by Lorin Grace
“Do we need to get someone to help you? Perhaps one of my girls or my nieces. Both Thomas Jr.’s and Carrie’s daughters are of an age to help. Lettie is already helping at John’s, but Louisa may be able to come.”
“Lucy should deliver this child in July.” Sarah didn’t need to wait for a confirmation. “Louisa will be needed at home until fall. As for your nieces … Emma’s lapses can be quite confusing. I am not sure a girl of fifteen or sixteen is equal to the task. If we could find a woman nearer Emma’s age, it may be of more help. But I can’t think of anyone who needs a job as a companion.”
“I will put the question to Lucy. So you know, John did not ask me outright again for my permission where you are concerned, but he still sees marriage to you as a solution to several problems.”
“I wish he wouldn’t put me on his list of problems to solve. It isn’t like I am Mark’s widow.”
“Hmmm. Then you might consider wearing brighter colors. Just the other day I had someone inquire about my widowed daughter. I assume the difference in surnames adds to the confusion.”
“Then it is fortunate I am not truly widowed, or I would have the same last name and it would be even more confusing.” Sarah tried to laugh, but the sound came out flat.
“I know how much you loved him, but think of your mother. She found love again.”
“You forget that Mama didn’t receive much caring in her first marriage, according to Lucy and mother’s journal.”
“I wasn’t very fond of Mr. Simms. And even less so after reading the journal. But James Marden was one of the finest men I knew. I don’t know if I lived up to him as your substitute father. He did love your mother very much.”
Sarah gave Samuel a side hug. “If Mama had lived long after Papa died, I don’t know if she would have married again. If she’d had a choice, I think she would have married Papa from the start.” Sarah thought about her parents. Her vague memories, more feelings than anything else, had been supplemented by Lucy’s stories and her mother’s journal. But one thing she clearly remembered was Papa hugging Mama and laughing. “I want what Mama and Papa had, what your parents had. And I’ve watched you and Lucy.” Sarah paused and made a face. Samuel laughed. “I want someone who will look at me the way you look at Lucy. Even after all these years, you still look at her the way you did when I wasn’t old enough to understand.”
Samuel nodded. “Hence, John’s proposals are not accepted. I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t offer another one. But we do need to work on something for Ma. I’ll see if Lucy is up to a Sunday dinner, along with Carrie, Thomas Jr., and John. I don’t dare not invite Ma, but we need to discuss things without her.”
“I can probably talk her into walking down to the creek with the children and me.”
“Good idea—only, we will get the older girls or perhaps Maryanna and Phillip to go. I want your opinions on this. Now, shall we continue to our destination?” Samuel stood and offered his arm. Sarah took it, and they proceeded to High Street.
Sarah considered discussing the note she’d burned with Samuel. But there was really no point as Dr. Dawes would be leaving soon and she would have little opportunity to see him while watching over Emma anyway.
Parmelia and Miss Brooks exited the milliner’s just as Samuel and Sarah were passing. Parmelia whispered to her companion before addressing Sarah. “Oh, Miss Marden, we were just discussing yesterday’s wedding. You were there—didn’t you think Miriam’s dress was too—”
“Gorgeous for words? Why, George couldn’t take his eyes off his bride.” Sarah cut Parmelia off before she could utter an unkind word.
“She looked fine enough, I suppose, but that brother of hers—I can find no fault with his attire at all.” Parmelia’s statement brought a giggle from Miss Brooks. “I was just speaking to Timothy. He regrets he cannot attend a lecture with me this evening.”
“Timothy?” Samuel raised a brow.
Miss Brooks wound the strings of her reticule around her fingers. “I believe Miss Page is referring to Dr. Dawes. We really must be going.”
Samuel waited until they were out of earshot. “I am going to assume Miss Page’s feigned use of your old friend’s name was for your benefit?”
Sarah shrugged.
“Why didn’t you correct her?”
“If Dr. Dawes has given her permission to address him by a Christian name other than his own, I could hardly presume to interfere.” Sarah entered the door Samuel held for her.
“So, you are competition for Miss Page.”
“You know Tim and I are only old friends. Besides, he is to leave shortly. Oh, look, a new shipment of licorice.” Sarah hoped Samuel didn’t realize she had been looking around the store in hopes of finding something, or someone, else entirely.
Nine
The ten-year-old messenger refused to leave until Tim had donned his coat and collected his bag of doctor’s instruments. Only when Tim mounted his horse did the boy run off into the gathering darkness. Tim crossed the bridge and realized he wasn’t sure of the exact location of Dr. Morton’s home. He rode past the doctor’s surgery but found it empty. A lamplighter supplied the address.
The two-story white house sat back from the road far enough to provide for a small garden of sorts. The lamplight revealed a neatly trimmed hedge and lawn—exactly what Tim expected from the doctor. Everything where it belonged.
A maid answered the door and escorted Tim to an upstairs bedroom. Raised voices filled the hallway.
“You need your rest,” said a man.
“Not until Dawes arrives.” The pain-filled voice spoke slowly.
A woman’s voice entered the conversation. “Alexander, I am sure Dr. Norris can explain the situation to Dr. Dawes.”
