The Midwife

by Carolyn Davidson

  Leah’s hands spread flat against the tabletop as she rose. “I don’t know. He came to me late in the evening, and I went home with him. I’d never delivered a babe in that section of town before. Most of my clients were poor as church mice, and he took me by surprise, offering me five dollars for helping him on such short notice.”

  “That’s quite a sum for a lying-in, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “More than I’d ever made before. It was too much for me to turn down, even though I wondered why he didn’t call on one of the doctors who work with folks in that part of the city.”

  “What happened? Did she have a difficult time with her delivery?”

  Leah shook her head. “No, not really. She’d had a baby before, and for some reason, it died.” She closed her eyes, remembering the hateful look of Mabelle Taylor’s face. “I think she must have killed that child, too, Mr. Magnor. She’s an evil woman. When I put the baby beside her, she drew away, as if she didn’t want to touch him. When we heard her screaming just minutes later, and went back upstairs, he was dead.”

  Tears overflowed to cascade down her cheeks as she recalled the tragedy of that night. Her voice broke as she finished the story she had never told to another living soul. “His head was twisted to one side, and she pointed at me and said I’d delivered him dead and tried to make her think he was just sleeping.”

  “What does Gar say to all this?”

  “I told you. He doesn’t know.”

  “You’ve told me something that you’ve kept from your husband? Why, Leah? Surely he deserved to know.”

  Her mouth worked as she sought words to explain. “When I came here to help Hulda, she was almost beyond my control. Karen was a breech birth, and Hulda was hemorrhaging terribly by the time I was able to deliver her.”

  “And Gar blamed you?”

  She turned from him, walking to the door, shoulders slumped in despair. “Yes, of course. I would have taken the blame, but I knew better. No one could have helped her. And Dr. Swenson didn’t even try. He refused to come that night.”

  Eric rose and walked to where she stood, his hand rising to rest on her shoulder. “You thought Gar would believe the worst of you, didn’t you? You were afraid he might not have enough faith in you to hear the truth from your lips, about the baby in Chicago.”

  “I’ve never told anyone, Mr. Magnor.” The warmth of that hand was a comfort, and she stood immobile, lest he rescind the gesture and take from her this small emblem of his faith in her.

  His fingers squeezed gently. “It’s time for you to tell Gar, Leah. Past time, I’d say.”

  “I should have told him yesterday, after I talked to Sheriff Anderson, but things happened, and I put it from my mind.”

  “None of us can hide from our past forever, my dear. We all have secrets. Yours are sadder than most, but one day you will know that mine are equally hard to live with.”

  His hand left her and he walked from her, his footsteps quiet against the kitchen floor. She turned, her curiosity taken by his words. “You have secrets, Mr. Magnor?”

  He stood beside the table, hat in hand. “You may know the answer to that sometime, Leah. For now, though, I want you to talk to your husband. Tell him what you have told me. Honor him with your trust.”

  “I cannot go to town again,” she cried, suddenly aware of the ostracizing she would face.

  “Your friends will stand by you, my dear. The rest of the folk will only need to be told the truth.”

  “Will I be taken to Chicago, do you think?” The thought was appalling, but the chance of it happening was very real.

  “Not if I can help it,” he said grimly. “I told you I was your friend, Leah. My resources will be at your disposal should there be further trouble.” He looked over her shoulder as she faced him at the back door, and his words brought horror to her soul.

  “Come in, Gar. There is much for you to know here. Your wife needs you.”

  “What trouble is afoot?” Gar asked grimly, his voice causing Leah to shiver. He opened the door behind her. “Move from my way, Leah. Must I have your permission to enter my own house?”

  She stumbled, her feet refusing to obey, and only his hard fingers gripping her elbow kept her from falling to the floor.

  “I will leave you,” Eric Magnor said formally. “Leah is waiting to talk to you, Gar. She is in need of your understanding, I fear.”

  “And do you understand her, Eric Magnor? Has she already given you her confidence? Did she tell you what the sheriff wanted with her in town yesterday? Or am I to be the first to know?”

