The Midwife's Choice

by Delia Parr

  Samuel’s purple lips sputtered. “Y-you’ve gone lunatic if you th-think I’m gonna—”

  “I’ve had the same suspicions about my sanity more than once today,” she countered.

  Shudders shook Will’s body. Beneath spiked lashes and brows dusted with snow and ice, his dark eyes snapped. “I ain’t barin’ myself in fronta no girl!”

  “You’ll both strip. Now,” she repeated. “I’ll get some blankets, then keep myself busy in the galley looking for some fresh horseradish to grate for that argumentative mouth of yours.”

  Either they were both too cold or too much in shock to argue further. After she dropped some blankets on the floor at their feet, she went straight to the corner of the cabin Samuel referred to as the galley. His stores were meager.

  She passed over the horseradish and found several soft and wrinkled turnips and carrots. She diced them for soup. There was only one potato, but it was large. She diced that, too, and tossed everything into a pot. There was not a single herb to add for flavor or meat to provide strength, but the soup would be filling and hot. She got a fire going on the cookstove, covered the vegetables with water, and set the pot to boil.

  By then, the grumbling and complaining behind her had stopped, and she judged it safe to turn around. Sure enough, both Will and Samuel were parked in front of the Franklin stove, each with a blanket draped around their shoulders and another that covered them from their waists to their feet. They huddled together, their chairs side by side, with their wet clothing lying in a heap on the floor.

  “You two look a little better,” she murmured. She added more wood to the stove and draped the wet clothing around the cabin to dry.

  Will sneezed and wiped his nose with the corner of the blanket. “Coulda done this ourselves,” he spat.

  Samuel swatted at the boy’s head. “Mind your manners, boy. The woman can’t help herself. She’s got to meddle. Just born to it, I suppose.”

  “You could have both drowned,” she argued. “And you would have, but for the grace of God.”

  “If God had a mind to, he coulda helped us off the ice before it cracked.” He sniffed the air. “What’s that you got cookin’?”

  “Soup. Not that you deserve any,” she remarked as she approached him.

  “Smells good. We thank you,” Samuel murmured.

  “It should warm your insides. The stove should warm the rest. There’s not much more we can do now. Just wait and see if you both come down with lung congestion. Whatever were you thinking? Why on earth would you decide to go ice fishing?”

  Samuel let out a sigh. “Old fool that I am, I was thinkin’ about catchin’ some fish for supper. The falls are frozen silent. The ice shoulda held. Will said it was good and thick, but I couldn’t see for myself. . . .”

  She pressed her hands together. “I’m sorry. Dr. McMillan told me what happened.”

  “Young know-nothin’! He’s got no right tellin’ my business to nobody.”

  “I’m your friend,” she insisted.

  “Then be one. Leave me and the boy to work this out. We got through worse than this before.”

  Martha’s heart trembled. Samuel clearly had no concept of the difficulty he and Will would face now that blindness had rendered Samuel so helpless. “I’d like to help,” she suggested.

  He put his arm around Will’s shoulders. “Then help this mate into his hammock so he can rest. Now that my bones are thawin’ out, I’d like to get into some warm clothes, if you’d get them for me.”

  Will yawned. “I ain’t tired.”

  Martha urged him to his feet. “Maybe not, but you’ll be all toasty and warm in the hammock while you’re waiting for the soup to cook. Samuel and I need to talk.”

  Will rolled his eyes, a habit she thought he had broken.

  He did not protest further, and she led him to one of two hammocks in the corner of the cabin opposite the galley. He got into the hammock on his second attempt. Martha tucked the two blankets around him and added a third to cover him from head to toe. “Get some rest.” She nudged the hammock until it began to rock.

  He yawned and closed his eyes. “You gonna be here when I wake up?”

  “Probably.”

  “Figured as much,” he grumbled and promptly drifted off to sleep.

  Will was fast asleep. So far, he showed no sign of fever. Samuel had dressed and polished off two large bowls of soup, rather neatly, considering his handicap. Martha sat with him in front of the Franklin stove, wondering how to broach the subject that would cause both Samuel and Will great pain.

