The Midwife's Dilemma

by Delia Parr

  “Heavenly Father, we thank you for the gift of precious Michael Paul, who is living proof of the perfect love You have for each and every one of us. Martha and I thank you for the privilege of attending his birth. We pray that You will shower his parents with grace, that they might raise this child to know You, love You, and serve You so that he will grow to manhood and live a long and full life as a model of Christian love and integrity that will bring You and our savior, Jesus Christ, the honor and praise that You are due. So pray we all. Amen.”

  When the echo of their combined amen had yet to fade, she and Jane left the new parents alone and returned to the kitchen together.

  Martha could not help noticing that Jane’s eyes were still aglow. “You did a wonderful job with Claire and little Michael. How do you feel, now that you’ve delivered a fine, healthy babe and placed him into his mother’s arms again?”

  Jane swirled around the room as if freed, once and for all, from the fear and doubt that had taken her calling away from her. “I’m . . . I’m excited. Amazed. Grateful. Blessed. Happy. And oh so ready to be a midwife again,” Jane crooned and danced over to Martha to give her a hug. “I don’t know how to thank you for helping me rediscover my faith in God as well as in myself. I thought I’d lost both forever. I know there may come a time when something will go horribly wrong, but if and when it happens, I’ll be better prepared to hold on to my faith and to help the parents I serve to do the same. Thank you, Martha. Truly. I owe you so much.”

  Martha hugged her back. “Not at all. It was all part of God’s plan. For each of us. He’s the one who brought us together,” she replied, but her voice caught on her words. Despite her lack of faith, God had indeed sent her a woman who was a fully competent midwife. He had just sent her too late for Martha and Thomas to have a life together.

  It suddenly occurred to her that maybe that was part of God’s plan . . . because He did not want her to marry Thomas at all.

  A final tug on her conscience, strong enough to shake off the numbness in her soul, set her faith free again and reminded her she must always bow her will to His. And she could only do that in the days and nights ahead with prayer.

  Too overwhelmed by the many possibilities for her future, and too hurt to imagine her life without Thomas, Martha had an ache in her heart and her head almost as bad as her knee, which had survived her work today with no more damage.

  Her first prayer tonight and every night for the rest of her life? To ask God to help her to follow the path He had set out before her . . . without Thomas.

  The busy household was even busier for a couple of days, but once Mr. Clemmens left with his wife and little son to continue their journey to Ohio, life in the confectionery returned to a normal, but slightly different, routine.

  Fern and Ivy were surprised to learn that Jane was, in fact, a midwife, then promptly made the same arrangements with her as they had made with Martha—and they already had a few ideas about how to go about hiring more help to run the household.

  They were less than enthusiastic to learn of Martha’s plans to move into her cottage. When they walked into the sitting room, where Martha was resting on the settee after dinner, and closed the door behind them, she had a feeling she was not going to like what they had to say.

  Although the settee was clearly designed for two, the sisters plopped down, one on either side of her. Now she knew she was not going to favor the conversation they apparently had planned.

  Fern took the lead. “My sister and I need to talk to you.”

  “If it’s about moving into my cottage—”

  “It’s not. It’s about you and Thomas,” Ivy argued. “We love you both, and we just don’t understand why the two of you can’t settle whatever disagreement you had and get married.”

  “We don’t want to know what’s come between you,” Fern explained. “That’s none of our concern, of course, but we just can’t stand by, day after day, and see how unhappy you are without doing something to try to help you. I can’t imagine he’s faring any better, either.”

  Disappointed that she had not been better able to hide her deep disappointment, Martha hoped to ease the concern etched on their faces. “At the moment, having a little more room to breathe would be a good start,” she teased.

  Fern shook her head. “We’re not letting you off of this settee until you agree to sit down with Thomas and try to work things out.”

  Martha drew a deep breath. “We already did try. Truly, we did—but we just couldn’t agree on . . . on some things that are important to each of us. It wouldn’t do any good for me to talk to him about it again.”

  Ivy squeezed herself off of the settee. “Then if you won’t even try, my sister and I will. We’ll ask around tomorrow and get someone to drive us out to that cabin where he’s holed himself up and talk some sense into that man.”

  Martha’s heart started to pound, and she got to her feet. “No, please. Please don’t do that. I appreciate your concern, but it wouldn’t make any difference if you did. He’s made it very clear he isn’t interested in anything more I might have to say. And please, if you’re tempted to talk to him anyway, please don’t do anything unless we talk about it first. Promise?”

  They nodded, eventually, and in unison.

  She gave them both a hug. “There is something you can do that would cheer me up a bit,” she suggested, looping her arms with each of theirs. “Cassie mentioned you tried a new recipe for chocolate fudge this morning, and I’d like to sample some.”

  Ivy cringed. “It’s a bit gooey.”

  “And we added a tad too much cocoa,” Fern added.

  Martha chuckled. “I happen to love gooey cocoa fudge.”

  With the mood between them lightened, they spent a good while together before finally deciding that perhaps using another recipe for fudge might be in order. When both sisters insisted on trying out the recipe then and there, Martha made her escape, grateful her knee had finally healed. She headed out, hoping for a visit with her grandchildren, and on the way happened to meet Victoria, who was carrying two baskets.

