The Midwife

by Carolyn Davidson

  Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to pursue that angle, she decided, vowing to place rugs both before the screen door and outside of it.

  “My breakfast is not a point of discussion,” he said, his chin taking on a stubborn look that Leah was sure more than matched her own.

  “I said I would tend to it,” she repeated.

  “We can discuss the rest of your schedule later. For now you’d best get a good night’s sleep. This house is almost too much for one woman to keep up. Perhaps Ruth Warshem could be persuaded to come in and give you a hand.”

  “Benny’s wife?” Leah asked.

  “Yes.” Gar nodded. “She is a fine woman, a hard worker.”

  “You’ve married a hard worker, Mr. Lundstrom,” Leah said, just a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

  “I know that,” he agreed, his hands clasping behind his back as he watched her in the faint glow of the candle. “I have every confidence in you, Leah. I think you will suit me well.”

  She stepped aside as he came toward the door, aware of his gaze on her and unwilling to lift her head to meet his blue eyes, now gone silver in the candle glow. He was her husband, this was her wedding night, and she would sleep alone. Just as she had bargained for.

  She hoped, as she shut the door behind him, that his sleep would be unsettled, that he would regret the bargain he had made, and that his long, strong body would ache for the presence of a woman’s form beside him in his lonely bed.

  She was not a woman to be easily tamed, Gar Lundstrom decided after one short week. She was downright snippy some days, poking at him if he failed to shake the dirt from his feet. She defied his schedule, deigning to place Karen’s bath ahead of her housework.

  He’d come in the third day to find her awash in a tub of water, up to her elbow in suds, a squealing, unhappy child with soap in her eyes—and not a lick of sympathy for his daughter in the woman who lifted her from the water. Leah had wrapped the squirming babe in a towel and hushed her while she splashed fresh water in her eyes at the sink.

  “What did you do to her?” Gar had demanded from the doorway. “Why is she crying?”

  Leah had turned to him, Karen on her hip, exasperation alive on her expressive features. “She splashed soapy water in her eyes, then rubbed it in. Now she’s unhappy because the bath is at an end. If you will just go away for a few minutes, I’ll dry her and dress her and then find time to speak to you.”

  He’d watched silently, unwilling to leave the sight of Leah’s damp dress clinging to her full breasts, aware only of the shape of that lush, perfect bosom.

  He’d forgotten exactly what had brought him into the house, and had stomped from the kitchen after a few moments to return to his fields and animals.

  She was a worrisome woman, he thought as he stood atop the hay wagon in the midday sun. He wondered what she was up to now, what foolishness brought about the peals of laughter sounding from within his house. Holding the reins in his hand, he listened again to the voice of his son and the chortling noises his daughter was prone to make. And above them both was the laughter of the woman he had brought here.

  The horses responded to the slap of reins on their backs, and he turned the wagon to the lane, heading for the hay field where the rows of dried alfalfa lay waiting for his arrival. Already two of his hands had gone ahead, raking the hay into piles, readying it for the wagon. He cast a look at the sky, where clouds were forming on the western horizon. There was time to get it all under cover before nightfall, as long as the rain held off.

  They worked for long hours, ignoring the dinner bell at noon, finally sending Lars Nielsen, Bonnie’s younger brother, back to get a jar of water and some bread to hold them over. Lars was a tall, sturdy lad of eighteen, saving his money for a farm of his own someday.

  He’d returned after half an hour, driving the team of horses, Leah at his side on the padded leather seat of the red wagon. She handed down a wicker basket to Gar and he eyed her with misgiving.

  Was she angry that they had ignored her call to eat? It seemed not. Her smile was like a benediction, and the water she handed him was cool against his parched throat.

  “I wondered if you would have time to eat. It looks like rain, doesn’t it?” She glanced worriedly at the clouds that were scudding across the sky in the west.

  “We’ll take ten minutes,” Gar said, sliding to sit against the wagon wheel. “What did you bring?”