“Monkey pox! I want—”
The maid rapped on the door. When she announced Tim, a collective sigh echoed throughout the house.
“About time.” Dr. Norris crossed his arms and leaned against the bedpost.
“My apologies. After your messenger left, I realized I couldn’t recall the location of your home.”
“I hope you learn the locations of a great many homes quickly, then, if you are to take over my patients for me.” Tim was hopeful the gray pallor of Dr. Morton’s face had more to do with his current ailment than with his age.
“Your patients?”
Dr. Norris stepped forward. “My partner is of the opinion that while he is convalescing, you should see to his entire practice.”
“Norris, you are too busy to take my patients, and if you have your way, Dawes here will only get the ones you don’t want to deal with and you will be overburdened.” Dr. Morton’s voice strengthened as he argued.
His wife patted his arm. “As you can see, my husband and Dr. Norris are at a bit of an impasse. But the fact remains that between the two of them, they see far too many patients. With his broken leg, it will be weeks before Alexander can make any calls, and those he can see in his office will be limited. My husband has been talking for days of again approaching you to join them. His accident has merely hastened the proposal. Now, if you would be good enough to accept, I can give him a dose of laudanum and he can rest.”
Dr. Norris crossed his arms again. He looked as sour as he had fifteen years ago when he’d treated Tim’s measles. Tim addressed Dr. Morton. “I would be more than happy to help you out as I have yet to decide what I am doing next. I had hoped to go to Dartmouth to work with a doctor there, but with the problems they are having, I don’t dare until the governor decides the school’s fate.”
“Then may the wheels of government work slowly. My wife will show you my books and records. I do ask you to come consult with me daily. Now, Doctors, if you will please leave. Mrs. Morton is quite insistent that I rest.”
“Gentlemen, if you will wait for me in the par
lor, I will be down in a moment.” Tim wondered if Dr. Morton’s wife wouldn’t have made the better doctor had she been allowed to attend medical school. He’d heard rumors that as a midwife, her skills were eclipsed only by Mrs. Wilson, and none surpassed her in bone-setting.
Dr. Norris stopped at the bottom of the stairs, blocking Tim’s descent. “You should know I am not in favor of Dr. Morton’s proposal. You have been an army sawbones these past years, but you know nothing of the illnesses we suffer here, and of women, et cetera. I keep telling him we must give you a trial to see if you are competent.”
Tim thought a moment before answering. Angering Dr. Norris would serve no good end. “I can understand your reluctance. I do have letters, but I am sure they will do little to change your opinion of me. Illness is as much a danger to soldiers as cannonball or musket fire. And as for women, between the wives and other camp followers, I have more than a little experience in both childbirth and women’s complaints.”
“I bet you do.” Dr. Norris crossed the room and claimed the chair that by size and fabric would be the one usually reserved for the master of the house.
Refuting the implication that he’d seen the fallen women who’d trailed after the soldiers in anything other than a professional capacity would only stir things up more, and so he remained silent on the matter. “How did Dr. Morton break his leg?”
“He fell through the rickety porch out at old Dobbs’s place. I keep telling him he shouldn’t make as many house calls, especially to the older patients. Half of them aren’t sick anyway—just afraid of dying and hoping a good doctor can cheat the Grim Reaper.”
Tim chose to stand near the fireplace rather than sit. “Were there many splinters?”
“Don’t know. Mrs. Morton had it all cleaned and set before I arrived. Don’t know why she bothered to ask me to come.”
“I asked you to come because my husband wished it.”
Dr. Norris did not bother to stand when Mrs. Morton entered the room.
Mrs. Morton rubbed the bridge of her nose, concealing a sigh. “Norris, remove yourself from Alexander’s chair. In fact, you may leave if you wish. I don’t think I have anything to discuss with you. I only asked you to stay in case my husband had something further to relay. He does not.”
Dr. Norris moved to the settee. “I wish to remain.” The heat of the doctor’s glare nearly started Tim’s coat ablaze.
Mrs. Morton turned her full attention to Tim. “These are a spare set of keys to the surgery and office. The small one is to his file box, and the midsized one fits the drug cabinet. This book contains his appointments. I usually help out a couple days a week, but I think I will be needed here.” She waved her hand to indicate the floor above. “Come by tomorrow afternoon and let us know if you have any questions. Since it is Friday, he only had a couple of appointments in the morning. Saturday is usually full of minor emergencies—boys falling from trees and such.”
Tim took the keys and smiled. He had been one of those boys.
“And if you will please put this sign in the window of the office.” She turned back to Dr. Norris. “Now, if you will both excuse me. I prefer to be with Alexander. I believe our maid has your coats and hats.”
Tim followed Dr. Norris out of the house and was relieved when the doctor had no more words for him. For a second, he wondered if he should have refused. He turned over the pasteboard to read: Dr. Morton’s patients are now in the care of Dr. Tim Dawes. In an emergency, please inquire at 10 River Street.
The sign had been neatly written and embellished. Tim looked back at the doctor’s house and noticed a similar placard next to the door. Dr. Morton must have been certain he would help. Mother would be happy to learn he would be staying until at least Independence Day.
