The Midwife's Tale

by Delia Parr

  At the moment, she had a full plate for the day. She wanted to stop to see Jenny Ward. On the way, she could ride along the rest of Candle Creek, skirt around the lake, and travel the other side of the creek on her way home.

  With only two days until the town meeting, and growing reports of stolen property outside the town limits, she had little time left if she had any hope of turning the tide of public opinion that was threatening to flood the meeting with demands the academy be closed and its boarders run out of the county, for starters.

  Anxious to keep her vow to aid Reverend Hampton’s worthy cause, she saddled Grace and headed out of town. The weather had turned fair for this time of year, but the sun was too weak to offer much warmth. The promise of winter bleached the glorious display of autumn color from the landscape, as if nature itself had slipped into a deep sleep. Fields lay fallow. Where livestock grazed, their breath created warm clouds that hovered close to the earth. Wispy plumes of smoke from chimneys carried the familiar smell of burning wood, inspiring visions of families tucked snug in their homes.

  Everything peaceful. Everything calm.

  It was hard to imagine that here, amid such beauty, among such hardworking, God-fearing people, a thief had stolen more than sacks of grain or baskets of eggs. He had stolen the town’s pride, pierced the peace of mind that came from trusting neighbor and traveler alike and having that trust rewarded by honesty and goodwill. To rectify that injustice, to reclaim the town and its people, Martha traveled on, long into the early hours of twilight.

  She neared the outskirts of town at the end of the day no closer to discovering the real culprits, but duly concerned about the number of people who complained about having things stolen. At most, folks reported some chickens or some baskets of produce missing from their root cellars or meat from the smokehouse.

  Every muscle in her body ached. Due to the hospitality of her friends and neighbors, she had eaten enough to keep her satisfied for days. She passed the rear of the cemetery and tugged on the reins. Rosalind was scurrying off, apparently after another visit to Charlotte’s grave.

  Although Rosalind had her back to Martha, Martha really had to battle with herself not to cry out and tell Rosalind her husband might be able to come home soon. Since Webster had stubbornly refused to take any action, telling Rosalind now would only make matters worse, especially if he decided to use the watch as evidence against Burton instead of to clear him.

  Disappointed and disillusioned with her day, she sorely needed good news. The only place she might find it would be at Samuel’s. At this hour, Will should be back at the academy, which would give her a chance to speak with Samuel openly about the boy’s progress. She dismounted and walked ahead of Grace to cut through the woods to get to the path that led to Samuel’s cabin.

  Once she arrived, she tethered Grace to a nearby tree. “I won’t be long,” she promised, and rewarded Grace with a carrot before knocking on Samuel’s door.

  “Welcome aboard,” he bellowed as she entered. “Somethin’ wrong? Can’t say I ever had you visit twice in the same week before.”

  She chuckled and took a seat in the chair alongside him. “What if I told you that you’re simply irresistible?”

  He snorted. “I’d say you were gettin’ as blind as I am.”

  “Still no improvement? I was so sure the new drops would help you.”

  “You tried your best.”

  “Why don’t you let me bring Dr. McMillan with me next time?”

  “No doctors. Bring that up again and I’ll be apt to change my mind about that lad you’re so fond of,” he warned.

  “How’s he doing? Really?”

  He tugged on his beard, scattering a bunch of crumbs left behind from his supper. The glob of gravy never budged. “You tell me. You saw him here not two days ago.”

  She shifted in her seat. “I think you’ve worked wonders with Will. His language is . . . well, it’s getting better.”

  He laughed. “That’s the horseradish root. Cures all sorts of ills. You ever do anything with that watch?”

  She told Samuel about Burton Andrews and recounted her visit with Webster Cabbot. “I think he’ll come around. Eventually.”

  “There’s no fool like a woman, thank God. Leave it to a man, he’ll break her heart every time.”

  “A woman might help redeem her man,” she teased.