  Samuel broke the silence that stretched like a taut rope between them. “I know the boy’s got to go. Problem is, I got no place to send him. That boy needs a firm hand, and I know I can’t wield it. Not like I am now,” he murmured.

  Surprised that he would openly admit his own weakness, as well as relinquish all claims to Will, she did not know how to respond.

  He leaned an elbow on his lap and covered the raised serpent tattoo on his cheek with the palm of his hand. “Expect that’s why you came. To take him.”

  “No, I . . . not yet. Soon, perhaps, but not today, especially after that spill into the pond. He’ll need plenty of rest and good hot food. So will you,” she cautioned.

  He straightened up and gripped the arms of his chair. “I been on my own most of my life. Don’t see that changin’ now. I might have two eyes that are plumb useless, but I still got my sturdy constitution and my wits.”

  “Yes, you do. As for Will, let me tell you what I have in mind.” She gave him a brief description of the home she thought might be best for Will and answered all of his questions. “Nothing is set in stone quite yet, so I wouldn’t say anything to Will.”

  “He won’t like it, but he’ll do it,” Samuel promised.

  She wanted to take him at his word, but she knew Will well enough to be skeptical. He had run off several times in the past, though never from Samuel. “How can you be so sure?”

  She thought she saw a flash of pain in eyes that no longer held any sign of life. “Because I’ll tell him it’s an order. He’ll obey. Taught him to,” he responded.

  Martha caught her breath and held it for several long heartbeats. Why the good Lord had seen fit to bring these two together, only to tear them apart, made no sense. No sense at all.

  “You’ll give me a good bit of warnin’, though? I have things to discuss with the boy before I send him away.”

  “I will. Of course,” she promised. Until she remembered that June and Victoria would be leaving in four or five days. “Maybe you should talk to Will over the next few days while he’s recuperating. Just in case things happen faster than we suspect.”

  Samuel tipped his chin up a notch and cocked his head. His eyes might be clouded forever now, but she could still see he was puzzled.

  “Just in case you’re . . . you’re not here for much longer,” she explained.

  He laughed out loud. Not an ordinary laugh, either. A full, belly-shaking laugh that colored his cheeks. “One dang slip into the pond, and you got me dead and buried, is that it? I’ve been keelhauled twice, shipwrecked more than half a dozen times, and I’ve faced the wrong end of a pirate’s sword more than you’d probably believe. It’s gonna take more than a pond of ice to do me in.”

  He laughed again, then his emotional pendulum swung wide and fast to the opposite end of the spectrum. He paled and gripped the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles whitened. He struggled, visibly, as anger flared, then slipped behind despair. “After all I’ve fought against and won, don’t seem fair to lose my eyesight to some cowardly, sneaky ailment nobody can cure.” He shook his head. “Can’t say the prospect of bein’ a helpless, useless old man is all that appealin’.”

  Martha swallowed hard. “You’re helpless, perhaps, and not up to living on your own anymore, but you’re certainly not useless. God has plans for all of us, though we may not like them. There’s so much—”

  He slapped his thigh and sil
enced her. “Don’t go gettin’ all spiritual and start proselytizin’ like some preacher. Got no time for that.”

  Her backbone stiffened. “I have no intention of preaching to you. I came to offer you a position, if you have to know the truth.”

  He sniffed the air. “You’re tipsy. Knew there must be some reason for you sayin’ somethin’ so ridiculous. I’m blind, woman! The only position I could get is sittin’ in this chair.”

  She huffed. “I am not tipsy!”

  “I smell it. Wine’s my guess. Maybe honey wine.”

  Her gaze dropped to the bottom of her skirts. Sure enough, the hem was stained just like her cape. “I didn’t drink any honey wine. I dropped the bottle. It broke, and the wine splashed the hem of my skirts.”

