The Midwife

by Carolyn Davidson

  His hands were already on the knot in his tie as he stepped into the dusty street. Midway across, he had unbuttoned his suit coat and was slipping it from his broad shoulders. By the time he reached Brian, Gar’s shirtsleeves were unfastened and he was slowly and fastidiously rolling them up to a point just below his elbows.

  “Do you think to fight with me, old man?” Brian said with a visible sneer as he rose from his seat.

  “I think I will clean your clock,” Gar said softly, handing his suit coat to the white-aproned barber who had stepped to the door of his shop.

  Brian looked around the gathering group of men, several of whom had been awaiting the services of the barber. Seeming to take added strength from the murmurs of his audience, he struck a pose with fists cocked and ready.

  “You and what army?” he jeered.

  “I think I will only need these two soldiers,” Gar told him, holding up his hands, then slowly flexing them and forming massive fists.

  “Come and get it, old man,” Brian said, repeating his disrespectful taunt.

  “Yah, I believe I will.” Gar took one step, his left hand countering Brian’s right as the younger man threw a quick punch. Gar’s right fist connected solidly, and Brian let out a loud yelp as he hit the sidewalk.

  Gar bent, picked him up and slapped his face—hard, flat-palmed blows, once on either side. Brian’s arms churned, his face crimson as he shouted defiance.

  And then he hit the sidewalk again, the victim of a small flurry of blows that thudded against his face and body with unerring precision. His own fists made contact with little effect, as Gar meted out punishment.

  The crowd shifted, gathering closer to the two men, and Leah found the combatants lost to her view. She backed against the hotel window, and one hand lifted to cover her mouth. How could such a thing happen?

  “Gar had no choice.” From beside her, Eva’s voice spoke her own thoughts, and Leah turned to her friend.

  “I don’t want him fighting for my sake. He should have just ignored Brian.”

  “What did the foolish boy say?” A man’s deep voice joined them, and Leah turned quickly to face Eric Magnor as he dismounted from his big black stallion. He tied the reins to the hitching post, and in two steps stood before the women.

  His gaze swept over Leah, and she was comforted by his presence. Perhaps he could bring a halt to this folly before Gar went too far in his anger. “Can you make them stop fighting?”

  Eric shook his head. “Young Havelock has been asking for trouble for several days now. I knew it would come to this before it was done.” He stood beside Leah, as if his presence would lend support. “What did the fine young fellow say this time?”

  “He said Leah liked friendly menfolk,” Eva volunteered. “It was his tone of voice that offered an insult, Mr. Magnor.”

  From across the street, a roar went up from the watchers, and Leah saw Brian’s husky body held high in the air. Garlan Lundstrom’s strength was apparent to all who had gathered as he clutched the younger man’s thigh and shoulder, lifting the considerable weight almost over his own head.

  Loud yelps from the hapless man brought gales of laughter from the onlookers, and only when Gar thrust the flailing form from him did the noisy crowd subside. Brian’s body crashed against the side of the barber shop, and there was silence for a moment.

  “Do you want to say anything more to me? Have you any more insults to offer my wife?” Gar thundered, and the watching men fell back from his wrath. Brian staggered to his feet, shaking his head, his clothing disheveled by rough handling.

  “Are you ready to offer an apology to my wife?” Gar gripped Brian’s shoulder and whirled him to face Leah.

  She shrank back against the hotel. “No…don’t do this, Gar.” Her whisper was thin, uttered against the fabric of her glove.

  From her side, Eric strode into the street. “I think Mr. Havelock owes an apology to more than Mrs. Lundstrom,” he said loudly. His tall, dapper frame was set off by the splendid suit he wore, his hat at a jaunty angle.

  The townsfolk waited, stunned by this gesture. Eric Magnor lived in regal solitude in his mansion at the end of town. Seldom did he insert himself into the everyday lives of its inhabitants.

  Brian watched his former employer with one eye, the other already swollen shut from a well-placed punch. Gar stood behind the youth, and before them was the man Brian had spoken of in a disparaging manner. His shoulders slumping, Brian’s stance was that of a condemned man.