  “Gar!” Leah turned to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t be rude to Mr. Magnor. He came here to help.”

  “Do you need his help, Leah? Mine will not do?” He covered her hands with his own and plucked them from his clothing.

  “I will leave you,” Eric said again, his gaze tormented as he looked into Leah’s eyes. “I cannot help you with this, Leah. You must face your husband and make things right with him.”

  The older man walked from the kitchen, brushing past Gar and donning his hat as he stepped from the porch. His gloves were drawn into place before he untied his mare and climbed into his buggy.

  Leah watched the black buggy disappear from sight, her eyes focusing on the dust that followed in its wake. Beside her, Gar was silent for long moments, until the vehicle was gone from view.

  And then he spoke. “Now will you tell me what Sheriff Anderson wanted with you yesterday—now that Eric Magnor has given you permission to confide in your husband?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Her world was collapsing around her, and from the sounds of him, Gar would not be any consolation. Leah dragged a chair from the table and eased herself onto the seat. She watched as Gar walked to the other side of the room and leaned against the kitchen dresser.

  His arms were folded across his chest and his eyes were like ice. He provided a formidable image, one she knew held no sympathy or succor for her state of mind. His gaze touched her impersonally, as if he saw a stranger in his home.

  “I need to tell you a story, Gar.” She folded her hands neatly on the table and sat very straight in the chair, wanting to present a credible picture to his doubting countenance.

  “I prefer the truth to a tall tale, Leah. No excuses, no dallying with the facts, just honesty, plain and simple, if you please.”

  “This is the truth, Gar. I want you to listen to the whole story before you say anything.”

  His nod was cool, his posture indolent, as if he expected little to come of this encounter.

  Leah’s voice broke before she had finished the first sentence. By the time she had told of that night in Chicago, and the discovery of the baby boy’s death, tears were flowing freely.

  Gar’s attention never wavered from her face. His expression remained stoic, as if he weighed her words and found them wanting.

  She struggled on, reiterating the night of Hulda’s death. “I had no reason to confide in you then, Gar. No one in town knew about the incident in Chicago. It wouldn’t have helped anything for me to make it public, and I feared what would happen if Sylvester Taylor found me.”

  “And no wonder,” he said dryly. “He lost a child. At least he still had a wife.”

  “You continue to blame me?” she asked, searching his face to find the answer.

  His eyes were bleak. “I have no reason to doubt your word, Leah. I would have thought you could tell me this before now, but perhaps you had your reasons.”

  “Yesterday,” she continued, “when the sheriff called me outside the store, he told me a detective had come to Kirby Falls to find me.”

  “Ah…and that, too, you could not bring yourself to speak of? What good am I to you? What is a husband for, Leah?”

  “I didn’t know what to do, what to say. On the way home from town, I was so frightened, Gar. And then, last night…”

  “Yes, last night.” His hand sliced the air in abrupt dismissal
of her words. “And what of this morning?”

  She grew impatient. “You know you were in a hurry this morning. You barely took time for breakfast.”

  “So what great news brought Eric Magnor here to visit with you?”

  “The detective put up posters in town. Brian Havelock saw one and sent a wire to Chicago. I’ll no doubt be hauled away by Sheriff Anderson once Sylvester Taylor gets word of where I am.”

  “You will be hauled nowhere, Leah Lundstrom. We will find a lawyer for you and settle this thing.” His tone gave little clue to his state of mind, nor did his expression, from what she could see through the veil of tears that flowed unceasingly.

  “You will get me a lawyer?”

  He nodded. “You are my wife.” As though that settled the matter once and for all, he stood and approached her, his hand touching her shoulder. “We will have a river running through the kitchen soon, Leah, if you do not come to the end of your crying.”

  He tilted his head as she looked up at him, and his voice softened. “But there is good reason for your tears to flow, for they have a healing power. Perhaps they will wash away the fear from your heart.”

  “I’ve lived with fear for a long time, Gar. It would have been better if I’d shared it with you before this. If I’d thought you would understand, I might have.”

