Shadow of Regret (Shadow #3)

by Barbara Goss

  SHADOW OF

  REGRET

  Barbara Goss

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All scripture is quoted from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2016 Barbara Goss

  All Rights Reserved

  Kindle Edition

  Cover design by: Samantha Fury

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  EPILOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Abilene, Kansas

  Quinn Iverson paced the sitting room where his whole family was congregated. The midwife had been in Martha’s room for two hours. “How long does it take to have a baby?” he asked no one in particular.

  Quinn’s mother gave Quinn an impatient look. “A lot longer than two hours. Relax, Quinn. This may be a long night.”

  His sister Peggy pulled his arm. “Come. Sit down Quinn. This may take a while. Do something to take your mind off of it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Read or something.”

  “Peggy, how can I concentrate on reading when my wife is in our bed, groaning in pain?” Quinn shrugged back his arm. “I’m going in there.”

  Quinn stormed down the hall and stood outside their bedroom door. He hesitated before entering when he heard Martha’s scream, loud enough to bellow through the house. He said a silent prayer and opened the door.

  The midwife was pressing and massaging Martha’s distended belly.

  He moved to his wife’s side and took her hand. “Squeeze my hand, Martha, whenever you feel a pain.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” the midwife scolded.

  “Why?” Quinn asked. “It’s my house, my bedroom, my wife, and my baby. I’m not sitting out there waiting when I may be able to offer her my support.”

  The midwife sighed. “I’m trying to maneuver the baby around. It’s coming out feet first,” she said. “That’s why I’m massaging her stomach.”

  “I can do that,” he said.

  “I’ve been doing this for years. If you insist on being here, your job is to keep her calm,” the midwife said. “She’s tensing up and making things more difficult. She needs to relax between pains.”

  Martha’s scream cut off any further conversation.

  Never having seen anyone in such pain before, especially a woman, and one he cared for, Quinn felt weak in the knees, and his legs began to wobble. He sat down in the chair by the bed, still holding her hand. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. He hoped to God he wasn’t lying to her. Women still died in childbirth now and then. He should have found a way to prevent this. It never dawned on him that she’d have to suffer so much to give birth. He prayed to God that she lived through this ordeal. If she did, he swore he’d never have relations with her again.

  As the midwife worked on Martha, Quinn remembered how they’d come to this moment in time. He’d been attracted to Martha from the moment he first caught sight of her in church. She was a petite woman of only about four feet and eleven inches tall. Her long, brown hair was usually pulled back with a ribbon, unless they were going out, and then she piled it up on her head, held in place with combs. As fond of her as he was, he had to admit, she was not a classic beauty. She was more the cute type, with a round face that almost always held a dimpled smile. She had a pug nose, too, and if you looked closely enough, you could see she also had more than a few freckles.

  He’d been attracted, first, by her smile. His yearlong courtship with Mary Beth had ended on a sour note, and when he was introduced to Martha, he'd asked her to a barn dance. They hit it off right away. Things heated up quickly as Quinn continued to court her. He discovered that she’d split with her family when her father died. When her siblings swooped in to grab what they could get, they discovered her father had left what little he had to Martha. The animosity between her and her siblings convinced her to accept an offer of marriage from a man in Kansas City with whom she’d been corresponding. He turned out to be abusive, so she fled to the only other address she had, that of Caleb Armstrong.

  Quinn was never one to take advantage of decent women, but Martha pushed him beyond what common sense he had. They had a pre-marital joining one starlit night almost nine months ago, sitting on a hayloft behind the Armstrongs’ barn. Two things immediately dawned on Quinn afterward: that he’d been a weak Christian, and that this hadn’t been Martha’s first time.

  Quinn was genuinely sorry, and he deeply regretted his actions, but Martha seemed to take it in stride. He never asked who’d been first, because it didn’t really matter. He loved Martha as a person, but he knew he wasn’t in love with her. He’d never been in love with anyone, but he knew there had to be more than what he felt for her.

  Then, the hammer hit the nail—Martha told him she was pregnant. He married her quickly, and they both joked about all the old women in town who’d be counting on their kitchen calendars for the next nine months.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t care for her; he did. Martha turned out to be the best wife. Everything she did, she did for him. He knew she loved him, and he knew that, in time, he’d come to love her, too, because of her goodness. He’d made up his mind to put as much effort as he could into the marriage and caring for his future family.

  The midwife pulled the sheet up and examined Martha again. She shook her head. “It’s no good. I can’t turn the babe around, and it needs to be moved, and quickly.”

  “What can I do?” Quinn said in a panic.

  “This case is beyond my expertise,” she said. "I think someone should go for Doc Harris. I’ve tried everything I know to turn that babe around, but it's not working.”

  Martha squeezed his hand again and screamed in pain. Quinn’s mind was buzzing with questions, and he felt panicky. “I’ll send my father for Harris.” He kissed Martha. “I’ll be right back, darling. It’s going to be all right. Doc Harris will know what to do.”

