The Midwife: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

by Ceci Giltenan

  She supposed the realities of her presence in the thirteenth century was of more immediate concern. Although Cade had mentioned it several times, she really hadn’t taken his cautions about her “boldness” too seriously. She had failed to realize the importance or perhaps more accurately, the lack of importance of her “place” as Cade had called it.

  In the twenty-first century not only was she given respect as a doctor, she had also grown up with the privileges afforded by virtue of her family’s wealth. But even without that, she was as free to speak to whomever she chose and in whatever manner she saw fit as any American.

  However, in the twenty-first century, other than perhaps being snubbed or accused of having a poor “bedside manner,” there were no real consequences if she were blunt or discourteous. Here, showing disrespect to the wrong person could apparently result in severe punishment.

  As Cade had pointed out, the sad truth was that as a “lass of no standing” she had no power, no voice and no rights. Pushing back, against that reality, could result in serious consequences.

  How could she live like this, even for a short time? How could she assume the submissive attitude that seemed to be required?

  Because you weren’t asked to be submissive, just respectful.

  Elizabeth thought more about her interactions with Laird MacKenzie. She had simply been honest. Well…bluntly honest. Although the things she had said to him were true, she could have been a bit more considerate and less dismissive. She had been angry at once again being judged by her age. But when she looked at it from his point of view, she realized he only wanted the best for his wife. Elsie was even younger than Elizabeth herself was. Could she really blame him for not having faith in an arrogant, sharp-tongued girl?

  Furthermore, if she were being honest with herself, she would not have been so blunt when speaking to one of her parents or grandparents, or someone in a position of authority at work. But outside of that, she had to admit, she tended to be direct and probably wasn’t always as considerate as she could be. She hadn’t been particularly nice to Gertrude when she first met her. Then Elizabeth remembered the cab ride from the airport. The cabby had just been trying to be friendly and she had done her best to shut him down. She couldn’t escape the fact that she had been downright rude and now felt acutely embarrassed.

  He was a young curious father and had wanted to talk about delivering babies, the profession to which Elizabeth had devoted her life. She had done everything she could to end the conversation, until he finally asked if he could put on some music. She smiled to herself. Even that had become a drawn out affair as he had asked her about her preference in genres. There was one she had never even heard of. What was it? He had asked about Christian rock, salsa, gansta rap and…she knew there was more but she just couldn’t remember.

  She huffed in frustration. She had popped into the past, saved a little boy’s life and offered a pregnant woman hope. Surely that was sufficient. She was ready to go home and have control over her life again.

  Control. She gave a mirthless laugh. That was exactly what she and David had argued about after their brunch date.

  They had been sitting in the car outside his beautiful home. He had asked her in, but she had declined. “I’m tired. I really should go home and go to bed.”

  He had said, “Elizabeth, I’m worried about you. You need to take some control of your life back.”

  “What are you talking about? I have always been in complete control of my life.”

  “No Elizabeth you haven’t.”

  “Of course I have. I’ve plotted my own course and worked single-mindedly to reach my goals. I didn’t follow the mold. I graduated from high school at fifteen, when other students my age were just finishing their sophomore year. I received a bachelor’s degree just three years later and was one of the youngest students ever accepted into my medical school. And once there, I worked relentlessly to stay at the top of my class.”

  “And why was that?”

  “I wanted to excel, to be the best.”

  “Hmm. Break it down for me. Why did you work so diligently to finish high school early? You could, and almost certainly still would have excelled if you had taken things more slowly.”

  “But why take longer than necessary to complete a task?”

  “Because it wasn’t just a task—it was a life experience, a part of one’s social development. So why rush through that? You still could have been the best student, but you might also have been involved in student government. You could have been a peer tutor. You could have been the slowest swimmer on the swim team. You could have sung in the concert choir. You could have taken ceramics.”

  “I didn’t need those things. I wanted to be a doctor. Why plod through the unnecessary?”

  “Because those things would have been fun.”

  “They were of no value to me.”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me, you never longed for ordinary high school experiences.”

  Elizabeth had looked him in the eye and actually opened her mouth to say the words—but she couldn’t.

  David nodded. “That’s just what I thought. So if you wanted to do some of those things, they had value to you. Why shun them?”

  “Other goals were more important.”

  “To whom?”

  “To me.”

  “Elizabeth, do you honestly believe that? Tell me, if you had come home one afternoon and announced that you had joined the swim team, what would have happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really? Absolutely nothing?”

  “What are you implying? That my parents would have been angry with me or something? They wouldn’t have cared.”

  “And that is my point. When your mother managed to pry herself away from her high-powered clients, she wouldn’t have said, ‘Excellent choice, Elizabeth; that sounds like fun.’? Your father wouldn’t have left the hospital early a few times to cheer you on at a meet?”

