigh sitting in the street. It was a wonder she had not noticed it earlier.
Mrs. Thorwald accepted the jar of salve with thanks, then clucked her tongue knowingly as she heard Leah’s words of explanation. “That one will keep you up all night, I’ll warrant. She’s what they call a hard delivery, Leah. Perhaps she’s lucky the doctor’s not available. He hasn’t done her much good in the past.”
With those words ringing cryptically in her ears, Leah made her way to the sleigh, where a gloved hand reached down to her. She hesitated for only a second, then placed her palm in that of Gar Lundstrom. He pulled her with little effort into his sleigh.
A fur robe was tucked over her lap, and Gar cast her one searching glance before he picked up the reins. Leah felt the heat of his body beside her, yet shivered as if an icy blast had cut through her covering.
“Sit closer,” he said bluntly. “You need to stay warm.” His big hand circled her shoulder, and he moved her across the seat until their thighs were brushing.
Leah swallowed words of protest that begged to be spoken. He was too big, too warm, too close; yet, for just a moment, she relished the warmth, the size and the nearness of the man. For just this short time, she allowed her mind to be blank of all else, to dwell only on the presence of Gar Lundstrom beside her.
The woman who labored on the big bed was as pitiful a sight as Leah had ever been exposed to. Hulda Lundstrom’s dry lips were drawn back over clenched teeth and her hair hung lank with sweat. She groaned unceasingly.
In less than a second, Leah cast a glance around the bedroom, tossed her cloak aside and placed her bag on a chair. “I need water to wash with, good hot water.”
“Right away.” Gar Lundstrom’s voice was gruff with emotion as he left the room, Leah’s cloak over his arm.
“How long have you been like this?” Leah asked Hulda Lundstrom, who panted harshly as her body convulsed with the pain of a violent contraction.
“Not long…a couple of hours maybe.” Her voice was raw, weakened by her pain, and Hulda opened her eyes to reveal a dull acceptance of her state. “It’s no worse than the other times.” She rested, taking deep breaths as the pain left her, her body seeming to sink into the depths of the mattress.
“How many other times have there been?” Leah asked, looking up as the door opened and Gar backed into the bedroom, his hands cradling a basin of steaming water.
“Two. No, three. But one was only three months gone and it was nothing.” Hulda’s gaze fastened on her husband. “You don’t need to be here, Gar. Go be with Kristofer,” she whispered. “It will be a long time yet.”
Leah turned to the man, anger rising in her throat. “You didn’t tell me your wife was having a difficult labor. I think you need to go back to town and find the doctor. If she has lost several babies already, we need to use every precaution this time.”
The wash water was deposited on the dressing table with care, lest it slosh over the edges. The tall man straightened to his full height, turning to face the bed.
“He won’t come.” There was a finality to his words that sent a chill down Leah’s spine.
“He told her the last time that she would not be able to deliver a live child, that her
organs were damaged from the other times. He said he would not be responsible for encouraging her in her foolish efforts.”
“Foolish efforts.” Leah repeated the words without emotion, though her heart was pounding within her, and her anger rose even higher.
“I want to give my husband another child. Is that so bad?” Hulda’s eyes filled with tears as she turned her head to look at Leah. And even as she spoke, she stiffened, groaning as another contraction knotted her belly. Her hands spread wide over the mound, and her head tipped back against the pillow as the pain ravaged her.
Leah stepped to the side of the bed and sat next to the woman who labored now in silence before her audience. “Wring out a cloth in the warm water,” Leah said, glancing only momentarily at Gar, who watched from across the room.
He took a clean flannel square from atop a pile and wrung it out in the basin, then brought it to the bed. “Let me do this while you wash,” he said quietly.
Leah rose, giving way to him, and walked across the room, rolling up her sleeves as she went. Immutable sadness enveloped her as she scrubbed at her hands with the carbolic soap she carried in her bag. The chances of a live birth seemed small, given Hulda Lundstrom’s history. And yet, Leah must do all she could to birth a live child for this small, needy woman.