  “There is hot soup I put in mason jars I found in the pantry. I thought you could just tilt it up and drink it that way. I made sandwiches, too,” Leah said, unwrapping thick slabs of beef on sliced bread. She passed them around, leaving Karen to sit in the back of the wagon, where she scooted from one side to the other.

  “She is beginning to crawl,” Gar said, watching as the baby gripped the side wall and peeked down at her father. With a thump, her bottom hit the wooden floor of the wagon, and she uttered a howl of protest.

  “It will be awhile, but she’s learning,” Leah agreed.

  Benny Warshem and young Lars ate with gusto and thanked Leah profusely for the meal, handing up the basket to her, along with the assortment of jars and towels they’d used.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lundstrom,” Benny said, for the third time. His grin showed wide, white teeth, brilliant against tanned skin.

  “Yes, thank you, ma’am,” Lars added, blushing as he grinned at his boss’s wife.

  “We should be done in five hours or so, Leah,” Gar said. “Another four loads should do it.” He eyed the big field. Over half of the alfalfa it had held was now under cover in his barn. “Send Banjo out to help us when you get back to the house.”

  The third man had been busy in the hayloft, readying it for another load. Leah’s directions had sent him to the house where a sandwich waited on the kitchen table, along with a bowl of soup.

  By now he was probably hard at work in the barn once more. “Yes, I’ll send him out,” she told Gar, lifting the reins to turn the wagon around in the field.

  His gaze followed her, noting the graceful movement of her hands on the leather straps, the watchful glance she cast into the back, warning Kristofer to tend to the baby.

  “Mrs. Lundstrom!” Gar called, holding his hand to his mouth to funnel the sound in her direction.

  She stood, pulling the team to a halt, and looked back over her shoulder. “Yes, what is it?” Her hand lifted, shading her eyes against the bright sunlight.

  “You haven’t painted those flowers on the wagon yet, I noticed,” he called, hands on his hips, hat tilted back, teeth gleaming.

  She frowned, then grinned suddenly as she caught his meaning, waving at him with good humor. He watched the wagon roll across the field. Watched as his men went back to work, his eyes on the woman who was setting his life topsy-turvy, even as she brought sunshine inside the walls of his house.

  Chapter Six

  “Did you have a busy day?” Gar spooned potatoes onto his plate, then passed them to Leah.

  She wrinkled her brow. “No, not really. I cleaned the parlor and did the ironing. Oh, and put yeast bread to rise.” She mashed green beans into a spoonful of potatoes and offered a bite to the baby.

  “Nothing else?”

  Leah looked up quickly. “What are you after, Gar? Yes, I helped Kristofer with his alphabet during Karen’s nap and I sorted out your worn socks for mending.” She bit down on the chicken leg she held as if her teeth were set on devouring it whole.

  “Who was here this afternoon?” Gar asked, lifting his head to speak, fork uplifted. His eyes watchful, he waited until Leah stopped chewing and sipped her coffee. “I saw a surrey in the yard earlier.”

  Her brow rose and irritation drew color into her cheeks. “It was Mrs. Thorwald, my old neighbor. Orville Hunsicker brought her out to see me.” She placed her fork with care on the table. “Why? Am I not allowed to have callers?”

  “Am I not allowed to ask after visitors to my house?”

  Leah’s eyes glinted, like spar
ks on steel when he used his grindstone vigorously. “Of course,” she conceded. “It is, after all, your house. But when you asked me what I had done, I thought you wanted a detailed list of my household chores.”

  “I do not keep track of your work, Leah. This is your home, after all.”

  “Ha! I am allowed to live here as your wife. But now I can’t have visitors without permission, is that it?” Her tone glistened with sarcasm and her tilted chin punctuated each sentence with a jab.

  “That is not what I meant, and you know it.” The woman could turn a phrase, he admitted to himself. She had a gift with the English language, and not for the first time had left him feeling the ogre.

  “Then what did you mean? Shall I give you chapter and verse of what we spoke of? Would you like to know how many cups of tea she drank in your kitchen?”

