by Lorin Grace
Sarah beat Tim to the bedroom. With her dress partially off, Amity’s arms flailed wildly, striking Dorcas. Sarah hurried to Amity’s side and pulled her into a hug. “There, there.”
Amity sobbed into the black bombazine. Sarah managed to get her to sit on the bed. “Let’s get this dress off you.” Sarah finished lifting the dress over Amity’s head.
Blood.
“Ti—Dr. Dawes?” Sarah tried to use a calm voice.
Tim came to stand beside her. “It isn’t hers. Miss Smith is getting some water so you can help wash her. Does she have something you can change her into?”
Sarah nodded.
Tim left the room. Dorcas came only as far as the doorway with the kettle. A bruise had formed on her cheek. Sarah touched her own cheek as she took the kettle. “How bad?”
“I think I shall retire. I can’t help you with her anymore.” Dorcas went upstairs without looking back.
Tim leaned against the doorjamb. “Shall I run for Mrs. Morton, or perhaps Mrs. Larkin?”
“No, Amity is calm now. I’ll change her. You can leave.”
“No, once she is changed, I want to give her a drop of laudanum so she can sleep. I am worried about a seizure. When you are washing her, can you check to be sure the shock of what happened is not starting her labor?”
“Of course.”
Amity didn’t speak as Sarah cleaned her; rather, she sat like a rag doll, which worried Sarah almost as much as if the girl had fought her. Sarah’s ministrations were met with the kick of a little foot but no signs of imminent change of residence for the babe Amity carried.
Sarah tucked a quilt around Amity before gathering the soiled garment and going to the kitchen. Tim sat at the table drinking a cup of Dorcas’s rewarmed coffee. Two cups sat nearby. One smelled of peppermint tea, the other stood empty. “I didn’t know what you would want. I’ve already put a drop of laudanum in the tea for Amity. I hesitate to give it to her under normal circumstances, but the longer she can sleep, the better.”
Tim followed Sarah as she took the cup to Amity. The girl drank her tea but still didn’t speak.
Sarah waited until they were out of the room to ask the question her mind was shouting. “Will Amity … I mean … she is just starting. Is that . . .” How could she describe what she wanted to know?
“Just a moment.” Tim grabbed a straight-backed chair from the kitchen and took it into Amity’s room, setting it next to Emma’s old rocker. “I don’t think she should be alone, and if we talk quietly, we won’t disturb her.” He motioned for Sarah to sit in the rocker.
Sitting next to Tim in a semidark room, even with a patient, wasn’t the best of ideas. Sarah needed a bit of distance. “I need to put her clothes in cold water to get the stain out.”
The water bucket stood empty, so Sarah went to the well she shared with the neighbors and drew out a bucketful. There had to be another way to delay being with Tim. She poured herself some of Dorcas’s coffee and nearly spit it out. At least it would keep her fully alert. The only way to get Tim to leave would be to talk with him. Sarah had watched him enough over the last month to know he wouldn’t leave a patient without knowing they were in capable hands. The sooner she went in, the sooner he would leave.
Sarah was avoiding him. He sat back and watched Amity. He had only seen the aftermath of what had occurred on the dock tonight and heard her father’s final words. “I said I’d kill the man who hurt my girl. Keep her safe, Doc.”
Witnesses confirmed what Tim had guessed. One of the other dockmen had come out of the pub already in his cups. Mr. Barns and Amity were returning home after the fireworks.
The dockman had started talking about Amity in such a way as to leave little reason to question he had been the one, or perhaps one of a few, who had taken advantage of Amity while her father worked. The man’s friends had laughed. A fight might not have occurred as Mr. Barns had only walked faster toward home, but the dockman ran to catch up and pulled Amity from her father’s arms and kissed her.
Amity had hit the man first. Then Mr. Barns did what any father would do and knocked the man senseless. One of his drunken friends stepped in. At some point, a knife was introduced, perhaps two. By the time Tim arrived, the first dockworker had died, the second was injured, and Mr. Barns lay in his daughter’s lap, struggling to breathe. Amity held one of the knives and was slashing it at anyone who came too near.
The weeks of letting Amity get used to him had paid off. Tim got her to drop the knife and let him touch her father. Little could be done.
Sarah came in and sat in the rocking chair, moving it an inch or two away in the process.
“How is she?”
“I wish I knew.”
Sarah turned to him then. “What do you mean?”
“She witnessed a fight between her father and the man I assume took advantage of her. Both men are dead. Since she hardly speaks, it is impossible to know what she is thinking or feeling. Soldiers who saw horrific things in battle would sometimes do what she did tonight—simply stare and not move. If someone could get them talking, sometimes it helped.” He didn’t tell her about the ones who never talked or ate or slept.
The chair creaked as Sarah changed positions. “What do you need me to do?”
“Stay with her. You can probably lie down on the bed with her. I’ll come by first thing or send Mrs. Morton.”
“What about a funeral? I don’t think she’ll survive if many people visit.”
“I’ll talk to Dr. Morton. I think a small one tomorrow, just at the cemetery, no visitation.” Tim consulted his watch. “I mean this afternoon.”