  “My parents work very hard at their careers. So do I. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “That’s debatable. Tell me this, what was their reaction when you enrolled in every advanced placement course your prep school offered?”

  “They were pleased.”

  “And when you aced them all?”

  “They were pleased.”

  “What does that mean, Elizabeth?”

  Her temper was rising. “What do you think it means. They said, ‘well done’.”

  “There was no little celebration for that perfect report card?”

  “Of course not. Students are expected to work hard and do their best. I didn’t get patted on the head for doing what was expected.”

  “I see. So the same thing was true in college. You worked hard, you made the highest grades in every class and your parents said, ‘well done’.”

  “Yes, David. You come from the same world I do. Did your parents throw a gala for you every time you did what was expected?”

  “No. But when I challenged myself and succeeded, no matter how busy they were, they celebrated that accomplishment with me. Tell me this—did your parents attend your graduations?”

  “They were there when I graduated from medical school.”

  “That’s not what I asked, but I have my answer.”

  “They planned to see me graduate each time, but emergencies came up. My grandparents were at the other graduations.”

  “Really? The lawyer or the surgeon?”

  “Neither of them…but both of my grandmothers were there.”

  “Will you listen to yourself, Elizabeth? The only time your parents even looked up from their own careers to say ‘well done’ was when you excelled at academics and even then it was lackluster. You were valedictorian, weren’t you?” It had been more a statement than a question.

  “Yes.”

  “All three times?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who doesn’t move heaven and earth to see their daughter deliver a valedictory s
peech? Three times.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “The hell I don’t. My parents had demanding careers too. You know that. My father is your mother’s biggest client. Still, they managed to be at dance recitals and basketball games and concerts and they were certainly at all of their children’s graduations—and none of us were ever valedictorians.”

  “Look, David, I had a busy night and I’m tired. What exactly is the point of this?”

  He shook his head in frustration. “You just very proudly stated that you have always been in control. You have plotted your own course and worked to reach your goals. But that is simply not true. You are the product of your parents’ expectations. You said it yourself. Excelling at the hardest courses, getting the best grades, being the first in your class, all of that—it wasn’t what you desired, it was simply expected. You worked relentlessly to reach your parents’ goals for you—perhaps even to gain their approval.”

  “You’re wrong. I wanted those things too.”

  “Really? I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.”

  “I became an obstetrician. That was my choice.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You broke your mother’s heart by choosing medicine instead of law and then you pissed daddy off by not becoming a surgeon. I guess after twenty some years of doing exactly what they both expected, neither one of them were prepared for you to exert your own will in the smallest way. But ever since that little act of defiance you have worked unceasingly to be the best.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing if it gives you satisfaction. But it doesn’t. I think you are still trying to prove something to your parents. You work constantly to show them that you are worthy. Can you deny that?”

  She hadn’t been able to, so instead of answering his question she countered, “Why are you pushing this?”

  “Because I care about you—more than anything. I love you, Elizabeth, and want you in my life. I want to be in your life, but I fear if things keep going as they have been, there is no room for me—or anyone.”

  “You want me to give up my career? Are you crazy?”

  “Of course I don’t want you to give up your career. And if you truly loved your work, if it gave you joy, I wouldn’t begrudge you a single minute. But it doesn’t. You work around the clock, driving yourself relentlessly, and you aren’t happy. Furthermore, if you continue to rely on your parents’ approval to make you happy, you never will be.”

  Happy? Did she know anyone who was happy? She had been too tired to think about that. “What do you want from me, David?”

  “I don’t want anything from you. I want something for you. I want you to find some real control, some balance. I want you to discover what makes you happy—not what you think other people want from you. And once you find your destiny, I want you to embrace it”

  “My destiny? I’m doing what I studied for years to do. That is my destiny.”

  “But is it what you wanted? Are you happy with your life as it is?”

  “Of course I am.” But even as she had said the words, she’d known they were untrue.

  He’d shaken his head sadly. “Well then, there’s nothing more to say. You haven’t allowed any room in your life for anything but a job that drains you. I love you Elizabeth, but I want more for you. I want more for us. And I don’t want to continue watching your futile efforts to be what your parents think you should be. It’s sucking the life out of you.”

  “I don’t know what to say, David.”

  “No, I suppose you don’t and I’m sorry.” He had taken both of her hands in his, and leaning in, brushed her cheek with a kiss. “I will miss you, my beautiful girl. And someday, I hope you work your way free of expectations and allow joy to enter your life.” He squeezed her hands before letting them go and getting out of the car.

  Now, sitting on a mattress stuffed with heather, in a small, cold, thirteenth century castle bed chamber, the horrible, painful truth of David’s words hit her. While she had technically been the one making choices, her decisions had nearly always been dictated by her parents’ expectations. She had never really been in control of her own life but had created a life that replicated theirs. Status and career was the sun in their universe. Happiness, joy, and love had never played any role. David had said he loved her but she hadn’t said it back. She had never said it to anyone. Frankly, she hadn’t known if she loved him or not, because she wasn’t sure she understood what it meant to love someone or if she had ever experienced it.