  “It is not my kitchen. I turned it over to you on the day I brought you here.” His voice boomed across the table, and Kristofer slid from his seat, heading for the screen door at a run.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” Leah whispered, glaring at the man who was gritting his teeth and glaring in her direction.

  She rose quickly, hurrying from the house, and caught the boy halfway across the yard. Her hand clamped on his shoulder, bringing him to a halt.

  “I don’t want you to fight with my pa,” Kris cried, turning to face her. “I don’t like it when people yell at each other. My mama didn’t like it, either.”

  “And did your papa yell at her?” Leah asked quietly, her fingers soothing the nape of the boy’s neck.

  Kristofer hesitated. “Only sometimes, when she did things she wasn’t supposed to do. Like when she got up and cooked and then fell on the floor and he had to carry her up to the bed.”

  “She fainted?” Leah asked, imagining the woman who must have pressed her strength to the limit in caring for her family.

  Kristofer lifted sad eyes to the woman who watched him. “She was tired a lot of times, Miss Leah. Pa didn’t act mean with her. He just got all loud and bossy when she wasn’t happy.”

  “A typical man’s reaction,” Leah said, almost to herself. “When men don’t know how to handle a situation, they tend to shout and carry on,” she told Kristofer. In her limited exposure to the male creatures in her life, she had found that to be the rule rather than the exception, and Gar Lundstrom appeared to be of that breed.

  “He was mad at you.” Kristofer’s mouth pouted, and he glanced back at the house.

  “Come in, both of you, and eat your dinner.” Gar was on the porch, hands low on his hips, glowering across the distance between them. A note of frustration shaded his words and Leah nodded, willing, this once, to be acquiescent.

  Her arm slipped across the boy’s shoulders, and she nudged him in the direction of the porch. “Come, Kris. We’ll let him bluster while we eat.” Her words were spoken against his head as she bent to whisper them as a secret between boy and woman.

  “All right.” Sliding from her grasp, he ran to the house, past his father and into the kitchen.

  “And you, too, Miss Leah?” Gar asked, his eyes blue as a robin’s egg, a pale, color-washed hue that silvered in his anger. “Will you share your dinner with me if I promise to mind my tongue?”

  It was an apology, unexpected and welcome, and Leah grasped it eagerly. “Yes, of course. I only wanted Kris to be aware that you were not angry with him.”

  “He is soft sometimes.” Gar held the door open for her and followed her to the table they had abandoned so hastily. He offered his plate. “May I have some hot gravy to warm these potatoes, Miss Leah?”

  She took it from his grasp, her fingers touching his. He had the ability to anger her and then soothe that fire with such touches of humility, as if he begged her pardon in an oblique manner.

  She placed the plate back before him, hot gravy steaming, and he nodded his thanks. Her own food was edible—not hot, but warm enough to slide down easily—and she ate quickly, aware of the ironing awaiting her in the basket. Karen would sleep for another hour or so, and if she hurried, Leah could have the bulk of Gar’s shirts pressed and folded and in his drawer by then. Kristofer’s things only required folding, and she had but three dresses for herself to iron.

  “Are you still sulking, then?” Gar’s words penetrated her thoughts and she looked up quickly.

  “No, of course not,” she denied. “I was only planning my afternoon work. We will have stew for supper, and biscuits on top.”

  He nodded, casting a glance at Kristofer’s bent head, his fork busy at the task of filling his mouth. “We will talk later, all right?” His eyes scanned her, and she wondered what he saw. Whether he rued the day he had brought her here. If he thought his bargain a distasteful one, with a contentious wife instead of the calm, sedate woman he must have thought her to be.

  “We’ll talk,” she agreed, rising to take her plate to the sink. He was gone when she turned back to the table, and Kristofer was wiping his mouth on his sleeve, sliding from his chair.

  “I’m going out to check on the new puppies,” he said. “Then Pa said I should pull weeds in the garden.”

  “Kristofer.” She bent low, bringing her face to his level. “Your father loves you very much.”

  The boy nodded his agreement. “I think he likes you too, Miss Leah, even if he hollers sometimes.”

