The Midwife's Legacy

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  “I can do that outside, ma’am.” He’d never even been in a birthing room, much less this close to a woman about to give birth.

  Pain flashed across her features again. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Sweat broke out on her brow.

  When the pain eased again, Polly wet a small rag and gently washed Idella’s face. He looked to her for guidance. “Idella, the reverend is right. He shouldn’t be in here just now. He’ll stand outside the wagon and pray, while your husband comes in here and takes the first baby when it’s born. How does that sound?”

  Idella leaned forward in her chair. “That would be nice. Thank you, Reverend.”

  The two men exchanged places. Gustaf stepped to the side, looking confused.

  Gordon turned just in time to see Polly indicate Gustaf should move behind his wife and watched as he began to slowly rub her back. He closed the flap and silently prayed for all those within the wagon.

  “Lower, please,” Idella groaned. “Are you praying, too, Gustaf?”

  “Do you want me to pray out loud or silently?”

  She answered, “I don’t care; just pray. I want this baby to live.”

  Gordon heard Polly’s sweet response. “I will do everything in my power to make sure this baby lives, Idella.”

  Gordon silently asked God to make this baby come fast. He realized this probably was not what Idella meant when she’d said to pray, but he’d never felt so uneasy in his life.

  Finally Idella said, “I know you will, Polly. I’m sorry I’ve been so cruel to you.”

  Gordon was glad he wasn’t in the wagon. He was sure the tension was so thick you could stir it with a stick.

  Polly answered, “It’s all right, Idella.” Her voice remained calm when she said, “I think it’s time to start pushing. Would you like to squat to have the baby? With your husband here, that might be the most modest way, but as you know, the choice is yours.” When Idella didn’t answer, Polly pressed on: “Idella, you need to make a decision. This baby is entering the world. I can see the top of its head.”

  “I’ll squat.”

  “Gustaf, would you continue to massage her back?”

  “I’ll be happy to.”

  A few minutes later, the sound of Polly’s singing filled Gordon’s ears. “Oh come, all ye faithful …”

  Gordon joined her. “Joyful and triumphant …” He admired the way their voices blended. Idella panted out the song with them.

  Polly stopped singing. Standing outside the wagon, Gordon had no idea what she was doing. A soft cry later, and he heard her say, “It’s a girl, Idella. A girl!”

  “Praise be to God,” Idella cried.

  Gordon held his breath and waited for more sounds. Soon he heard a soft smacking noise and then the baby cried. “Are we done?” he called.

  “No, keep singing. I see another head,” Polly instructed. “Gustaf, come take your daughter.”

  Gordon began singing again.

  “You are doing fine, Idella. One more push.” Polly’s voice sounded as sweet as honey to his ears. He admired the way her voice stayed calm as she delivered the second baby.

  “And a son for Gustaf,” Polly announced as she smacked the second baby’s behind.

  Gustaf’s rich laughter of relief filled the air. And then he said, “They are beautiful, Idella.”

  The sound of soft panting came from the wagon. “Thank you.”

  “What are you going to name them?” Polly asked.

  “We’re going to name them Jesse and Bessie. Jesse after my father, Jess. Bessie after my grandmother.”

  “Those are sweet names,” Polly said. In just a few minutes, Polly opened the flap and gestured to Gordon that he could come look at the babies.

  Idella looked up at him. “Reverend, can I ask you a personal question?”

  He leaned against the wagon and smiled. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

  Gustaf helped Idella settle both babies into her arms. He hugged all three members of his family before standing upright again.

  Idella took a baby’s hand in hers and counted the fingers and then asked, “Why don’t you want to marry this young woman? She’s smart, kind, and not bad to look at.”

  “She’s too young for me, Mrs. Bentz. Let her grow up, and then we’ll talk.”

  Idella’s head snapped up. “I was talking about Polly, and you know it,” she scolded.

  Did he owe this woman an explanation? His gaze moved to Polly. She continued to clean up and pretended to ignore him. Gordon knew that he’d probably not get to talk to her again in a very long time, so he answered Idella’s question honestly. “Well, ma’am, I do love Miss Polly, but she doesn’t feel the same way.”

  Polly looked at him. Her cheeks turned pink, and her mouth opened and closed much like a baby bird’s.

  “How do you know she doesn’t love you? Have you asked her?” Idella seemed focused on the baby.

  Gordon searched Polly’s face. “No, I guess I haven’t. Do you love me, too, Miss Polly?”

  Polly’s gaze flashed to Idella and the babies.

  Idella didn’t look up as she continued examining her new children. “You’d better answer the young man, Polly. He may not ask twice.”

  He held his breath for her answer. Could she hear his heart pounding in his chest?

  Her voice came out in a whisper: “I do.”

  “What did she say?” Gustaf grinned down at his wife.

  Idella laughed. “She said yes!”

  Gordon helped Polly down from the wagon, making sure the flaps were securely tied behind him.

  He turned to Polly. “Did you mean it? You love me?”

  She nodded. “I’ve loved you since the day I saw you ride up on Rawhide, but I’ve been afraid to admit it, even to myself.”