“Pull back the sheet,” she told Gar, returning to the bed. “Then put a clean sheet or blanket beneath her.”
“I don’t…” Hulda gasped for a breath, her face contorting as she allowed a groan to escape her lips. “Leave, Gar. Go…I don’t…”
“He can leave when he’s done as I asked,” Leah told her softly. “Let him lift you, Hulda. I want you to have clean bedding beneath you.”
A nod signified Hulda’s agreement, and Gar did as Leah had requested. His big hands were gentle as he slid them beneath his wife’s limbs to spread a clean, folded sheet under her lower body. He stood erect and looked at Leah, awaiting further instructions, and she was struck by the hopelessness in his eyes.
No longer the possessor of the dark, arrogant glare of a strong man, he cast her only a pleading, anxious look that begged mercy at her hands. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me.”
Leah nodded and took his place on the side of the bed. “Pull up your gown, Hulda,” she said quietly. “I want to feel the child.”
Hulda’s fingers twisted in the white flannel cloth, and she tugged it high over her stomach, exposing the swollen mound that contained her child. As Leah watched, it rippled, the muscles still strong as the womb fought to expel its contents. She placed her hand against the hard surface, closing her eyes as she felt for the body parts within.
Nothing nudged her hand, no trace of movement, only the pulsing rhythm of the pain that would not cease until the child was delivered.
“Has the baby moved since you began laboring?” she asked once the spasm had passed.
Hulda shook her head, her eyes closed. “For a bit, then not so much.” A sob escaped, and she spoke between gritted teeth. “This time he must live. I cannot do this again.”
For the first time, a cry passed through the lips of the woman who suffered, and Leah called out for Gar, pulling Hulda’s gown down over her writhing belly.
“Look in my bag and find the containers of dried roots. I need the ones marked baneberry and wild yam. Brew one piece of each, please, and make a cup of strong tea with it,” she ordered, not ever looking up as he awaited her orders near the doorway. “It will ease her pain.”
Gar hastened to do as she asked, and Leah heard the rattle of a kettle in the kitchen. In less than ten minutes, he was back.
“Here.” He placed the cup on the bedside table and hovered for a moment. “There is more when this is gone. Can I do anything else?”
Her tone was sharp as Leah glanced up at him, rebuffing his offer. “You’ve done enough already.”
His eyes narrowed as he caught her meaning and he retreated, shoulders stiff, as if he would deflect any further insult. The door closed behind him, and Leah picked up the cup and stirred the brew.
She filled the spoon, blowing a bit on its contents, then lifted it to. Hulda’s lips. “Here, open your mouth for me, Hulda,” she said quietly.
Hulda obeyed, allowing the warm liquid to enter her mouth, and swallowed. Leah repeated the movements until the tea was half-gone. Then she swirled it in the cup, deeming it cool enough to drink.
“I want you to lift up, just a bit, and drink this down,” she said, careful that the woman did not choke on the liquid as she drank.
There was no cessation of the labor, but as the tea began to work its magic, Leah whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. She lifted Hulda’s gown again, easing her hands beneath, spreading them wide on the distended belly as another contraction made itself known. Then, as it reached its peak, Leah bent to watch for the sight of a baby’s head, hoping fervently that the hours of labor had begun to reap some results.
There was no sign of imminent birth, only a steady leaking of bloody fluid. The skin beneath her hand was stretched and taut as Hulda’s body tried to complete this process.
It was not going well. Leah shook her head. She needed to know what was going on inside, there where the mouth of the womb held its prisoner. It must be done, she thought grimly, readying her hand with a coating of oil. She slid it within the straining woman’s body and sought the opening of Hulda’s womb. There, instead of the rounded head she prayed to come in contact with, she found twin globes—the buttocks of a baby. Too large to be born in this manner, the child was slowly tearing his mother asunder.
