The Midwife's Choice

by Delia Parr

  “Since I’ve only been pastor for seven years, we haven’t met, but I’ve heard all about you.” He pressed his hands together as if in prayer. “What a joyous day! To see your faith rewarded, Mrs. Seymour, and to see you both together again after all those years, and now,” he added, clapping his hand on Russell’s back, “to have Russell reuniting with his wife, it’s truly a heavenly day, one filled with blessings, despite the abominable weather.”

  While her husband engaged the minister in conversation, Aunt Hilda concentrated on Russell. Martha joined them, more than a little anxious about whether today would be filled with blessings or difficult lessons or some combination of each.

  “I know exactly which farm is yours,” Aunt Hilda said. “Used to belong to a man named Winter. Ezekiel Winter. He came here right after Jacob Dillon had the lottery and sold off most of the lots in town. Winter never farmed the land, though. He bought it as an investment, but died a few years later. It got sold to another man. . . .”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, they were sparkling. “Jameson was his name. I knew I would be able to recall it. James Jameson. Farmed all by himself. Never married. When he died, oh, some fifteen years ago, that’s when the Brunhilde family bought it. They moved further west, I understand. You remember them, don’t you, Martha?”

  “I do.” She smiled at Russell, who seemed surprised, if not also bored, by her aunt’s knowledge. “Aunt Hilda has lived here longer than anyone. We never have to worry about forgetting the past. Not as long as we have her with us.”

  He nodded, glanced overhead, and looked directly at Martha. “I’d like to see Nancy now,” he murmured.

  “I’ll go up and tell her you’re here, but I’m sure she’ll need some time to get ready. With the storm, we really didn’t expect you to come. Aunt Hilda, why don’t you keep Mr. Clifford company? I won’t be long.”

  Aunt Hilda took the young man’s arm. “I must tell you all about the Brunhilde family. . . .”

  While her aunt took charge, Martha slipped up the stairs. She met Dr. McMillan in the hallway.

  He smiled nervously. “I was just coming down to see you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No. Miss Lynn is resting very comfortably now. I wanted to speak to you about another matter. It’s more of a personal nature,” he said. He looked a bit pale and perspiration lined his upper lip.

  As much as she wanted to accommodate him, she really did not have the time right now, not with Russell Clifford downstairs demanding to see his wife. Briefly, she described all who had arrived. “Can it wait? I need to tell Nancy her husband has come to see her so Victoria can help her to get ready, then I have to get back downstairs.”

  “Of course.” He stiffened. “With what’s going on with the Cliffords, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay. Just in case that man decides to try to take advantage of the fact that none of you have a male protector and force his wife or any of you to do something against your wills.”

  Although she doubted Dr. McMillan could prove intimidating to the likes of Russell Clifford, who was much taller and far stronger, she did appreciate the young doctor’s support. “Thank you. That might be wise. In the meantime, why don’t you go back and tell Fern and Ivy that Reverend Welsh and Mr. Clifford are here and that you’re staying to help. If she can, maybe Fern could get herself situated in the sitting room awhile so Aunt Hilda can bring up her husband and introduce him to everyone.”

  “Consider it done. What about Reverend Welsh? Will he be accompanying Mr. Clifford when he sees his wife?”

  She sighed. “See if you can convince him to stay with everyone in the sitting room. I’ll send Victoria to join you, too. This is not a reunion I’d like her to see.”

  “And June?”

  “I’ll ask her to stay with me and Nancy while Mr. Clifford is there. I think it will make Fern feel better, too, if she knows I have someone with me.” It might make Fern feel better, but she had a feeling Russell Clifford would not be happy having his reunion monitored by two women, especially women he could not intimidate or control.

  The doctor put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. “We can talk together about my concerns another time. You’re a fine lady. I’m sure this will all turn out well today.”

  “Let’s pray you’re right,” she murmured, and they each went off to set the Clifford reunion into motion.

  The reunion was only moments away.