  “I was just coming to see you,” her daughter said after they kissed each other hello.

  Martha smiled. “I was hoping I might see you, too, but in all truth, I was rather hoping I might take Lucy and Hannah out for a spell.”

  “Sorry. Comfort put the girls down for an early nap, so you’re stuck with me. I just happen to know where there’s a whole patch of blackberries that are ready to be picked, and I thought you might want to join me, even though you’ll probably only want the leaves or something other than the fruit for one of your remedies. Unless you actually do want the berries now that you’re turning over most of your duties.” She handed one of the baskets to her mother. “See? I even remembered to bring some gloves for you.”

  Martha chuckled. “If there are enough for both of us, I’ll pick some berries for Fern and Ivy, but I’ll take some leaves, too. I may not need to make a lot of remedies for sick folks, but I’ll still need a few to keep at the cottage.”

  “It will be nice to have you all to myself,” Victoria noted and led her to the edge of the woods behind the cemetery to a rather small but lush patch of blackberries. Working side by side, they each gathered up enough blackberries to make a pair of pies and shared lighthearted conversation. When they finished, Victoria helped Martha to select a good cup’s worth of healthy green leaves.

  Ready to head back home again, Martha was surprised when Victoria held her back from picking up her basket. “You might think it’s none of my concern, but . . . but I’m worried about you, and since you’re my mother, then I think I have a right to be concerned.”

  Martha tightened her hold on her basket. “What are you concerned about? I’m perfectly fine. I’ve found a lovely woman to be Trinity’s new midwife. I have a new home of my own that I’ll be moving into in just a few days, and thanks to you and your brother, I have more than enough to live on. You and Oliver are both living back in Trinity
, too, which means I have everything to make me happy.”

  Victoria cocked a brow. “Everything, Mother?”

  “If you’re referring to Mr. Dillon and our decision not to marry—”

  “Whether or not you marry him isn’t the point. And I’m not worried about him, either. I’m worried about you. If you’re as happy as you’ve insisted today, then tell me why I don’t see anything but deep sadness in your eyes. Even when you’re playing and laughing with little Lucy and Hannah, that sadness is still there. Most people probably wouldn’t notice, but I’m your daughter. I know you, probably better than anyone else.”

  Martha felt tears welling and blinked them away. For the second time that day she had to defend herself, but it was much harder to do with Victoria than it had been with Fern and Ivy. It was easier, however, to talk more openly with her daughter. “Fern and Ivy talked to me about the very same thing just a few hours ago. You’re right. I’m terribly sad that Mr. Dillon and I aren’t going to marry. I just . . . I just thought we’d be able to work things out, but since we couldn’t, I’m trying very, very hard to accept that it’s all part of God’s plan. That He has another future for me, and for Mr. Dillon, too.”

  Victoria hugged her mother and held her tight. “God doesn’t design a plan for any of us that will make us sad or disappointed or leave us suffering. His plan for us is always joyous and filled with His grace. Isn’t that what you always taught me?”

  Martha treasured being held in her daughter’s arms, but she found little comfort in having her own words used against her. “I did,” she admitted. “Not that you always listened or believed me,” she added, without mentioning that Victoria never would have run away with that theatre troupe if she had taken those words to heart.

  “No, I didn’t, but I know better now, and you should, too.”

  35

  The waning days of October brought cooler air and autumn colors to the landscape, offering proof that another season had begun.

  Martha had witnessed almost all of Jane’s capabilities—from birthing to treating ill women and children—for long enough now to be fully satisfied that Jane was not just a midwife, she was a very, very good one. She was also younger, stronger, and possibly a bit kinder than Martha, too, which helped to reaffirm Martha’s decision to pass her calling on to her and gave her confidence that the women and children here would be well served.

  Jane had completely taken over Martha’s place as Trinity’s midwife only yesterday, and Martha was ready to begin another phase of her life, too.

  Having Oliver and his little girls so near helped immensely. She spent a lot of time with Victoria, too. Although they had never spoken again about the root of Martha’s sadness, Martha was not able to match her daughter’s faith and embrace what she had said, even though she had tried.

  As part of her journey from dismal disappointment to eventual acceptance that she and Thomas were destined to live separate lives, Martha had started by moving her things into the cottage. After a final supper with Fern and Ivy three days ago, she had moved into the cottage and finally claimed it as her home. She had spent every night since she had moved here praying and praying for God to help her to be grateful for all that He had given her and asking Him to forgive her for resenting what He had not.

  She returned from an unsuccessful walk in the woods to look for late-blooming flowers to brighten the cottage, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside wondering how she might spend another free afternoon. With a glance around the sitting room, she had to admit that the cottage finally looked like it was her own home now, instead of Aunt Hilda’s. She just did not feel that way and wondered if she ever would.

  She did not have to walk into the kitchen to know Bird’s cage was probably empty, and she wandered from one bedroom to the other to look for the little bird.