  His wife, nodded. She looked so different. Her ever-present smile had vanished, her dimples were hidden, and her usually perfect hairdo was a mess and sticking to her sweaty forehead. Her eyes revealed fear. Quinn felt queasy.

  The midwife called to him as he left the room. “Hurry!”

  After he’d sent his father to fetch the doctor, Quinn took his place at his wife’s side again. He wished he could do something, anything to eliminate some of her pain and distress.

  “My back hurts,” she murmured between pains.

  “I’ll rub it if you can move to your side,” Quinn said.

  She turned onto her side and Quinn messaged her lower back. “Is that any better?” he asked.

  “Oh, Yes. Thank you!” she replied.

  Doc Harris finally burst into the room. He gave the midwife instructions and a list of supplies he’d need, and the midwife left to do his bidding. He repositioned Martha onto her back. Quinn held her hand tightly
.

  Doc Harris was a well-established, no-nonsense doctor. Quinn felt relieved by his mere presence.

  The doctor waited until the midwife brought him fresh hot water and rags. First he washed his hands, and then he examined Martha’s belly. He frowned, which did not offer Quinn any encouragement.

  “Why don’t you take a break, Mr. Iverson, while I examine her. You can come back when I call you,” the doctor said.

  Quinn Iverson went outside and looked up at his new home with pride. He loved the place. His house was a brick, one-story home, with a barn, and a hobby shop. He wasn’t sure what he’d use the hobby shop for, but Caleb Armstrong, the previous owner, had used it for wood crafting.

  He walked around to the side of the house where rose trellises climbed the sides, and a lovely rock garden graced the side door that led to the kitchen. He also viewed the vegetable garden that Martha had maintained, but that was long due for a good weeding.

  Behind the house stood a root cellar that kept perishables cold, since it had been dug deep into the ground. He walked around to the front of the house. The front door with its welcoming archway led to the sitting room, so, like the Armstrongs, they’d mostly used the side door. As he gazed at the house where they’d been so happy, he felt it strange that something so wrong was happening inside, yet the outside still looked so beautiful and peaceful.

  “Quinn!”

  He jerked to attention as his sister, Peggy called to him. “Doc said you could go in now.”

  The doctor told him to try to keep Martha calm. He held her hand, rubbed her shoulders, and whispered words of encouragement.

  With one hand inside Martha, and one hand pushing her stomach, the doctor worked on her for over an hour. Martha’s screams grew sharper and closer together. Doc Harris was sweating, and the mid-wife kept wiping his brow. Quinn could see him trying to manually turn the baby by gently twisting Martha’s belly. Quinn was wiping Martha’s face with a cool cloth when she jerked into the air and screamed. He watched a watery blood rush from her body.

  Quinn sped from the room to vomit. He was now more frightened than he’d ever been in his life. His family surrounded him as he finished being sick in the kitchen sink. They tried to give him support, but he shrugged them off and ran outside. He went into the barn, dropped to his knees, and prayed that the baby would be turned and this nightmare would finally be over. He prayed that Martha would survive the ordeal.

  As he prayed he heard another ear-piercing scream, and then silence. He hoped it was over, and that the baby had been born. He scurried back into the house and into the bedroom.

  He hurried to Martha’s bedside and took her hand. Her eyes were closed and she lay still. Quinn looked to the doctor with a frantic look. Doc Harris shook his head. Quinn slapped Martha’s hands. “Martha! Martha! Don’t leave me!” he cried. But he knew she was already gone. And he hadn’t even been with her at the very end.

  Chapter 2

  Rose, the youngest of Hiram and Lavinia Jeffries’ three daughters gasped, in shock when she heard the news. “Martha Iverson died during childbirth?”

  “Yes,” Lavinia said. “It’s very sad. So young and vital.”

  Rose had been embroidering a doily, but upon hearing the news, she put it down and began to weep.

  “Ah, Rose,” her mother said. “You are such a sympathetic young lady. Things like this happen.”

  “I feel badly for Quinn.” She wiped her reddening nose. “Why does stuff like this happen?”

  “Everyone must die, sweetheart, and we don’t always know when. Some die young, and some live to be old people.”

  “But I thought God was a fair God.” she sobbed. “That doesn’t sound fair to me.”

  “Ah, but how do you know what awaits the person who died? Maybe it’s something much better than life. We won’t know that until we’re there ourselves. It’s one of the great mysteries of life.” Her mother put an arm around her. “You must learn to toughen up, Rose.”

  “I have to go see Quinn,” she said. “I need to comfort him.”

  “This really isn’t a good time. I hear he is taking his wife’s death badly,” Lavinia said.

  “Did the baby die, too?” Rose asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Rose began to weep again. “I’m going up to my room.”