Sarah hid a yawn. “I’ll show you out, then.”
As Tim stopped in the kitchen to gather his bag, Sarah waited near the front door.
There were things he needed to say, but it was late. Maybe too late. And so he left, keeping all the words inside for another day.
Twenty-nine
A week passed. Amity ate and slept, but nothing else. Sarah had never believed in ghosts, but if she did, Amity could be one. The farthest she could coax the girl was to the rocker. There, Amity would rock and hum and rub the child when he kicked her. There had been nightmares but no seizures. Mrs. Morton said they should thank God for a miracle.
It wasn’t the only miracle that week. There had been no new notes, even though Tim had been in several times a day. Perhaps the writer had some compassion on Amity as others had quietly dropped by food, clothing, and money.
Dorcas volunteered to clean out the small apartment where the Barns had lived and attended a session of the women’s relief circle to discuss Amity’s future. In fact, Dorcas was very helpful as long she wasn’t asked to sit with Amity. The extent of Dorcas’s interaction with her was to stand in the bedroom doorway when Sarah needed to run to the privy.
Someone knocked on the door. When Sarah didn’t hear Dorcas’s quick step, she went to answer it herself.
“Thomas Jr.? Come in.”
Thomas Jr. took off his hat and looked around the parlor. “Good day, Sarah, is Dorcas ready?”
“Ready? For what?”
“She sent a note around on Wednesday saying she was no longer needed and asked if she could come visit.” Thomas Jr. rubbed the back of his head just like Samuel did when he was worried.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Sarah turned to face Dorcas. “You are leaving? I thought you were happy here. What am I going to do without you?”
Dorcas handed a small crate to her brother-in-law. “I just can’t be here when … I was hired to help you with Emma, not this.” Dorcas waved her hand in the direction of the room Amity occupied. “I stayed a month, but I cannot honestly ask to be paid when I can’t do the work Thomas Jr. hired me for.”
“What? You were paid to be here?” Sarah trie
d to process what was happening.
Thomas Jr. shifted the crate to his other arm. “Samuel and I agreed Dorcas deserved a wage when she came to help you with Emma.”
Dorcas disappeared into the kitchen and Thomas Jr. took the crate outside, as well as a chest sitting next to the front door.”
“I can’t leave my coffee pot. Here, I made this for you. I am not good with goodbyes, especially when I like a person. That is why I didn’t tell you sooner. I made fresh bread, and a roast chicken is in the warmer. Someone from the relief circle will be bringing in food every other day. I told them watching Amity doesn’t leave you with time to cook.” Dorcas handed Sarah a small package wrapped in paper and tied with string.
“But what am I going to do when the doctor comes? I need a chaperone or people will talk!” Sarah wished her voice didn’t sound so panicked.
“Perhaps what you really need is to not have a chaperone so you can finally say what needs to be said. I know you don’t want to hear it, but this old spinster has seen enough to know if you keep putting him off, you will regret it. The way he looks at you … I wish either of my beaus had looked at me with that much love and concern. You are brave in so many things. Be brave in this, too.” Dorcas kissed Sarah on the cheek and was gone.
Sarah watched Thomas Jr.’s coach drive down the road until it was past the church. She ripped open the package. Two new handkerchiefs embroidered and trimmed with lace.
“But I am not brave,” she whispered as she dried her eyes.
Sarah smiled, but Tim could tell it was forced and that she had been crying.
He stepped in the door and wished he had permission to take her in his arms and hold her until her smile became real.
“Miss Smith left today, and she won’t be back. I don’t know if Dr. Morton is up to making these calls, but until there is someone else here . . .” She shrugged.
“Dr. Morton is not up to making calls. Even a few steps with his cane is still difficult. If you are worried I will take liberties again, I won’t. Your avoidance of me is enough to let me know they are not welcomed.” Not what he wished to say, but it was what she needed to hear. He would not touch her again, even if she did welcome his touch when they were alone in the house. Not exactly alone, but Amity couldn’t chaperone.
Sarah nodded, and new tears glistened but did not fall. “She is sleeping. I think she is experiencing some early signs but is probably days away still.” She left him in the bedroom and went out the back door.
“Well, Miss Amity. Will you talk with me today?”
Silence answered him.
Sarah returned a few minutes later.
Tim went to meet her in the hall. “How many hours is she sleeping a day?”
“Sixteen to twenty.”
“Is she eating any better?”
“She will eat anything I spoon into her mouth.”
“What about you? Are you getting enough sleep?” The darkening under her eyes told him the truth. Would she?
“I get as much as I can. Amity dreams at night, and they often wake her.”
“You are still sleeping in here, then?”
Sarah nodded. “She hasn’t had a seizure since her father passed, but the dreams upset her so much, I don’t dare be too far away.”
“Would it help if I hired someone to be here?”
Sarah looked at her hands as she twisted a handkerchief around her fingers. “It is so much money. I can handle it. Some of the women are sending in food, so I don’t need to leave her side to cook.”
Tim lifted her chin with his finger and for a moment forgot what he wanted to say. “That isn’t what I asked. Would it help if I hired someone to be here?”
Sarah tried to look away.