  “Waste of good wine,” he grumbled. “Well, if you’re not tipsy, I must have been right earlier. You’ve gone lunatic on me. Shame. You’re mighty young—”

  “I have not gone mad,” she snapped, “but I am getting mad, and if you don’t let me tell you about the position, I will lose my temper. I don’t want to lose my temper. You don’t want me to lose my temper. If Will were awake, he’d tell you he doesn’t want me to lose my temper, either.”

  Panting, she paused to grab a breath and realized she sounded just like Anne Sweet. No wonder the woman got her way. Folks just gave in to her to get some peace and quiet. “Lord, spare me,” she whispered, although she admitted to having a new respect for Anne’s tactics.

  He chuckled. Again and again. “You got the spirit of a true sailor! You shoulda been a man. I’da been proud to serve with ya. Now, tell me about this so-called position. Just what are you plannin’ for me?”

  She took a deep breath and hoped God had a flock of angels nearby for reinforcements. “A home. A perfectly lovely home. For aging sailors, and—”

  He leaped to his feet and balled his hands into fists. Splotches of anger stained his cheeks. “A home? You want to lock me up in some kind of institution? You best be thankful you’re not a man,” he bellowed, “or I’d cut out your tongue and feed it to the sharks before I put that head of yours on a spike and mounted it on the top mast!”

  13

  Praise heaven, winged reinforcements held Martha’s temper in check, kept her from quaking in her skirts, and even managed to whisper an idea into her ear.

  She took a deep breath and let the words pour out so fast Samuel would be shocked silent, if only long enough for him to realize he had turned into a bully. “Sit down, Samuel, and make up your mind. One minute you tell me I should have been a man. In the next breath, you’re spewing nonsense about how grateful I should be for not being a man. Seems to me you’ve lost more than your vision. You haven’t gone lunatic on me, now, have you? Of course not. Maybe you struck your head on the ice. Or you’re simply confused. Or in shock. I don’t think you’re still cold. Not after a second helping of soup. Not that the soup had any flavor. I tried to warn you the soup wasn’t ready—”

  “Enough! Be silent, woman!” Deflated as though her words had been pins that poked holes in his harangue against her, just as she had hoped, he dropped back into his seat. “I’m not sure what’s happened to you. Never used to chatter like a magpie. Take a deep breath, girl, and explain yourself in three sentences. Three. Use one more and I’ll be tempted to overlook you’re a woman.”

  Martha grinned. “All right. Let’s see,” she began. “There are several philanthropists in New York City who are funding the building of a home for aging sailors who have retired from the sea. That’s one sentence, right?”

  He nodded.

  She gathered and rearranged her thoughts. “The home is nearly ready and though they’ve hired an administrator and most of the staff, they would like, no, they need someone to be a sort of resident captain, someone who could talk with the men as they arrive and see that they adapt to living in a . . . a home, and you know you could do that, Samuel.”

  “I knew you’d have to take a breath eventually. That’s two sentences, and I’m bein’ mighty generous.”

  “They would be willing to consider you for the post, provided you leave for New York within a few days and . . . provided you’d agree not to frequent the tavern next to the home after the gates are locked at ten o’clock and provided—”

  “That’s three,” he snapped. He ran a forefinger along the length of the serpent tattoo on his cheek. “I might be awful sorry I asked, but how in tarnation did you manage to find out about this?”

  Martha’s heart began to race. At least he was considering her words and not rejecting her idea outright. “Through a friend from New York, June Morgan, who’s visiting.” Without embellishing the facts, she explained about Victoria’s return home and her impending departure. “Thaddeus Morgan, June’s husband, is one of the directors of the home. He can arrange for you to meet with the others to discuss the position.”

  In truth, there had been no position. At least not until she had presented the idea to June, who, in turn, agreed the idea made such perfect sense she felt confident her husband would not only agree, but would make sure the others endorsed the idea as well. The major stumbling block would be getting Samuel to New York, unless he agreed quickly enough to leave with June and Victoria.

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “You will? You’ll actually consider it?” she asked, surprised he would acquiesce so easily.