  Martha was so nervous her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and her throat was tight. She did have second thoughts about having only women monitor the reunion, but it was too late to change her mind. She made sure the room was well lit, if only to make sure Russell got a good clear look at what he had done to his wife.

  Martha glanced around the room one last time. In the far corner, Snowball was curled fast asleep in her basket. Wearing a pale yellow gown, Nancy sat in a chair, which had been placed at the foot of the two beds. She had her right hand resting in her lap, with the folds of her borrowed gown covering her crooked fingers. An empty chair, some four feet away facing Nancy, was reserved for her husband. Her bruised face looked like a mask a ghoul might wear to frighten mortals, a thought that reminded Martha of Samuel and the serpent tattoo on his cheek. Her eyes, however, were shining bright with anxiety as well as hope.

  To Nancy’s left, June Morgan, looking as elegant and proper as ever, sat at the end of the bed and held Nancy’s hand. Victoria sat at the end of the other bed, providing Nancy with support on both sides. Martha had relented and allowed Victoria to remain, as much to placate Nancy as to recognize her daughter’s valuable contributions to the injured woman’s progress.

  Martha accepted a smile of encouragement from June, sent one to Nancy, and opened the door, confident her figure would block Russell’s view of his wife until the door opened wider. To her relief, Russell stood alone waiting to be granted entry. Apparently Reverend Welsh had taken Dr. McMillan’s suggestion not to attend.

  When Russell glanced past Martha, his eyes lit with surprise.

  “Mrs. Morgan is a friend. I’ve asked her to stay with us. My daughter, Victoria, is also present, at Nancy’s request.”

  His eyes flashed with disappointment. “I suppose if Nancy . . . That’s fine.”

  Martha stepped aside and opened the door completely. He took one look at his wife, paled, and rushed past Martha. He fell to his knees at his wife’s feet and laid his head on her lap. “Forgive me,” he pleaded. “Please forgive me.”

  Unmoved and unsympathetic to anything beyond Nancy’s welfare, Martha closed the door, turned, and leaned back against it to observe the scene. What happened over the course of the next half hour or so would have an impact on everyone here. She braced herself as Nancy wept and stroked her husband’s brow.

  From the looks on June’s and Victoria’s faces, Martha had the distinct impression Russell would have a difficult time convincing either of them he deserved anything less than solitary confinement in prison for a few years for what he had done to his wife.

  Emotions were bound to seesaw during this encounter on all sides, and she needed to remain objective and clear minded. She was also prepared to intervene, if necessary, but for the moment, she stood back.

  When he finally rose and stood before his wife, Martha got a few steps closer so she could see both Nancy’s and Russell’s faces and drew in a deep breath. To her surprise, Nancy was gazing up at her husband with such love and tenderness, there was little doubt she was weakening.

  “Lord, we need your help. We really need your help,” Martha whispered, and waited for Clifford to begin the conversation she was certain he had rehearsed for days.

  27

  Russell Clifford might have been a grown man, but at the moment, he looked like a little boy who had been caught red-handed stealing from his mama’s cookie jar.

  His shoulders drooped. His cheeks were flushed. His gaze was properly penitent, but
Martha detected a gleam of bitter resentment. She was not sure which he resented more—having been caught or being surrounded by women who clearly did not take his side.

  With his wife and her two companions seated, he literally towered over them, giving him an advantage Martha did not miss. “Please. Have a seat,” she urged. “It’ll be easier for Nancy to be able to talk with you.”

  He looked over his shoulder, grabbed the arm of the empty chair behind him, and pulled it forward. When he sat down, he was closer to Nancy than Martha would have liked, but she did not press the issue. He gripped the sides of his chair and cleared his throat. Nancy toyed with her hands, but kept her gaze locked with her husband’s.

  “Reverend Welsh told me he gave you my note,” he began.

  Nancy nodded.

  “Will you? Will you forgive me?” he asked.