  She started in her bedroom, and she was surprised that she did not find Bird sleeping on her pillow like he had been doing lately. Freshly laundered, her mother’s hand-stitched quilt lay atop the bed. She had taken the old curtains down, replaced them with new ones that were a little less lacey, and had put a hooked rug on the floorboards. As pretty as it looked, she would have been happier if the room had been plainer, as long as she shared the room with Thomas.

  In the other bedroom, Bird was still nowhere in sight. Her grandmother’s diary and her record book were lying on a small table she had purchased to sit between the pair of cots her grandchildren had used while they had been here.

  She swallowed hard. Turning that diary over to Jane would be one of the hardest things she would ever have to do, but it would not be fair or right to keep it. The diary belonged to Trinity, and Grandmother Poore and Martha had only been its guardians—an obligation that she really should have passed on to Jane yesterday. She decided to do that tomorrow.

  She turned and walked back to the sitting room. She could still detect the scent of the beeswax she had used to make the floorboards nearly as shiny as the trim on Aunt Hilda’s furniture. Bird was not here, either, which meant he must have made himself at home in the kitchen.

  She still had not set him free, in part, she admitted, because once she did, she would be living here totally and utterly alone. How sad to think that she was living here now, only to discover that living alone with her independence intact was not going to be as satisfying as she once thought it might be.

  She left that thought behind when she walked into the kitchen. She had hung a number of plants and herbs from the rafters to dry, including the blackberry leaves she had picked with her daughter, and they would stay there until Jane made room for them at Dr. McMillan’s.

  Finally she spied Bird. He was perched rather happily on a bunch of pine branches she had hung up just the other day. She pulled a chair over, stood on the seat to lift him off, and then changed her mind. “I don’t think you’ll be here with me at the cottage for very long, so you may as well get used to sleeping in branches again,” she said. She put the chair back, removed the embroidered cloth from atop the ancient kitchen table to safeguard the elegant stitching, and glanced over at the hearth.

  She had stacked more firewood by the hearth, just in case of a chilly spell, and there was enough to fuel the cookstove for a few weeks, too. The rocking chairs in front of the hearth gleamed with fresh polish.

  She opened the pantry door and stood face-to-face with happy memories of Aunt Hilda. The jug of her honey wine sat in a place of honor in front of enough sweets from the confectionery and staples to keep her cottage well supplied for a few weeks. She tucked the key to the cottage into the tin where she had stored the document Micah had given her, which made the cottage legally hers—as well as the letter Aunt Hilda had left for her—and closed the pantry door.

  With nothing left to do that interested her, she had just decided to take a midday nap when there was a knock at the kitchen door. Praying neither Fern nor Ivy had come to pester her again about talking to Thomas to see if they could resolve their differences, she opened the door and practically gasped. “Samuel?”

  “Thought I’d see if I could find my way to you out here.”

  “By yourself?” she exclaimed.

  “Fancy walked me as far as the path up near Main Street. Managed the rest by myself. You gonna keep askin’ questions or let a man inside to rest a spell?”

  “Come in, of course. There’s a table straight ahead. Here. Let me help you,” she gushed and managed to get him seated without incident. “You’re my first official visitor. Did you know that?” she asked as she took a seat across from him.

  He shrugged. “Don’t see much reason for folks to walk all the way out here, other than curiosity.”

  She was glad he could not see the disappointment she knew was written on her face. “Is that why you came? Because you were curious about where I lived now?” she asked.

  “Some. Had a hankerin’ for some of that honey wine you gave me a while back. Considerin’ you’ve been too busy to visit lately, I figured I’d come
to ask if you had any more.”

  “I’m sorry. My days have been a little hectic,” she offered with no small measure of guilt. “I’ve got a jug in the pantry you can take home.”

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t turn down a sip now, if you offered it. Otherwise, a glass of water would suit.”

  “I’m not a very good hostess, am I?” she said by way of apology. She left the table and put a small glass of honey wine into his hand when she returned.

  He took a sip and set the glass on the table. “Not sure I understand why you’re livin’ out here all by yourself instead of marryin’ that young fella Dillon whose been chasin’ your skirts for almost a year and managed to win your heart.”

  His words nearly knocked her clear off her seat. “You know about Thomas? How on earth could you possibly know anything about him? Or . . . or us?”

  “I just do. Well? You got an answer for me instead of a question?”

  She huffed, too annoyed to mince words. “A very simple answer. He doesn’t want to marry me, and before you ask how I know that, it’s really very simple. He told me so.”

  He chuckled. “And you believed him?”

  “Of course I believed him. And even if I didn’t, there isn’t anything I can do about it, because he’s already told me he wasn’t interested in listening to anything I had to say on the matter. Besides, he’s moved out of Trinity to his cabin on Candle Lake.”

  “Oh. So that’s it. You’re gonna let a good man walk right outta your life. Just like that. I guess what I heard about you lovin’ him weren’t right. ’Cause if you did, I know you’d be stubborn enough to put up a fight and get him back instead of mopin’ out here feelin’ sorry for yourself.”

  “I’m not moping around. I like living out here,” she argued, and her pulse quickened. “But I will admit I’m sad. But only because I’m trying to accept that we’re not meant to be together and that God’s plan for us is something else . . . something we each have to discover,” she said, repeating the same argument she had used with Victoria.