  Gordon pulled her to the dark side of the wagon and enveloped her in his arms. She smelled sweet like mint. He hugged her close. “When we get to Oregon, will you marry me, Polly?”

  She leaned back in his arms. “Will you ever leave me, Gordon?”

  He shook his head. “Never.”

  “And do you understand that I’m a midwife, and my mothers will always come first in our lives?” Polly searched his face.

  “I do. Now will you marry me?” Gordon prayed she’d not come up with another question. He wanted to kiss her but wouldn’t until he had her promise of love and marriage.

  Polly’s full lips turned up, and her eyes sparkled. “I will.”

  Gordon did what he’d wanted to do since the first day he’d met her. As he kissed her, he felt her shove into his body. He opened his eyes then pulled away from her. Beulah stood behind Polly, head down, ready to push her again.

  Polly laughed. “I think Beulah wants to be asked for her blessing.” She stepped out of his arms and waited, a teasing glint in her eyes.

  “What do you think, Beulah? Is it all right for me to marry Polly?”

  The mule brayed and then pushed Polly back into his arms, where Gordon planned to keep her forever.

  RHONDA GIBSON resides in New Mexico with her husband. She writes romance because she is eager to share her love of the Lord. Besides writing, her interests are reading and scrapbooking recipes. Rhonda loves hearing from her readers!

  BIRTH OF A DREAM

  by Pamela Griffin

  Dedication

  A huge thanks to my critique partners and helpers—Theo, Mom, and Jane. And to my dad, remembering our tea parties of my childhood. To my Lord and Savior, always there for me as my source of strength when I feel so weak and unable. As always with every book I write, this is for You.

  Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.

  PHILIPPIANS 2:3

  Chapter 1

  A harsh pounding threatened to splinter the wood of the heavy front door.

  Christiana’s cheerful humming came to an abrupt halt, and she almost dropped her mother’s good china. She spun around, he
r hands clutched around the plates, and wondered who could be visiting so late. Why hadn’t they pulled the bell? It must be going on half past ten! No decent time for any caller.

  In immediate response to her thought, the chimes rang—followed by more frantic knocking.

  Pulling in a deep breath, she laid the stack of plates on the tablecloth. She wished her parents were home and that their housekeeper wasn’t visiting her sister in Seattle.

  “Stop borrowing trouble,” Christiana scolded herself. “You’re no helpless child.”

  Slightly encouraged, she moved to the entry hall, her hands going to her hair and smoothing whatever stray locks might have escaped their pins. She glanced at the umbrella in the stand, a possible weapon if the need should arise.

  She hoped she appeared more confident than she felt.

  Opening the door, she almost got her nose rapped on by an impatient masculine hand poised for another knock. Christiana blinked in surprise. The man standing there pulled back his arm in equal shock.

  The gaslight from the entryway showed her visitor to be taller than her by a few inches, wearing a black hat and overcoat, lean in build. He had a nice face and rich coffee-brown eyes that looked anxious. Her mind picked up the details in the few seconds before he spoke.

  “Please, miss, I need to speak with Mrs. Leonard at once,” he explained in a rich, well-modulated tone.

  “Mother isn’t here at the moment. Would you like to leave your card? I can tell her you dropped by.”

  “No time for that. Have you any idea when she’ll return?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. She went to deliver some papers to my father for the Exposition—the Lewis and Clark one that opens soon.” She realized the inanity of elaborating; every member of the populace of Oregon and many from the entire nation, indeed, from around the world, knew of the Exposition.

  “That’s on the other side of town,” he calculated aloud, “at least an hour to get there, even with taking the trolley. With all the traffic due to the Expo, double that.”

  She nodded, wondering the reason for his visit.

  “I can’t wait hours, not even one.” He shoved his hands into his overcoat pockets. “Can you tell me the location of the nearest doctor?”

  His gruff question triggered the alarm of comprehension in her mind. “What did you say your name was?”

  He blinked. “I didn’t. Sorry. I’m Noah Cafferty.”

  She regarded him in surprise. “You’re related to Lanie Cafferty.”

  “She’s my stepmother. The reason I’m here. Her time has come, and no one else was home when I arrived at their house.”

  Instantly, Christiana’s thoughts clicked into gear. “How long ago?”

  He studied her as if debating whether he should share the information. He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s taken me twenty-six minutes to find your house with her bad directions. She, um, she wanted your mother to know …” His face turned a shade dark, and she sensed discussing such delicate matters was uncomfortable for him. For her, it was second nature.

  “It’s all right. You can tell me.”

  “She said her water broke.” He cleared his throat. “That the baby was coming.”

  Christiana nodded. She could wait for Mother to arrive, though with evening traffic and the distance, it could take hours. Even with the information Noah Cafferty related, it was impossible to know how far along Lanie was without an examination. Christiana had learned that for every woman childbirth was different. Only one matter was certain: Lanie would be delivering a child soon. And Christiana was the sole person available to handle the job.

  “We shouldn’t linger. I’ll just get my coat and hat.”

  “Wait—what?” He grabbed her arm. She stared at him with her brows raised in curious question. He shook his head and let go of her sleeve. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. This whole thing has my brain coming unscrewed.”