  “I said I’d consider it. I didn’t say I’d do it,” he snapped. “Man’s gotta think carefully before he alters course.”

  “Yes. I understand. It would be a dramatic change and the position would carry a lot of responsibility. If you weren’t up to traveling or felt perhaps you were a bit too old—”

  “Martha Cade, you start chatterin’ again and I’ll . . . I’ll toss you outta here and don’t think I won’t. I can still find my way to the door, so don’t think you can take advantage of me.”

  She frowned. “I wouldn’t do that,” she insisted, although she did harbor some guilt for not being completely honest and telling him she had made his position one of her conditions for allowing Mrs. Morgan to take Victoria back home with her.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” he admitted. “You’ve been a good friend to me, and I don’t want you feelin’ all bad for not findin’ some cure for these eyes of mine. You tried your best,” he murmured. “Some things just can’t be fixed.”

  Unaccustomed to seeing Samuel speak so openly, Martha held in a sigh. She was going to miss this old man. A lot. With all her heart, she wished she had been able to help him. Dr. McMillan had been her last hope, and Samuel’s as well. Perhaps it was a blessing that the old seaman had lost his vision gradually. Nothing else could account for his seeming acceptance of what he must have known was inevitable.

  Her own acceptance would take longer. “I’ll come tomorrow to check on both of you,” she suggested. She donned her cape and gloves, then spied the basket sitting by the door. “I’ve got some socks for Will. They’re damp, so I’ll set them by the stove to dry. There’s a pan of cinnamon rolls for you both. They’re a little squashed, but they should taste good.”

  She put the pan of rolls on his lap and laid all four socks on the chair she had been using while he sampled one of the rolls. “I suppose that’s everything. Except for this.” She wrapped his hand around the bottle of honey wine.

  “When you’re considering the offer, I want you to keep something in mind.”

  He cocked a brow, but a smile tickled the corner of his lips as he embraced the honey wine with both hands.

  “I don’t want to impose, and I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated in any way,” she insisted, “but if you do go to New York, I’d be forever grateful if you could be there if Victoria has need for a friend. I don’t expect anything to go wrong, but if it did, I’d rest easier knowing there was someone I trust she could turn to for help. She’s coming back to Trinity in September, like I said. If you don’t like the home, you could come back with her, and I’ll think of something else.”


  He nodded. “If I do go, and mind you, I said if, I’d ask you to return the favor and keep a close watch on that boy of mine. Make sure he’s treated well.”

  Martha glanced at Will. His normal color had returned, and he was sleeping peacefully. “He’s not going to be happy about all this,” she warned. “Not at first. He loves you very much, and he’s going to miss you.”

  “Maybe.”

  Martha leaned down and pressed a kiss on the old man’s forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The sight of the tears welling in the corner of each of his opaque eyes silenced the rest of the words and captured her heart. Without prolonging her departure any longer, she left him there sitting by the stove with a pan of cinnamon rolls on his lap and the bottle of honey wine in his hands, while the heart he tried so hard to keep hidden from the world was breaking.

  She left the angels behind to comfort him and prayed that God would send a few to stay with Nancy Clifford to help her as she grieved the loss of little Peter.

  Finding her way back through the woods in the dark without falling again was no easy accomplishment. Once Martha reached the cemetery, lights in one of the two mansions on either side of the meetinghouse grounds provided all she needed to head home feeling more secure in her steps.

  Inside the Sweet home, all would remain dark and quiet for several more weeks until Thomas’s sister and her husband returned home. In the other home, Thomas’s daughter, Eleanor, had her husband to help her now that Thomas had left town, and Martha made a mental note to stop to see the girl tomorrow. Eleanor’s pregnancy had been difficult, and she hoped Thomas’s departure had not complicated matters.

  Thinking about Aunt Hilda, at home reuniting with her husband in their small cottage at the far end of East Main Street, lifted Martha’s spirits. She hurried home, anxious to find one more place today that was not troubled. It was so late she had probably missed supper, which meant she owed an apology to all. Her stomach growled, reminding her she had missed dinner at midday.