Ten
The breeze danced through the clothing as Sarah hung it on the line. This Friday morning, it seemed like spring was finally here to stay. About time too. Maybe John would stop his grumbling about the farm and crops, even if they did need more rain. Last year’s poor crop had only deepened the dark mood hanging about him since his wife passed. The entire family had endured almost a year and a half of his nay-saying. If Sarah thought for a minute her marrying John would improve his person, she would be tempted to do it. But there were too many reasons to avoid such a marriage, not the least of which was that he still pined for his deceased wife, Remember.
Sarah shook out a sheet as well as any thoughts of John. She couldn’t force herself to enjoy his company.
Emma descended the steps. “It is such a lovely day. Are you weeding the garden today?”
“There isn’t much to weed yet. We only planted it a week ago Saturday. But the flowers in the front are looking poorly.” Sarah pulled the last linen from her basket. “Maybe we should work on them together.”
“You mean you’ll work while I talk. Bending over is so much harder to do each year.”
Sarah breathed a sigh. Emma was herself today. They walked around the house to the ailing flower bed.
“Is your calendar correct, dear?”
Or maybe not. “I believe so.”
“I hoped it wasn’t. It says I’ll be sixty-six next week.”
“Would you like to ask the boys and Carrie over?” Sarah knelt on a piece of oilcloth. The late frost two weeks ago had damaged many of the flowers she’d planted from seed last fall.
“No, I’d rather not have them fuss over me. Besides, we are due at Samuel’s on Sunday, and Lucy will most likely bake me some little thing to commemorate.”
“I could bake you a cake or pie.”
Emma laughed. “And have it meet the same fate the last of our carrots did earlier this week? I love you, little miss, but please, please don’t cook for me.”
“How did you know I tried to bake?”
“Piggy Peggy isn’t as dumb as we think she is. Even she wouldn’t touch it.” Emma bent over and pulled out a withered stock. “Not much of a flower, is it?”
Sarah turned to see Emma’s flower and spotted Amity Barns coming up the walk. It struck Sarah that Amity resembled the withered flower, only in her case, damage from a horse’s hoof and not a frost had prevented her from blooming.
“Mm-mmi-iss, Wil-ilson, need help.” Amity rested her hand at her waist, revealing the shape her dirty brown dress camouflaged.
Emma looked at Sarah and mouthed one word. “Please?”
Midwifery. Emma had been forbidden to practice her trade. But it couldn’t hurt just to see what Amity needed. Sarah set down her trowel and stood. “Would you like to come in for something to drink?”
“Y-yes, Missss Mard-din.”
Sarah followed Emma and Amity into the house, trying to remember the girl’s age. She was somewhere between Louisa and Lettie, maybe fourteen. But not really—the accident had left her blind in one eye and with slurred speech. The intelligence she’d showed her first three years of school had been reduced to that of a young child. Sarah should go get Mrs. Morton, but she would tell her husband. Then Dr. Norris might find out, and then Reverend Palmer and the magistrate. The fine would equal more than a month’s pay for Mr. Barns, and that would hurt Amity. Although there must be mercy in the law for a girl who had been reduced to an imbecile. Sarah bit her lip. Just this one visit. If Emma remained in the present today, she would be able to at least guess when the girl could expect her lying-in. Then she would talk to someone.
“Would you like tea? Or cider?”
“No, I-I fat-t cow.”
Sarah ushered the girl into a chair. “A cup of chamomile tea won’t make you grow fat, sweetheart.”
Emma sat next to Amity. “Did someone tell you that you are fat?”
Amity nodded.
“Who?”
“Da-da say grr-ow lik-ke a fat-t cow. I s-say I hurt. He say no eat.”
Sarah sat on the bench. “Have you had any food today?”
Amity shook her head. Emma got up and filled a bowl with the peas porridge left over from breakfast. Sarah sliced some of the ham left from yesterday’s supper. Amity shoveled the food into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten for days. Sarah longed to brush the girl’s hair and wash her face, but if she was correct in her assumption, cleaning Amity up could mean someone looking too closely at her.
When she finished, Emma patted her hand. “What do you need my help with?”
Amity again rested her hand on her rounding belly. “Wr-r-ong. Bad. Sick-k.”
“Will you come lie on my bed and let me see?” Emma stood and started guiding the girl out of the room. Sarah ran ahead to lay one of the oil cloths over the bed.
“Amity, Miss Marden helps me. Can she stay in here with us?” Again, Emma didn’t wait for an answer. “Lie down right here.”
Amity bent to take off her boots. Sarah knelt to help her. The girl had not been careful where she walked, nor had she scraped them off for a while, and her stockings were unwashed. How many times had the woman’s charity circle made Amity one of their projects? Dropping off clothing from time to time didn’t come close to fulfilling Amity’s needs.
“Amity if you will lie back, I am going to feel your stomach.” Emma demonstrated by patting her own midriff.
Amity did as asked. Emma conducted her examination through the girl’s clothing. Emma’s brow furrowed and she looked up. “Sarah?”
“Did it hurt when Mrs. Wilson touched you?”
Amity shook her head.
“May I do the same thing she did?” asked Sarah.