  She moistened her top lip. “If I want to follow the Word, I must,” she responded.

  The corner of his lips began to twitch, as if he were holding back a smile. “Then you’ll come home with me? As soon as you’re able to travel?” Before Nancy could answer, he turned to Martha. “I expect we’ll have to wait till the storm dies down, but will she be able to travel in a day or two?”

  “Perhaps,” Martha responded, grateful Victoria and June were acting simply as silent monitors, just as they had promised. “Before we talk about her traveling, though, I think it would be best for both of you, if you truly intend to have a better marriage, to openly discuss what’s happened in the past so you’ll be able to forgive and put everything behind you, not just this one incident.”

  Nancy briefly closed her eyes. “I’d like that,” she whispered.

  June and Victoria nodded their assent.

  Russell straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw. A tic started pulsing in one cheek. “Dredging up the past isn’t necessary. I’ve admitted my faults and promised never to hurt Nancy again. If forgiveness cleanses the soul, as Reverend Welsh says it does, then there’s no need—”

  “Forgiveness for what? That’s the issue,” Martha insisted. “For simply beating your wife because you were angry over your son’s death? Is that all?”

  He flinched.

  With tears running down her cheeks, Nancy caressed the two crooked fingers on her right hand. “You promised before that you wouldn’t hurt me again, but you did.”

  “I told you that was an accident. I didn’t deliberately break your fingers. I just didn’t know my own strength. I do now,” he snapped.

  Breathing hard, he pressed his lips together as if fighting for control. “This is very awkward, discussing our private affairs in front of others. I just want us to go home, Nancy. I miss you so much. I need you. I promise. Nothin’ like this will ever happen again. Ever.”

  Nancy trembled. “I want to believe you. I do,” she whimpered. “But I’m . . . I’m afraid.”

  He reached out and gently caressed her uninjured cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid of me anymore. I’ve changed. Truly, I have. If you don’t believe me, talk to Reverend Welsh again. I’ll do anythin’ you want. Anythin’. I spoke to Mr. Pitt down at the sawmill. He says I can work there in exchange for supplies so I can fix up the cabin.”

  Clearly wavering, Nancy glanced at Martha, then looked to both Victoria and June, who offered silent disapproval for any plans Nancy might entertain about going home with her husband.

  “And I talked to Mrs. Welsh, too. She’s awfully nice. She said she had some curtains and other things that were donated to the church. You can alter them to fit. It’d make the cabin really homey. Come spring, I’ll be able to put in our first crop, then things will really get better for us,” he promised.

  He paused and lowered his voice. “Come spring, maybe we’ll be able to start again on that family we both want. My heart’s broken about little Peter. I know yours is, too. Once we have another child, everything will be better for us.”

  As he droned on, he used his words to paint a picture of a loving husband, a comfortable home, and children to love, which matched the dream of every young woman; Martha feared he was very close to winning the battle to reclaim his wife. She also feared the dream he promised. If he brutalized Nancy once, he would brutalize her again. What would prevent him from one day turning against their children and hurting them, too? He had misjudged his strength, to use his words, before. If he did it again, he could spark a tragedy from which Nancy might never recover.

  By the time he finished talking, Nancy was holding his hands and smiling. “I’d like to come home with you. I truly would.”

  Her husband grinned from ear to ear. “Reverend Welsh is here. I can’t wait to tell him the good news.”

  Nancy took a deep breath. “I said I wanted to go home with you, Russell. I want that more than anything, but . . . but I don’t think it should be right away.”

  The smile on his face disappeared behind a mask of confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Martha took a step closer.

  “It means that I want some time.”

  He scowled. “Time? How much time? I want you home with me now. I can’t stay in town indefinitely, imposin’ on Reverend Welsh and his wife. And frankly, I can’t see why it’s necessary.”

  When Nancy tried to pull her hands away, he resisted, held tight, and glared at her three supporters. “Tell me what they’ve said to turn you against me.”