  “Yes, I suspect he does,” she answered, standing erect once more. And perhaps more than he had expected he would, she thought. For unless she was blind, Gar Lundstrom had made note, more than once, of her physical attributes. And he seemed, in some odd way, to enjoy their verbal jousts.

  They would talk later, he had said. She walked to the window, watching as Kristofer jumped from the porch, heading for the barn where the puppies awaited his inspection. Just inside the big doors a tall figure moved, disturbing the shadows, and Leah felt a clenching where her heart did its business, beating in a routine manner.

  It gave her pause that the sight of Garlan Lundstrom should disturb the natural course of events within her body. And not for the first time, she admitted to herself, had her heart done double time in his presence. The man held a strange sway over her emotions, with his pale eyes intent on her movements, his words of instruction to her tempered by the frustration she read in his gaze.

  Gar was a man without a woman to ease his hurts, a man who lived in need of that which he had scorned upon entering this marriage. Whether he sought penance for the death of his wife, or perhaps what had come before that time, Leah could not know. But that his need was great was a fact she would be willing to stake her future upon.

  If that need were slaked upon the altar’ of her body, she would have some tall explaining to do. Her shroud of widowhood would be torn forever, and Gar would be the one holding it in his big hands.

  But unless she walked with Gar Lundstrom down that path, she would remain forever a spinster bride.

  The sun was almost below the horizon, only the pink and azure colors staining the sky to tender it farewell. In a porch swing made for at least two to share, Gar’s proximity made Leah almost wish for a larger perch.

  Her feet clear of the floor, she allowed him to set the tempo for their dalliance, for such did she consider it. To sit at the end of the day with nothing to do but catch a stray breeze and enjoy the scent of honeysuckle from the trellis near the milk house was indeed a treat. Gar touched the floor of the porch with his boot, and the swing moved at an angle.

  “I need to sit closer to the middle to do this right,” he said with a trace of humor.

  “That’s all right,” Leah answered quickly. “I don’t mind sitting still.”

  “I want to ask you something, Leah,” he said after a moment. “About where you came from. How you happened to be a healer, I guess.”

  “From Illinois,” she said, her gaze on the hens scrabbling on the ramp to the chicken coop. “And I learned what I know from my mother.”

  “I think what I wondered was why you came here
? Of all the places you could have gone, why Kirby Falls?”

  She pleated her skirt with finger and thumb, her mind abuzz. “Why not?” she asked with a forced bit of laughter. “It seemed a likely place.”

  His even glance speared her with its disappointment in her words. A look that might have been frustration turned his amiable visage to solemnity, and he deigned to reply, repeating after her. “Yes, why not…indeed, a likely place.” He sighed. “I ask you because I want to know you better, Leah. Don’t begrudge me that much.” •

  It would be the first step on the road to his discovery of her past, and she took it unwillingly. “I was born here, in Kirby Falls, thirty years ago, Gar. Were you here then?”

  He shook his head, his eyes sharp with interest as he turned his full attention in her direction. “No, I came from the East with my family when I was still wet behind the ears, twenty years ago. My father thought he would like New York, but then he heard of the communities here that were more like home, in the old country.”

  “Well, I was gone from here before you ever arrived, then,” she said softly. “My mother took me with her, and we lived together in the city. She was a healer and a midwife, and I learned what I know from her.”

  “And is she well, back there in the city?” he asked, his words slow and hesitant, as if he knew the answer already.

  Leah raised her head, her eyes leaving the fabric of her skirt that she had folded into neat pleats. “She died four years ago. I carried on her work, and then decided after…well, later on…I decided to move from the city.” Her hand lifted and the fabric fell from its folded pattern, her fingers smoothing at the faint wrinkles she had created.

  “And your husband?” he asked, wary as he stepped on ground not yet disturbed.

  “He died there, not long after my mother.” The lie stuck in her throat and the words were broken, perhaps sounding as if she mourned him yet. One falsehood would require another to support it, her mother had often said. Leah hoped there would be no more tonight.