  “Thought that’s what kept ministers busy. Speakin’ of which, how much do you know about Reverend Hampton?”

  Her pulse quickened. “Only what he’s told me. Why?”

  He chewed on his bottom lip. “Just wonderin’. That boy’s got a back covered with scars thicker than rope. Claims his pa had a heavy hand.”

  She nodded, but she could not stop a chill from racing up and down her spine. “He’s told me a little about his father. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He never even called Will by his given name. He told me his name and he told you, but I don’t think he’s told Reverend Hampton yet. Or at least he hadn’t the last time I saw him.”

  “Will’s got a quick mind. Knows when to trust the right folks. Guess that comes from livin’ on the streets for so long. Still . . .”

  His voice trailed off. His fingers continued to work the end of his beard. “Guess I’m just naturally suspicious. Don’t pay me any mind.”

  Samuel was suspicious, even distrustful, of most people, which had made pairing him with Will all the more unlikely. Because of his failing vision, if not his career at sea, where a man learned to survive by accurately judging others and trusting only those whose skills could mean the difference between life and death, Martha knew Samuel had finely tuned instincts. She trusted them now more than her own. “Is it something Will said about Reverend Hampton that troubles you?”

  “It’s what he doesn’t say. Never talks about him or the other boys, for that matter. He gets downright defiant if I press him.”

  “Give him time,” she urged, quite certain now that Samuel’s concern just reflected his growing attachment to the boy.

  “You give any thought to what you’re gonna do with him later? He’s gonna hit rough seas when my eyes give out completely.”

  “Which is why you need to see a doctor. So I don’t have to worry about later, and Will doesn’t have to—”

  “Tarnation, woman! You must have something better to do with your time than badger a poor, defenseless, old man who can’t see much past his own nose. Go on! Get yourself home and don’t be comin’ back here any time soon. I used to have peace and quiet till you showed up, smellin’ like a field of English lavender, meddlin’ where you don’t belong.”

  She rose and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” she teased, and quickly backed away. She managed to get to the door before he bellowed at her again.

  “You got so much time to waste, go bother that minister and his passel of trouble.”

  She shut the door. “Maybe I will,” she murmured, and led Grace home.

  The following day, Martha covered the rest of the homesteads along Double Trouble Creek. She did not find any potential candidates responsible for the thefts, but she found plenty of trouble brewing, as if the thief had heavily targeted the families there to make the name of the creek seem more than apropos.

  Public sentiment against the academy appeared to be much stronger than she had feared, given all she’d learned in the past two days. The town meeting tomorrow evening promised to be a raucous event. She did not envy Sheriff Myer his job that night, and Thomas would have no easier time as mayor. According to James, who had many good opportunities to overhear tavern gossip, Thomas had gone to York on Monday, but everyone expected him to be back in time for the meeting.

  Whether or not Webster Cabbot would even approach the sheriff by then was still a mystery to her. Even if he did, the sheriff might be too busy calming the audience to even broach the matter of Burton Andrews’s innocence. Regardless, she planned to be there.

  Anxious to resolve the growing doubt
in her own mind about the academy, she arrived there in late afternoon. Her one and only visit to the old Rhule homestead had been in the dead of night, and she studied the property now with the advantage of daylight.

  The small farmhouse appeared ramshackle, at best. Weathered, peeling clapboards begged for a fresh coat of whitewash. How the barn did not collapse was utterly amazing. Missing timbers left gaping holes in the walls, and the roof sagged low, as if it had borne one winter too many of heavy snow. There were no crops planted at this time of year, of course, but the livestock, a collection of a few mangy chickens, pigs, and one skinny cow, seemed grossly inadequate to support the number of people who now made this their home.

  She dismounted and approached the farmhouse on foot. When the door opened, Olympia waved a friendly welcome and turned away for a moment. Within seconds, two boys scampered outside and ran to meet her. “Afternoon. We’ll see your horse gets some water,” the taller boy offered.