  One eyebrow rose. “Eric Magnor—he understood?”

  She was silent before him, her head bowing at his query. His hand on her shoulder squeezed lightly, then released its hold. “You are the woman I have chosen, Leah. We will find our way through this thing.”

  As assurances went, it left something to be desired, but she could not fault him. He would stand by her; his name would protect her. She was his wife.

  Dinner was quiet. Only Kristofer provided conversation, his talk of puppies and the tree house he was planning filling the void. Leah stood throughout most of the meal, serving the men, refilling bowls of vegetables, pouring coffee and dishing up the berry cobbler she had baked right after breakfast.

  “That cream is pret’near as yellow as egg yolks, Miss Leah,” Banjo announced as he viewed his brimming bowl. His spoon plunged into the cobbler and he lifted it to his mouth, licking the juicy residue with appreciation.

  “Mr. Lundstrom bought that new Jersey for the house,” Leah told him. “She doesn’t give as much milk as the Holsteins, but it is richer.”

  Banjo eyed the pan of cobbler on the stove. “You sure are a good cook, ma’am. Maybe there’ll be ’nuf left for dinner tomorrow.”

  “There’s enough for seconds today,” Leah said kindly, tempted to smile as the young man grinned at her.

  Benny pushed his chair back, obviously ready to leave the house for the more cheerful outdoors. “Gar will be charging you to work here if you don’t stop eating so much, Banjo.”

  The youth flushed at the reprimand and shot a look of apology at Leah. “Didn’t mean to be eatin’ more than my share, ma’am.”

  “Good food makes for good workers,” she said quickly. “I’m sure you’ll earn every bite by the time the afternoon’s over, Banjo.”

  Mollified, the youth rose, still savoring the last bit from his bowl. “I believe Lars ate more than me, Miss Leah. I just talk more and he keeps right on puttin’ it away.”

  Lars winked at Leah as he carried his plate and bowl to the sink. “I learned a long time ago to keep my mouth shut and pay attention to business.”

  The men clattered across the porch and Leah swept up the debris they’d managed to track in on their boots. She poured hot water into the dishpan and within minutes had her kitchen back to order. The warm dishwater was dumped on the floor, and she mopped with vigor as she rid the wide planks of dirt.

  Karen watched from her high chair, chewing on a piece of bread and pushing bits of vegetables around on her tray. “Mamama,” she called, waving her crust in the air.

  “Yes, sweetkins, Mama will be right there,” Leah responded from the pantry, where she hung the mop from its nail on the wall.

  “Leah? Are you in there?” A woman’s voice calling from the back porch brought Leah quickly into the kitchen, wiping her hands on the front of her apron.

  “I’m here.” She crossed to the screen door, her fingers brushing at the tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid. “Eva! Come in, won’t you.”

  The postmistress stood on the porch, her husband’s big wagon sitting beyond the pump, two horses waiting within their harness. “Do you have time for me?”

  “Of course! I’m so sorry I didn’t see you coming. Be careful you don’t slip on the wet floor. The men track in so much, I have to mop every day.”

  Eva Landers walked gingerly toward the table, pausing to ruffle Karen’s golden curls with the tips of her fingers. “Such a beautiful child.” She pressed a kiss on the baby’s temple, and Karen responded with a verbal barrage that brought laughter from the two women.

  “Can you understand what she says?” Eva asked, settling in a chair next to the baby.

  Leah shook her head. “Not much of it. Only ‘kisskiss’ and ‘papa.’ She calls me ‘mama.’” The last was said softly, and Leah felt a surge of love as Karen repeated the word, chortling at her own cleverness.

  “You may not have given birth to her, but you certainly gave her life,” Eva said stoutly. “You’re a good mother, Leah.”

  “You didn’t come here to tell me that,” Leah said quietly, bringing two cups of coffee to the table.

  Eva shook her head. “No, I didn’t. But I suspect you may already know about the happenings in town. I saw Eric Magnor’s buggy head this way early this morning.”