Leah withdrew her hand and sighed. “Is he dead?” Hulda whispered in a faint, hopeless voice. She had begun to perspire from every pore, it seemed, drenching her nightgown and the bed beneath her.
“No, he’s alive,” Leah said quietly. “It’s a breech birth, Hulda. Our only chance is for me to turn the baby around.”
“Then do what you must,” the woman said, each word punctuated by a moan. “If I cannot give Garlan another son, I don’t want to live.”
“Your life is worth more to your husband than another child,” Leah whispered fiercely.
Hulda shook her head in a hopeless gesture. “Nay, not so. But if I give him another live child, another son, perhaps he will love me.”
Leah’s eyes filled with useless tears, and she brushed at them with her forearm. “You will not die,” she vowed. “You will not.”
Chapter Two
Gar Lundstrom’s face was pale and twisted with anguish, his eyes sunk deep from lack of sleep. His fists hung at his sides, and he swayed in place. As if he gathered energy from some unknown source, he lifted both hands beseechingly, then twisted them together as he glared at the woman who faced him.
“Why?” The single word seared the air, and Leah felt its lash, bracing herself against the scorn of the man before her.
“I’m not a doctor, Mr. Lundstrom. I’m a woman who knows a little about healing.” Leah drew a deep breath, unable to absolve herself, even in her own mind, let alone free herself from the taint of guilt cast upon her by Gar Lundstrom.
“Have you ever delivered a child before, Mrs. Gunderson? Or was this the first time you’ve butchered a woman?” His voice rasped the accusation, his shoulders hunching as if he bore a great burden.
Leah was reluctant to answer, and yet she knew she must defend herself against the blame he cast on her. “I did not ask to come here, Mr. Lundstrom.” She drew in a deep breath, as if to calm herself in the face of his accusations. “Yes, I have delivered other babies. But none whose mother presented such problems as your wife.”
“She survived three times being brought to childbed before this. What could have caused…” He waved his hand as he groped for words to express the horror so vividly written on his face.
Leah shook her head wearily. “She was a small woman, delivering a breech baby.” She raised her head and glared at him, determined not to let him brand her as careless. “I tried to turn the child, but it was not
possible. You were here. You saw the bleeding. The birth was more than she could stand this time, Mr. Lundstrom.”
Between them, Hulda lay beneath a clean sheet, her face serene in death. She was a slender bit of a woman, who, to Leah’s mind, should not have been subjected to such an ordeal. An ordeal that had killed her.
Leah closed her eyes, as if she would erase the vision before her, as if death could be evaded so easily. “You’d better go into town and let the undertaker know, Mr. Lundstrom. See if there is anyone who can nurse the child for you.”
From the depths of a small cradle in the far corner of the bedroom, a thin, fretful wail caught Leah’s attention. “She sounds hungry now,” she said quietly, then turned to answer the infant’s cry.
Gar’s glance followed Leah as she went to the child. “I will take my boy and make arrangements for my wife. There is milk in the washroom from this morning.”
Leah looked from the window onto a freshly fallen snow. Sometime during the long night, several inches had created a pristine landscape. Now, beneath the newly risen sun, it glistened and shimmered, offering a clean slate on which to begin this day.
The fourteenth day of January. The birthdate of Hulda Lundstrom’s daughter.
Leah picked up the child, cuddling the slight form against her breast, rocking back and forth to soothe her cries. “There, there…” she whispered, breathing in the newborn scent that never failed to touch a chord deep within her.
“What will you call her?” she asked, sensing Gar’s lingering presence behind her.
“Hulda could not decide between Linnea or Karen.”
“Karen is a good, strong name,” Leah said. “She can always take another name when she makes her first communion.”
Gar nodded and Leah watched as the tiny babe pursed her lips and made a suckling movement. “So soon they learn,” she murmured.
Gar stood by the door, his head bent, his whole body seeming to have shrunk during the long, stressful hours of the night. “I’ll go to the church and speak to the pastor first. He is more likely to be up than the doctor.”
The Midwife Page 2