  Perhaps it was the hopelessness of his situation that made him brave the odds, for his chin lifted suddenly and his voice rang out in mocking tones. “Even the richest man in town is not immune to a woman’s charm, is he, Mr. High-and-Mighty Magnor?”

  Eric’s stance was firm, his eyes clear as he scorned the man who accused him. “I will not be accused of looking with adulterous eyes at any woman, Mr. Havelock. Least of all as it refers to Leah Lundstrom. For, in this case, the accusation would be that of an unspeakable crime.”

  The men who watched and listened grew more intent with each word, and the women who gathered on the sidewalk murmured among themselves.

  Eric stepped even closer to Brian. “I will not be accused of such sin. Especially…” he said in a chill voice Leah had never thought to hear from him. “Especially, Mr. Havelock, when the woman involved is my own daughter.”

  Brian hooted, almost hysterically. “Your daughter? That’s a tall tale, if I ever heard one. What makes you think you can convince anyone of that story?”

  Leah’s heart pounded within her chest, her head buzzed as though a million insects were battling to escape her skull, and her legs refused to hold her erect. Only when the air around her grew scarce and the sky turned black did she realize that she was falling to the sidewalk.

  And then it was too late.

  “Leah!” It was a shout of dismay, too late for her to heed as Gar sprinted across the street. He fell to his knees beside her, one hand beneath her neck, lifting her head from the dusty walk, the other straightening her dress, pulling her legs from beneath her.

  Eva was at his side, her slender fingers loosening the buttons that secured Leah’s navy-blue jacket in place. Beneath it a shirtwaist bore an equal number of buttons, made of white pearl, and she opened the fabric to expose Leah’s throat.

  “Someone get some water,” Eva requested, even as a full tumbler was pressed into her hand by Lula Dunbar.

  “Leah?” Gar’s hands were gentle, carefully supporting her head as he felt beneath her ear for a pulse. The crowd had transferred its attention to this side of the street now. As Gar looked up, his gaze met that of the barber, who still held Gar’s suit coat over his arm.

  Next to the barber, Eric Magnor watched, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his eyes narrowed as he waited for Gar’s ministrations to have some effect. “Is she all right?” he asked after a moment.

  Gar shrugged, shaking his head as he raised his wife to a sitting position on the sidewalk. He held the glass of water to her lips and called her name again, allowing a few drops of liquid to spill against her mouth.

  Leah stirred, her eyelids fluttering as she inhaled a deep breath. “Gar?” It was a whisper, a thread of sound, but enough to insure Gar his wife was awake and aware, and that he need not worry for her well-being.

  She licked at her lips and he tilted the glass a bit more, encouraging her to drink. She accommodated him briefly, sipping a few swallows, then turned her face away.

  “Enough.” She gazed down at her lap, then at the rough wooden boards upon which she sat. She looked up at Eva, and her lips trembled in a travesty of a smile.

  “Let me help you up, Leah.” Gar gave the water glass to a willing hand and, with his own hand at her waist, lifted his wife to her feet. He held her thus, feeling the trembling she could not subdue. His heartbeat slowed to a normal speed; she was all right.

  “I’ll send for my carriage.” It was Eric, and Gar shot him a glance that brought a sudden halt
to the other man’s offer.

  “I will take my wife home in our buggy. We will not be taking the morning train after all.” Indeed, as he spoke, the sound of a whistle split the air, and just beyond the farthest building, a locomotive approached the train platform, belching smoke and trailing cars behind it like a string of dominoes.

  “I need to speak with her,” Eric said urgently, stepping a few inches closer to where Leah stood.

  She shook her head. “Not now…not now, please.” She pressed her face against Gar’s shirtfront. “Take me home.” The whisper was a poignant plea for privacy, and Gar responded with gentle care.

  His arm around her waist, he walked with her, careful not to allow her to stumble, setting his pace to hers. On her other side, Eva Landers walked with Gar’s suit coat over her arm, having taken it from the barber.