  “I haven’t turned against you,” she countered and yanked free. “I don’t want to make a mistake. I’m still confused. I want time to sort out my thoughts so when I decide what to do—”

  He stood so quickly he startled everyone, including Martha. “What you should decide is whether you’ll honor the vows you took when you became my wife or face eternal judgment.”

  “What about your vows?” she cried. “You promised to honor and respect me. Instead, you’ve hit me, time and time again, and each time, you promised it would be the last.”

  His arm rose as if to strike her.

  “Stop!” Martha cried and rushed forward to place herself between them. Victoria and June rose, too, creating a protective shield around Nancy. With her heart pounding, Martha raised up her hand defensively as his arm loomed over her.

  He grabbed her hand so hard she had to blink back tears of pain and swallowed a scream. They were locked in a battle of wills, as well as physical strength, but Martha had the sheer power of righteousness to sustain her. “Get out. Now,” she ordered.

  He dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Now,” she repeated, ignoring the painful throbbing in her fingers.

  “I said I was sorry! You have no right to interfere between a man and his wife,” he hissed.

  Martha took a small step forward.

  To his credit, he backed up. His chair kept him from moving more than a few inches, but the symbolism of his action spoke louder than anything he could say or do to indicate his acquiescence.

  “This isn’t finished,” he warned. “Under God’s law, a wife must obey her husband, and I am telling her she must come home with me. Nothin’ you can do or say can change that. I’ll be comin’ back for my wife to take her home. When I do, there won’t be anythin’ you or anyone else can do to stop me.”

  He turned, kicked the chair out of his way, and started to leave. To Martha’s horror, the chair landed near the basket where Snowball was sleeping. Frightened awake, the kitten instinctively ran—straight into the path of Russell, who was storming his way to the door.

  He caught the kitten with the toe of his boot and sent her sprawling. She landed, back first, against the leg of the dresser and started meowing pitifully. Russell nearly fell, cursed under his breath, and grabbed the door handle. “Make sure you get rid of that mangy critter before I come back, or I’ll do it for you,” he spat. He opened the door and stomped from the room without bothering to close the door behind him.

  Martha stood very still and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal. The chaos
of the day paled to the outcry that quickly erupted. Weeping, Nancy raced to the kitten, dropped to her knees, and cradled the kitten in her arms like a babe, with June hovering over both of them.

  Victoria, also weeping, put her arm around Martha. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m fine,” Martha insisted, finding it odd to have their roles reversed yet again.

  Dr. McMillan’s ample form filled the doorway as he frantically scanned the room. “I heard loud voices. Where’s Mr. Clifford?”

  “I sent him away. Would you please be kind enough to make sure he’s left the confectionery?”

  June looked over her shoulder. “Please take the minister with you. That young man needs help. We don’t. At least not right now.”

  The doctor disappeared, only to be replaced by Ivy. She took in the scene and frowned. “I take it Russell wasn’t pleased by Nancy’s answer?”

  Victoria sniffed. “He’s a fiend. I hope he falls outside and freezes to death.”

  Martha patted her daughter’s arm. “You don’t mean that. Go help Mrs. Morgan and Nancy with the kitten,” she suggested. “I need to talk to Miss Ivy.”

  Reluctantly, Victoria let go of her mother. “What are you going to do about Mr. Clifford?”

  “I’m not sure,” Martha admitted.

  “We’ll think of something,” Victoria said. She kissed her mother on the forehead and went to help with the kitten.

  Feeling more than a little proud of Victoria’s mature handling of this sorry episode, Martha went out into the hallway with Ivy and shut the door. “Nancy is fine. Let’s go into the sitting room. I want to tell both you and Fern what happened. Then we need to develop a strategy. Aunt Hilda should be able to help us, too.”

  Ivy’s brows knitted together. “A strategy?”

  Martha nodded and looked up and down the hall to make sure they were alone and would not be overheard. “We need to figure out how we’re going to help Nancy escape. I think she’s ready now.”