“Shall I take your refusal to answer as a yes?” He dropped his finger, afraid if he didn’t step back he would break a promise not a half hour old.
“It would be helpful, but I don’t have the money. I didn’t know Miss Smith was paid to be here.” A tear finally escaped.
Tim resisted the urge to wipe it. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll talk with my mother and Mrs. Morton. They may know of someone.”
Sarah half turned and used the handkerchief. “Amity will need to like her.”
“I don’t know if it will matter much at the moment or if we will even be able to tell. I will try to find someone who has experience with the sick, or at least midwifery.”
For the first time since he arrived, Sarah willingly looked at him. “Thank you, Tim.”
He left before he did anything stupid.
To say Mrs. Duncan had saved Sarah’s life was an exaggeration. But not by much. Sarah walked by the church green, which was much browner than it should be this time of year. Sadly, the late snows and the few rainstorms were not enough to end the drought. The calendar in the post-office window told her it had been twenty days since Mr. Barns died. Each day seemed much the same to Sarah, some cooler than the others but the same.
Ahead of her, Miss Brooks, Miss Page, and a young woman Sarah didn’t recognize laughed as they read a news sheet. Good news? Samuel had left a copy of the Merrimack Intelligencer last week. The front page had urged farmers to try to plant again after the early July frost. Sarah hadn’t realized it had gotten so cold.
“Oh, Sarah, have you seen this? It is the most hilarious thing!” Parmelia moved to the side so Sarah could read the column.
“I can’t think any woman of quality would answer him,” said the unknown woman.
Miss Brooks looked up. “I am sure he will get many inquiries, all highly unsuitable. Even Parmelia’s coffee wouldn’t meet this standard.”
Poor man. He was doomed to be the laughing stock of all who knew him if newspapers nearly four hundred miles away were mocking his advertisement.
“I shall be glad I am too old for his age requirement.” Sarah gave them all a smile and walked on.
At Swanson’s she found the price of flour had risen sharply. Without her even asking, the clerk apologized.
“With the drought this year and last and the untimely frosts killing most of the crops again and with Canada begging for imports, our supplier raised his price. We are very sorry, miss.”
Sarah wondered if the more valid article was the short one she’d seen next to the ad. There may well be those who went hungry this winter. Starvation. The thought made for a ponderous walk home.
Mrs. Morton accompanied Tim for this visit. Not that he doubted Sarah’s skills, but she lacked experience. Amity’s lack of communication didn’t help him in gauging the situation.
Mrs. Duncan showed them into the bedroom, where Amity sat in the chair, rocking and humming and clutching the nine-patch quilt Sarah had completed. “Miss Sarah went to the store. Do you need her?”
Tim looked to Mrs. Morton for confirmation before speaking. “It would be best if she were here. While we are waiting, I’ll see if I can get Amity to talk with me.” Mrs. Morton sat on the chair next to Amity and started to hum along. Amity seemed oblivious to anyone in the room.
“Amity?” Tim reached out and touched the back of Amity’s hand. Still, there was no response. Tim walked out of the room.
Mrs. Duncan stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Dr. Dawes, would you fancy a bit of cake?”
“No, thank you. I think I will sit in the parlor for a minute. I had one of those early morning calls, and now I want to sleep.”
With the window open, the parlor was neither too hot nor too cold—a rarity this month. Tim sat in the largest chair and shut his eyes.
A rustling on the porch woke him. He sat up and straightened his coat. No one came in or knocked. He looked out the window and saw a woman hurrying away from the door. He’d seen that bonnet someplace before . . .
Sarah straightened her shou
lders and prepared herself to open the door. A paper, the same as the others, was stuffed next to the doorknob.
Answer this ad. Oh, but he probably won’t want a fallen woman. And you are too old!
A clipping from the July 24th Worcester Gazette was attached. It was the same one she read yesterday in the Baltimore Federal Gazette.
WANTED
A Young Lady, about 17 or 21 years of age, as a wife. She must be well acquainted with the necessary accomplishments of such; she must understand washing and ironing, baking bread, making good coffee, roasting beef, veal, &c. boneing a fowl, broiling a fish, making tarts, plumb-pudding and deserts of all kinds, preserving fruits and pickles, expert with a needle, keeping a clean and snug house; must know reading writing and arithmetick. Never have been in the habit of attending ball-rooms; she must have been taught true and genuine principles of religion, and a member in church of good standing; must not be addicted to making too free use of her tongue, such as repeating any report that is injurious to her neighbor, or using taunting language to any person about her house. A Lady finding herself in possession of the above accomplishments, will please address to Alphonso. It will not be required that she should exercise all these requisites, unless a change in fortune should take place the which time it will be necessary, in order to live with such economy as to prevent a trespass on our friends, whose frowns and caprices we otherwise must endure—what every man of noble mind will despise. At present she shall have a coach and four at her command, servants in abundance, a house furnished in first modern style; shall always be treated with that tender affection which female delicacy requires and nothing shall be wanting that will be necessary to contribute to her happiness.
Sarah crumpled it in her hand and opened the door.
Tim reached for the basket. “Do you need some help?”