  Well, that was no longer true. In the last few days, she had witnessed it over and over again. Starting with Elsie—out of love and respect for a woman she didn’t even know—rather than lie, she would have taken a beating that ultimately would have killed her.

  The MacLennans had loved their wee son so dearly, they would have done anything to ensure he lived, including pinning their hope to a stranger’s confidence. And even under incredible stress, their abiding love for each other was clearly evident.

  This evening she had seen Laird MacKenzie’s deep love and concern for Wynda, and hers for him.

  Even Wynda and her sister-in-law Lilliana shared a love and friendship that awed Elizabeth.

  With the exception of her first boyfriend, she had never experienced anything close to the profound emotion each of these people had. Not even from her parents. Hell, she understood Laird Macrae’s Machiavellian machinations more than she did love. But now that she had witnessed it, she came to the crushing realization that it is what she had been seeking forever. David had been right. The thing that had brought her to this point in her life was her frenetic, inexorable need to feel loved.

  Bereft, she put her face into her pillow and sobbed until she finally exhausted herself and slept.

  Chapter 10

  Elizabeth woke the next day to the sound of someone knocking at her door. She sat up groggily, registering the frigid air and the bright morning light flooding through the narrow window. “Come in,” she called.

  Deirdre opened the door, carrying a large tray. Her shy smile was instantly replaced with concern. “Elsie, is something wrong?”

  “Nay. I’m sorry, I guess I overslept.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Lady Wynda said to let ye sleep. She knew ye might need it after three days of travel. Besides, tonight will be a late night—with the feast and all. But as it’s well past terce now, she bid me bring ye a pitcher of warm water and something to eat. It’s just, well, ye look terrible. Oh…I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant…I mean…ye look as if ye don’t feel well.”

  Remembering her terrible epiphany last night, Elsie forced a smile. “I’m fine. I guess I didn’t sleep very well.

  Deirdre deposited the tray on the small table and put the steaming pitcher of water on the wash stand. She took a small cloth from the stand and dipped it into the pitcher of cold water which already stood there. “Here, put this cool cloth on yer eyes for a bit. Maybe the puffiness will go away.”

  “Thank ye Deirdre. Do I look that bad?”

  “Ye look like ye cried half the night.”

  That’s because I did. She couldn’t very well tell Deirdre that. “I guess I miss home,” was all she could say. In truth what she probably missed was her busy schedule, which prevented her from thinking about anything other than work.

  “I’m sorry. But tonight will be fun. Ye’ll meet a few people and maybe feel more comfortable.”

  “What’s tonight?”

  Deirdre frowned. “It’s Shrove Tuesday.”

  Shrove Tuesday? Oh, right, the day before Ash Wednesday when Lent starts. Elizabeth covered by saying, “What with travelling and everything, I guess I lost track of the days.”

  “The MacKenzies have a huge feast, with music and dancing.” She proceeded to describe details of the coming fete as Elizabeth nibbled at the bread and cheese Deirdre had brought her.

  Elizabeth had to admit, it sounded fun.

  She had hoped that after a good nig
ht’s sleep, she might be able to remember the last bit of her conversation with the cabby. But she didn’t feel all that well-rested and she could remember no more of the conversation. Frankly, she was more than a little curious about tonight’s celebration. David had implied that she lacked life experiences, and she felt very certain a real medieval feast would be an experience unlike any other.

  After Elizabeth had eaten her breakfast, and washed up a bit, Deirdre said, “Ye’re looking much better now. If ye’re ready, I’ll show ye the castle and village.”

  “I really should see to Lady MacKenzie.”

  “Nay, she’s the one who bid me to introduce ye around. Lady Lilliana is with her now.”

  So Elizabeth spent the rest of the morning exploring her surroundings and meeting MacKenzies, in the end winding up at Morag’s cottage.

  “I’ll just leave ye here with Morag—I have some work to do before the feast. Ye know the way back,” said Deirdre before hurrying back to the keep.

  Morag ushered Elizabeth into her cozy cottage, clucked about the bitter cold day and had a hot herbal tisane in her hands in minutes. When she had made herself a mug of the warm brew, she sat down.

  “Well, lass, I was hoping we would get a few minutes alone.”

  Elizabeth realized instantly why. Morag proceeded to grill her about how she would handle a variety of pregnancy related issues. Elizabeth felt as if she was sitting an oral exam and she suspected that was precisely Morag’s intent. Some of her questions were so very basic, she couldn’t imagine that an elderly midwife didn’t know the answers. After her self-revelation the previous night, Elizabeth chose not to be insulted by the inquisition and she addressed every question with confidence, but more importantly with patience.