  She smiled. “It’s perfectly understandable. I won’t be one moment.” Again she moved to collect her things.

  This time he took a step inside. “You can’t mean … you don’t plan to take your mother’s place?”

  At his clear alarm, she nodded while turning to the hat tree for her coat and hat. She hoped he couldn’t tell that she was shaking in her shoes at the idea of assuming her mother’s role in delivering a baby. And without assistance.

  She felt uncertain she was ready for this, but she had no choice. Grandmother Polly had done it at her age—and all alone, on a wilderness trail, in the middle of nowhere.

  Christiana could do it, too.

  “You can’t be serious.” Noah eyed the young woman who looked little more than a girl. “What are you—seventeen?”

  She winced at his guess, and he knew it must be dead-on.

  “I assure you, Mr. Cafferty, age has little to do with skill. I’ve assisted my mother for the past two years. I know exactly what needs doing.”

  “Yes, but have you ever done it alone?”

  Her anxious expression and the resounding silence gave him his answer.

  “There must be a doctor somewhere close,” he argued hopefully.

  “Knowing Lanie as I do, I don’t think she would care for the idea of one, but of course you must do whatever you feel is best.”

  That was just the problem. Noah had no idea what was best for his father’s young wife. He had only thought to drop in for a visit, since he rarely came by except for the occasional Sunday dinner. It wasn’t that he disapproved of his father’s choice of a bride any longer. The age difference had unsettled him at first, Lanie only five years older than himself. But lately he had made a concentrated effort to accept her as family. The knowledge that Lanie’s well-being and that of his little half brother or sister rested solely in his hands was nerve-racking to say the least. If he made the wrong decision, his father might never forgive him. He might never forgive himself.

  “Can you tell me where the doctor lives?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” He regarded her in disbelief. “How could you not know?” He shook his head. “All right, then. Have you got a telephone?”

  She motioned to a nearby table. “There’ve been problems with it. The connection is horrid, full of static. You’re welcome to try, though.”

  He moved toward the candlestick phone and picked it up, bringing it to his mouth while clicking the hook and putting the receiver to his ear. A series of disturbing clicks followed.

  “What’s the doctor’s name?” he asked.

  She gave an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know that either. Lanie mentioned it once. She and her husband use a different doctor than we do.”

  “Your family doctor, then.”

  “He’s out of town. I remember him telling Papa at church that he was going to be absent for a week, to sort out things with his father’s estate.”

  Noah’s eyes shut in dismay. Of course. Why should he expect a doctor to be available with the way this evening had progressed so far?

  “You could ask the operator to connect you with Lanie’s doctor—she might know who he is.”

  He could, if he could get through. Frustrated, Noah set the earpiece on its hook and the phone back on the table.

  “I might not be much in your estimation,” the very-young-looking Miss Leonard said carefully. “But right now I’m all you have. Once there, you can ask Lanie the name of her family physician if you feel better about doing so. I won’t take offense at your lack of confidence in my skills. I just want to make sure she’s all right. Her health and that of the baby are what’s important.”

  This time, she rested her hand on the forearm of his coat sleeve.

  “I don’t envy your position, Mr. Cafferty, and I do understand how upsetting this is to you, to find yourself so suddenly in charge of such a monumental decision.” By the grim way she said it, she understood only too well. “But I have learned in my years of assisting at births that babies wait for no one. I
f you don’t make a decision soon, it might be too late.”

  Her words sounded like a death knell; he felt the blood drain from his face. He didn’t know if it was the fear of arriving too late to save them or the mature manner in which the young Miss Leonard presented herself or even the wisdom glowing steadily in her gray-blue eyes; but for whatever reason, Noah nodded his consent.

  “Then we should go.”

  “I’ll just grab Mother’s bag. I’ll need that, too.”

  Noah watched her hurry away, hoping he had not just signed Lanie and little Baby Cafferty’s untimely death sentences.

  Chapter 2

  At first Lanie showed hesitance with the idea, but when another pain gripped her middle, she clutched Christiana’s arm. “Help me,” she begged between clenched teeth.

  Christiana patted her friend’s hand, which she’d been holding since she arrived. “I know what I’m doing, Lanie. I’ve assisted at more births than I can count on two hands.”

  Brave words for as apprehensive as she felt. Yet one of many important nuggets of truth she had learned from her ancestors’ journal, passed down to her mother, was to never let anyone see her fear. As her great-grandmother Adele had written, It’s in how you act that others will react. If you’re worried and doubtful, the mothers will know and likewise feel the same. Keep them calm. First-time mothers are the most fearful. In all things, put your hope in God, and He will give you the peace and assurance you need to carry out this great undertaking to which you’ve been called.

  The journal was filled with inspiring words that the original owner left to her granddaughter Adele, Christiana’s great-grandmother, and which, in turn, Adele, her daughter, Polly, and Christiana’s mother added to over the years. Soon, Christiana planned also to jot down words of wisdom to share with any descendants who might seek the journal’s knowledge, should they decide to take up midwifery as at least six generations of her family had done.