  She could not remember his name, but she recognized his pudgy face. The other boy held back, his gaze riveted on Grace. The mare snorted and tugged at the reins.

  “Be polite,” she warned. She handed the reins to the younger boy. “Her name is Grace. Treat her gently. I’ll only be a little while.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Come on, Grace. Easy, girl,” he murmured, and offered his companion a funny face only a young boy could make and sauntered off.

  Olympia wiped her hands on her apron and walked out to greet her guest. “Martha! What a surprise. I was just making biscuits. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

  “I’d love to, but I really can’t. I need to get home in time to relieve Mrs. Welsh and stay with Mrs. Armstrong. She’s doing poorly.”

  “Then at least come in and have some hot cider. I just set a pan on the stove. Ulysses should be back soon. He took the older boys for supplies,” she offered as she led Martha into the kitchen. She moved a bowl aside and wiped the flour from the table. “Let me clean a place for you while you take off your cape.”

  “Please don’t go to any bother—”

  “It’s no trouble at all. We don’t get many visitors,” she insisted.

  By the time Martha had removed her outerwear and sat down, Olympia had two steaming mugs of cider on the table and a plate of molasses cookies set between them. Martha stirred her cider with a cinnamon stick and waited for the beverage to cool. “I hope Reverend Hampton doesn’t meet up with any trouble in town.”

  A frown. “More thefts?”

  Martha nodded. “I was hoping they’d stop. Folks are pretty upset. We’re just not used to something like this happening in Trinity.”

  “The good Lord will set things right.”

  “Until He does,” Martha cautioned, “I’m afraid your boys will be taking the brunt of people’s anger and frustration.”

  “We feared as much,” Olympia admitted. Her gaze grew troubled. “Ulysses has such faith in these boys, but he’s not as young as he thinks he is. I don’t know what he’d do if . . . if . . .”

  “I wouldn’t worry just yet. Sheriff Myer is working very hard to put an end to the problem. For now, the best thing we can do is pray he’ll find the real culprit. In the meantime, it might be a good idea for Reverend Hampton to come to the town meeting tomorrow night, if only to convince people he’s as concerned as everyone else.”

  “A town meeting?”

  Martha sipped her cider, burned the tip of her tongue, and set the mug away from her. “Seven o’clock. At the meetinghouse. I’ll be there, too, of course. I’m sure Fern and Ivy will be there.” She placed her hand on Olympia’s arm. “You do have friends here.”

  Olympia’s eyes misted with tears. “Ulysses is much stronger than I am. I simply can’t bear to think about all the awful things people are saying about the boys. To give up now, after we’ve worked so hard, just because of malicious gossip . . .”

  The sound of an approaching wagon turned Olympia’s frown into a smile. “That must be him now. Let me tell him you’re here for a visit so the boys can unload the supplies for him.” She hurried outside and returned with her husband long moments later.

  Reverend Hampton removed his hat and coat and joined Martha at the table. “It’s good to see you again. Olympia tells me there’s trouble brewing again.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true.”

  He scratched the crown of his bald head. “I thought we’d made some progress.”

  “You did,” Martha assured him. “We just need to calm people’s fears—”

  “About the academy.”

  She nodded. “Did you have any problems in town today?”

  “Actually, we went to Sunrise. I had to make a withdrawal at the bank, so we got our supplies there. What time is the town meeting?”

  “Seven o’clock,” she responded as she mulled over his admission that he had gone to Sunrise for supplies. In point of fact, she could not recall a single instance when he had come to Trinity for supplies and wondered why he had not taken the opportunity to visit the town from time to time to support the local merchants there, especially when he was so anxious to dispel their concerns about the boys at the academy.

  “I’ll be there. We’ll all be there. Might as well let the boys see what they’re up against.”