  “He was here. And yes, he told me about the posters and about Brian spreading the word all over town and wiring Chicago with the news of my whereabouts.”

  “It’s even worse than that, Leah. Lula Dunbar suggested Hulda’s death should have been investigated, instead of just taking your word for her condition.”

  “Who would have known what to investigate?”

  “Dr. Swenson was not about to come out here, that was for sure,” Eva said. “Mrs. Thorwald spoke up for you in the store, told Lula that probably the baby would have died, too, if you hadn’t been here for the birthing.”

  “Bless her heart.” Leah’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of the elderly neighbor she’d looked after. “She’s a loyal soul, isn’t she?”

  “There’re a lot of other loyal folks in town, but you know people like something to talk about, Leah. Now Brian’s suggesting Eric Magnor has taken a fancy to you, and once the word got back to Mr. Magnor, Brian got himself fired. He’s having a hissy fit now, because he says it’s your fault he was let go.”

  “Well, I’m not about to take the blame for him being so hateful about things and lying about Mr. Magnor. I treated Brian as well as I could,” Leah said soberly. “I just couldn’t marry the man, and he was determined to get a foot in my door every time he stepped up on my porch.”

  “He may grow up one day,” Eva predicted. “But in the meantime, he’s carrying gossip. And if he isn’t careful, he may have your husband’s fist in his mouth for his trouble.”

  “Gar will hear about this, won’t he?”

  “I guess that’s why I felt I needed to come out here and tell you what’s going on, Leah. He’d do better to hear it from you than some busybody in town.”

  “Eva, I want you to know Mr. Magnor doesn’t have that sort of regard for me. We’re friends, and that’s all.”

  Eva’s hand shunned the words, silently warding off Leah’s protest. “You don’t need to even say so. He’s a good man, and if he wanted to look for a woman he’d have done it a long time ago. Not that he shouldn’t have, mind you. But I think the man is still married, to tell the truth. No one’s ever heard tell that his wife died.”

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “Oh, I guess twenty-five years or so. Maybe longer. Took her little girl and got herself a ride south on a wagon that was passing through. Eric
Magnor never got over it, I guess.”

  As if she felt his pain for that long-past act of cruelty, Leah’s heart went out to the man and she wiped another tear as it tracked down her cheek. “I could never leave Gar. He’d have to kick me out the door for me to walk down that lane.”

  “I doubt there’s much chance of that,” Eva said with a smile. “He’ll fight for you—and maybe with you, but I don’t see the man ever putting you out of his life.”

  * * *

  “Eva was here today, Gar.”

  “I saw Joseph’s undertaker’s wagon outside. Thought maybe you had plans for me.” His head was bent as he pulled his stockings from his feet, then stood to remove his trousers.

  Leah looked into the mirror, her hand stilled in midair, brush clutched tightly. “Such a thing to say.”

  “As mad as you are with me, I thought it was appropriate, maybe.”

  “I’m not angry with you. I just think you make foolish accusations, Gar.” She resumed her ritual, closing her eyes and relishing the pull of the brush against her hair.

  “So, what did Eva have to say? Is young Havelock still stirring up trouble?”

  “Eric Magnor fired him from the sawmill.”

  Gar stepped out of his trousers and kicked them aside impatiently. His fingers were busy with the buttons on his shirt, but his face was intent as he approached Leah.

  “Why was he fired? Was it because of you, Leah?”

  She nodded, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “He told it around town that Mr. Magnor was interested in me. And now, Brian is blaming his misfortune on Leah Lundstrom.”

  “When he becomes a man, he will accept the blame for his own actions. Right now, he is asking for a trouncing, like the child that he is.”

  “I don’t want you to fight with him, Gar.” She bent her head as his hands circled her neck, long fingers touching her throat.

  “Come to bed, Leah. We will talk of it tomorrow.”

  She felt the warmth of tears against her cheeks. She’d shed more of them today than in the past four years combined. Gar’s fingers left her throat to wipe her face, the callused surface of his fingertips careful against her flesh.