  Gar supposed they made a strange trio: Leah, pale and drawn, her feet barely skimming the boards as he lifted her weight; Eva, smiling and nodding at those who watched with eager, avid faces; and himself, towering over the woman who had just borne a shock she could barely contain.

  Just beyond the end of the sidewalk, where the road reached to touch the grass, he bent to slip his arms beneath her, lifting her against his chest. He felt no resistance from her, only a sigh that escaped her lips with a forlorn sound.

  He was met by Sten, still adjusting the harness of the black mare. The horse and buggy had just been put into the barn before they were once more called into service.

  “Let me help you,” Sten offered, and then stood aside as Gar lifted his wife onto the seat. Gar supported Leah until she regained her balance. Then he joined her upon the seat and put his arm around her waist.

  “Here’s your coat, Garlan.” Eva handed it up to him and received a nod of thanks. She stepped back and watched Leah’s lids close, her head leaning against Gar’s shoulder, as if her neck had no strength of its own.

  “May I come out to see her?” Eva asked.

  Gar looked down at her. “Yes, of course. She will want to talk to you, I’m sure. Thank you, Mrs. Landers.”

  The black stallion had followed them all the way down the street to the blacksmith’s shop, and now its rider watched as the buggy cut a sharp turn and headed out of town.

  “Do you think it’s true?” Leah’s head rested against his shoulder, and Gar’s arm tightened around her waist as she spoke. “How can such a thing be true?” she whispered, even before he had a chance to reply.

  “Of course it can be true,” he told her. “Whether it is or not may be another matter. But bear in mind, Leah, that Eric Magnor has no reason to lie. The man has never been known to be other than honest and aboveboard.”

  “Then why would he wait for three years to claim me? If he knew I was his daughter, why didn’t he say so before this?”

  That was a stumper, all right. Gar shook his head. “I don’t know. But I do know he won’t be satisfied until he talks to you.” His grip on the reins tightened, and his hand protested the movement. In surprise he glanced down, noting the swollen line of his knuckles, the scraped skin that seeped blood.

  Her mind seemed to work in tandem with his, and Leah reached to touch the angry flesh. “You must have hit Brian awfully hard. Let me see your other hand.”

  His fingers tightened against her waist and he shook his head. “No, it’s fine. You can kiss it and make it all better when we get home.”

  His humor was wasted, for she subsided, leaning more heavily against him, and he bent to peer into her face. “Leah, are you still feeling faint? Do you want to put your head into my lap?”

  “No, of course not. I just can’t make any sense of this whole thing. And now we’ve missed the train to Minneapolis, and we’ll have to start out all over again tomorrow. If I thought everyone in town was having a heyday, watching me and wondering about me this morning, just imagine what tomorrow will be like.”

  “I think Brian Havelock’s tall tales have lost their clout. And being thought of as Eric Magnor’s daughter is no bad thing, Leah. Maybe you should let the man have his say before you worry too much about what folks are thinking.”

  “It just seems that I would remember him, if what he says is true.”

  “How old were you when your mother took you away from here? Three or four, maybe?”

  “Young enough that I don’t remember anyone from town.” She sat up straight in the seat, her mind intent on a new thought, it seemed. “Why don’t I bear his name, Gar? My mother was Minna Polk, not Minna Magnor.”

  “You see, this is only one of the things you need to ask the man.”

  “I don’t understand why my mother told me my father was dead. I always thought…” She lifted her face to look into his eyes. “I never told anyone in town that I was born here, and no one seemed to recognize my name. That’s a strange one, isn’t it?”

  “Probably, Minna Polk was not known here by that name.” It seemed logical to his mind, but if Leah needed to mull it over, he would give her time. It was better that she come to an understanding by herself.

  The children were delighted to see the buggy’s arrival, Kristofer running from the barn to greet them. “Didn’t the train come, Pa?”

  “Yah, it came, but we decided to go tomorrow, instead,” he told the boy as he lifted Leah to the ground. “Come, help me put the horse in the pasture.” His hands were firm on Leah’s waist, as if he were hesitant to release her.