  Visions of irate citizens clamoring for justice with their primary suspects in the same room made Martha tremble, along with visions of similar scenarios that might have developed if Reverend Hampton had brought the boys into town today for supplies. “It’s bound to be rather loud, even raucous. I’m not sure you’d want the boys to see and hear all that. It might be better if you came alone. Look for me, though. I’ll try to save you a seat up front.”

  “I should bow to your judgment,” he conceded, “especially after the turnabout Boy has made, all thanks to you.”

  “Samuel should get the credit for that,” she insisted, finding it curious he still did not refer to Will by his given name. “I stopped to see them on Sunday.” She recounted her visit, leaving out only the incident about discovering the watch. “You can see the worship in his eyes when he looks at Samuel,” she concluded.

  Olympia set a mug of cider in front of her husband. “He rushes through his lessons at night just to have more time to practice those knots. He’s even got Adam and P. J. trying to make them.”

  Reverend Hampton chuckled. “Hearing tales of the sea and exploring real treasure chests is like a dream come true for Boy.”

  “That’s the dream, isn’t it?” Martha whispered. “To reach into each boy’s mind and heart to find something to breathe life into his dreams so he wants to learn and grow into a righteous man?”

  “That’s the dream. But dreams take time,” he argued. “Unless I can convince the people of Trinity we are doing God’s work with these boys, monitoring them even more closely than before to make sure they don’t slip back into bad habits, then we won’t get the time we need to help each and every one of them like we’ve helped Boy.”

  “Then we simply must get the time,” she insisted. There were few men who would be ready and willing to challenge an entire community for the sake of boys no one else wanted. Reverend Hampton was one of those few, and Martha would not stand idly by to let him wage this battle alone. Even if he did seem a bit too saintly at times, he was only a man—a man who needed help.

  “I’ll help you. I know others who will help, too,” she promised. Whatever plans she had had for tomorrow quickly evaporated. First thing in the morning, she would call on folks she knew would support the academy, if only as a balance against those who wanted the academy to close.

  27

  Even the best-knitted intentions could unravel.

  By late Thursday afternoon, Martha’s last-minute plan to encourage some of her friends and neighbors to attend the town meeting and support the academy was nothing more than a skein of good intentions that tangled her hopes with disappointment.

  Thursday had dawned with her promise to herself and Reverend H
ampton still very real and within reach by sunset. Before she had finished her breakfast, Jacob Ward had arrived. She had spent the entire day with three of his children and treated them for what she suspected was whooping cough. By the time she returned home at dusk, the treatments had taken a toll on her, as well as on her patients.

  Setting up steam tents to help clear their lungs left her feeling a bit wilted herself. The hair framing her face had slipped free, curling in several different directions. No matter how tight she pulled her cape on the way home, she could still smell the reek of garlic that had permeated her gown and every square inch of uncovered flesh. To make matters worse, she had stubbed her baby toe not once, but twice, in her haste to answer Jacob’s knock at the door in her bare feet. She had bandaged the toe before she left, vowing to empty her entire room, if necessary, to find those missing slippers of hers.

  Riding ten miles each way to the Ward homestead had been painful, and she limped back into her room now in a cranky mood. When Bird squawked for his supper, she scowled. “You’ll have to wait. And stop flapping around like that! You’ll break your other wing, too, and then where will you be? In more trouble than you’ve bargained for,” she grumbled.

  He scrambled to the top perch and squawked again.

  She ignored him, stored her bag away, and hung up her outerwear. She took one look in the mirror, sighed, and let her shoulders slump. Barring a miracle, she was destined to show up at the town meeting—which was scheduled to begin in less than an hour—looking like an old hag and smelling just as bad, too.

  She started when the connecting door to her room opened.

  Lydia poked her head inside. “James set the brass tub in the storeroom for you, and I added the hot water after I saw you ride by. If you hurry, you’ll have plenty of time to eat something before you go, too.”

  Martha was too exhausted to care that her tears trickled down her cheeks. “You’re such a blessing!”