  Rose sat in a chair in her room and prayed for Quinn. Although Martha was never a favorite with Rose, she still prayed for her. She’d never felt Martha was right for Quinn, but maybe that was because Rose had been in love with Quinn since she'd first moved to Abilene. The first time she saw Quinn was after church one morning. She was only fifteen when he’d stopped a boy from teasing her. He was her hero from that day forward, her knight in shining armor.

  He was so perfect, with his blond curls, and big blue eyes. He wore his hair to just below his ears, and it was almost the same shade of blond as hers, but when he needed a shave his beard was dark. Quinn’s plump lips were made for kissing. If only…was all she could think about whenever she saw him. He didn’t seem to notice her much, but she always kept her eye out for him, just the same.

  She always watched for him on Sundays, when he came to church. More often than not he sat with Jonas or with his own family. Her sister, Violet, was the only one with whom she’d confided about her love for Quinn. Violet had laughed, told her it was common for young girls to have crushes on older men, and that the feelings would pass. They didn't. She loved his smile. She loved the gleam in his eyes. She loved that he was kind, considerate, a gentleman.

  She’d sat next to him at Jonas’s wedding and saw him wipe away a tear when Jonas sang to Ivy, which only served to cement her feelings for him. She’d cried, harder than Quinn, and he’d put his arm around her and hugged her, and she'd never forget that.

  Then there was the day she got the news that Quinn and Martha had gone missing. She was worried, at first, but then when it turned out they’d eloped, she was so disappointed she didn't eat for days. When she saw Martha in church she noted to herself everything that was wrong with her: she wasn’t very pretty; her hair color was dull; her clothes were boring; and she laughed like a horse.

  Then, one day, Martha smiled at her, and Rose had seen what Quinn must see in her. She had the prettiest smile, complete with deep dimples. That’s when she finally started to feel happy for them. If Quinn was happy, then she should be too, because when you love someone, you want that person to always be happy. When she discovered Martha was with child, she felt her love for Quinn begin to subside. She'd finally realized, deep down inside, that he was nothing more than an impossible dream. She even started to notice some of the young men her own age.

  Now that Martha was gone, the old feeling of love for Quinn was back, and as strong as ever.

  She just had to see him.

  Quinn went through the motions during the wake and funeral, and he really wasn't aware of much that was happening around him. He felt like a body functioning without reason. He let his parents make all the decisions for him. He felt alone, angry, and let down.

  After everyone had left the house after the funeral, his family tried to comfort Quinn.

  “Leave me alone! And don’t you dare ever ask me to go to church again! God let me down. I prayed so hard for her to live, and He let me down,” Quinn said with a bitterness foreign to his family. “She was a good person, and she didn’t deserve to die.”

  Everyone backed off, and left him alone. Quinn continued doing what he’d done for the past three days: he sat down and cried. He cried like a baby. Why? That was the only word that his brain was able to send to his mouth. Why? He felt responsible. She’d still be alive if he had taken control of his passion. He didn’t think they'd have even gotten married had he not disobeyed God and celebrated the honeymoon before the wedding—and for that she was dead.

  It was his fault.

  His father stepped back into the livery business although he’d been retired for several months. He knew his son would
not be able to return to work for quite a while, and when he did return, he’d be fairly useless to the business. Calvin Iverson didn’t know how he might reach his son. He kept telling him that it was God’s will, but Quinn refused to accept it.

  “What can we do for Quinn?” his wife, Pearl, asked.

  “Just be patient, I guess,” Calvin said. “He’s so grief-stricken over the loss of his wife; he never grieved the son who was buried in her arms. He refused to even name him.”

  “I named him,” Peggy said. “The minister said he had to have a name for the birth and death registration. I named him, Quinn Calvin Iverson, Junior.”

  Quinn lay in bed, with his arms behind his head. He wondered if he'd ever be able to get on with life, carrying around the guilt and regret he was. He also wondered how he'd be able to ward off his family and friends who were bound to try to make him forgive God for taking his wife away, but as he'd said before, Quinn was done with church and God.

  A pounding on his side door interrupted his thoughts. He ignored it. A short time later, there was a pounding on the front door. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? He snuck a peek out of the window by lifting the corner of the drape.

  Peggy! Again! Yesterday, it was his mother. The day before it was Caleb and Jonas. He wished everyone would leave him alone.

  He dragged himself into the kitchen and cut a slice of stale bread. He lifted it to his cheek, and tears ran down his face. Martha had made this bread. He’d almost laughed when she'd proudly showed it to him. The middle had sunk and the bottom was burnt. Yet, he’d eaten it and told her it was delicious.

  She’d tried so hard. Although he hired a maid during her pregnancy, she would become bored and try to bake or cook things—for him. Everything she did was for him. The bread had since turned green, but he was loath to throw it away. It was one of the last things she’d made for him. He set the slice of bread back on the counter and pushed it against the wall where no one would touch it.