  “Are you all right? Should I get you into the house first?”

  She shook her head. “No. I was just so surprised that Eric Magnor should say such a thing that all the blood rushed out of my head.” Her smile was crooked, and Gar was entranced by its vulnerability. He’d not seen this side of his woman before.

  “Go on in the house, then. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He watched as she made her way to the porch, lifting her skirt to climb the steps. Ruth stood silently in the doorway, holding Karen, whose arms were reaching for her mother. And at that thought, Gar smiled.

  Leah was the baby’s mother. Of that there could no longer be a quibbling doubt. He’d not spend another minute thinking of Karen as Hulda’s child. She’d been Leah’s from birth, and that was his own doing. For weeks, he’d heard the mama sounds coming from the baby’s mouth, learning to accept her preference for the woman who cared for her, even where he was concerned.

  It was time to say farewell to the woman he’d wronged, time to forget the unhappy days he’d spent trying—and always failing—to be the husband Hulda deserved. It was past time to bury the guilt with the woman who’d so unwittingly caused it.

  “Pa? Are you gonna put the mare away now?” Kristofer stood beside him, impatient with his dallying.

  “I was just watching to see if Leah got into the house all right,” he answered, and was amused at Kristofer’s look of disbelief.

  “She looks all right to me, Pa. Is something wrong with her?”

  Gar shook his head. Not anything visible, anyway. The hurt she bore was bone deep, not appearing as a great wound to the eye. He, too, had borne such a wound for months. The ache where his heart beat in a steady pounding had kept him awake some nights.

  And now, with Leah’s presence in his home, that aching lump in his chest had begun to heal from its pain. In fact, if he wanted to be honest about it, there was no pain to be felt these days when he looked at the woman he had married.

  For, if being unable to love one particular woman were a crime, then most of the men in the world were probably as guilty as he. And, if being entangled in the web of loving the woman he had chosen on his own bore consequences, he would be bound to face them..

  His hands worked rapidly at the harness, undoing buckles and loosening the mare from her bindings. He watched as Kristofer led her from the back door of the barn, following at a distance so as not to make the boy think he did not trust him to do the job.

  The sun glittered on his golden hair as Kris watched the mare canter across the pasture. She tosse
d her mane and tail, as she joined the rest of the small herd beneath a grove of maple trees. Kris turned back to the barn, catching sight of his father, and his smile was brilliant, his white teeth flashing his delight.

  “Pa! I’m glad you didn’t go away. I was missing you already.” His sturdy legs churned as he ran, and his arms were strong as they circled Gar’s waist.

  It was a blessing, indeed, this love that flowed from one person to another. From son to father it coursed, and then returned in full measure. His hand smoothed the straight hair that stubbornly fell across Kristofer’s forehead, urging the locks to lie in place. Such a good lad. And then to his surprise, the words were uttered aloud.

  “You’re a good boy, Kris. I’m proud of you.”

  “Really, Pa?”

  A pang of regret touched Gar’s heart as he mourned all the days he had not given such faint praise to his son. “Yah, you are a fine lad.”

  He would need to come up with softer words to woo his wife, he thought, turning back to the house. Words that would better express the knowledge pressing against his mind this morning. He felt a great love for Leah, a need for her presence, an urgent craving for her body. That part he had already admitted to himself: her curves enticed him, her honey-streaked hair tempted his fingers to be buried in its depths.

  But there was more. This urgency to possess her was only a part of it. He craved her quick wit, her sharp mind, and the parts of the woman that drew men’s eyes: the proud tilt of her head, the straight line of her spine when she walked, and the lush, rounding bosom he could not ignore.

  He sighed. He was on the other end this time. For Hulda had loved him, a love he did not welcome but had instead taken advantage of, allowing her to care for his needs. He had gone to her at night when the urge of his body could not be stilled, and taken her without any depth of emotion.

  For that, he mourned. The knowledge that he had not before now realized the pleasure that comes with the craving for one particular woman. The urgency of binding himself with this creature he had had the good sense to bring to his home.