Mail Order Midwife (Brides of Beckham Book 18)

by Kirsten Osbourne

  “Would you like me to invite my wife over so you can meet her? Decide that way?”

  “That would be fine. Or I could go over to the back, if that’s easier.”

  “I don’t think she’d have a preference either way. Let me go get her, and you two can spend a few minutes together after I introduce you,” he suggested. He knew he just wanted to see Patsy. It had been hours, and it was another hour until lunch. Why he couldn’t wait, he didn’t know, but he wanted to grab her and hold her close. He wondered if they could talk Emily into taking a nap, so he could drag her off to his bed.

  He hurried through the hall that led to their home and opened the door connecting the two parts of the building. “Patsy? Can you come to my office for a moment?” he called.

  She stuck her head around a corner, smiling sweetly. “Yes, of course. Right now?”

  He nodded. “If you’re not too busy.”

  “Oh, not at all. I was just trying to teach Emily to embroider.”

  He smiled, happy to hear she was complying with his wishes on that. “This should only take a moment. Mrs. Brown, one of my patients, is pregnant, and she’s not sure which of us she wants to see.”

  “You’re giving her a choice?” she asked, surprised. He’d always seemed so against her treating his patients.

  “I thought I would. She’s a good woman, and she already has three little ones. I think she could use a woman’s touch more than a man’s.”

  As surprised as she was by his words, she was just as pleased. “Emily, you keep working. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She walked to her husband, going with him into his examining room to see a young blonde, who looked exhausted. “Hi. I’m Patsy Hardy.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hardy. I’m Abigail Brown.”

  “How are you feeling, Mrs. Brown?” Patsy asked with a frown. She was worried about how tired the younger woman looked.

  “Tired. I have three already. The oldest is four and the youngest is eighteen months. I’m not sure I can do this again.” With those words, the woman began to cry in earnest, little hiccupping sobs coming out of her mouth.

  Patsy did something then that never would have occurred to Wesley to do. She walked to the bed and sat down beside Mrs. Brown, putting her arm around her shoulders. “Do you have family close by who can help with the little ones during this first trimester? I’m afraid you’re going to make yourself ill if you keep trying to do so much.”

  Mrs. Brown shook her head. “No. My family’s all back East. I haven’t really had time to make any friends since we moved here, because I’ve been so busy with my young'uns.”

  “Are you far outside town?” Patsy asked, her mind racing as she tried to find a way to help this young woman. If she was this tired at the beginning of her pregnancy, she didn’t want to think about how tired she was going to be in eight months.

  “No, ma’am. Just about a twenty-minute walk from here.”

  “How about if my daughter and I come to visit you on Tuesday mornings. I know it won’t help a great deal, but it will help some. My daughter can play with your little ones, and I’ll help you with cooking or housework or whatever you choose. You can take a nap or you can sit and watch me work. Would you let me do that?”

  Mrs. Brown looked at Patsy with wide eyes. “Why would you help me? You have your own house to clean and your own family to feed. You don’t need me adding to your burden!”

  “I do have my own family to feed and my house to clean. I also don’t think you’re going to be able to carry this baby for long if we don’t get you some help. I’ll ask around at church tomorrow for other women to help as well, but for now, I’ll come myself.”

  “I—I don’t even know what to say. That’s not part of a midwife’s job, is it?”

  Patsy shook her head. “I think treating the whole mother is the midwife’s job. Cleaning your house isn’t in my job description, of course, but I’m genuinely worried for you. Let me help you. Whoever delivers your baby, you need it.”

  “I would like that a lot.”

  “Good, then it’s settled. And I’ll have a friend I can visit every Tuesday. I don’t have any friends here in Butterfly Meadows yet, and I’d be honored if you’d let me call you my first.” Patsy smiled at Wesley, who was watching her with a shocked look on his face. She wasn’t certain if he was displeased with her, so she didn’t say anything more just then. She knew as she made friends at church, she’d be able to build up a network of ladies who would help one another in situations just like this.

  Patsy got down from the bed and walked back to their living quarters, squeezing Wesley’s arm along the way. “Lunch will be ready soon.”

  As Wesley watched his wife go, he couldn’t help but smile. She was so much more astute than he was, and he was starting to understand why the women in town preferred that she deliver their babies. She seemed to always know just what to say and do.

  When he was finished for the day, he walked back into the house, wondering what he’d done to deserve such a sweet, loving wife. Why, even his new daughter wasn’t making him crazy any longer.

  He walked into the dining room, expecting to find lunch on the table, but instead he saw a picnic basket. He smiled. Yes, a picnic was just what he needed to make the day special.

  He took the basket and found his girls in the parlor, both of them working hard at embroidering. “What are you making?” he asked Emily.

  “I don’t know! Some stupid flower. I hate flowers.”

  He sighed. “You hate flowers and frilly dresses. What else do you hate?”

  “Anything girly! I hate to cook. I hate to bake. I want to go outside and play baseball with my friends, but Mama made me stay in and embroider.” Emily looked at him with huge tears in her eyes. “I’m not good at sewing. I’m good at baseball.”

  Wesley felt as if she’d stabbed him. “You’ll get good at sewing if you practice as much as you’ve practiced playing baseball. Don’t you want to be a good wife someday? Like your mama?”

  Emily frowned. “Mama’s a good cook, but she hates to sew too.”

  He looked at Patsy in surprise. “You hate to sew?”

  Patsy nodded. “Back home, I was always trading services with someone. I’d deliver their baby if they’d make a couple of dresses for Emily. Things like that. I just have never enjoyed sewing, so I never bothered to get good at it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  She shrugged. “It seemed very important to you that Emily learn to embroider, so I’ve been teaching her. I’m probably not the right person, though, because my hatred of it is rubbing off on her.” She put her sewing aside. “Emily, let’s go on our picnic.”

  Emily happily put her embroidery hoop down. “I thought you’d never say it was time.”

  Wesley held the picnic basket in one hand and Patsy’s hand in the other. They walked outside and to the pond near the edge of town. “I thought we’d eat by the pond, if you don’t mind,” he said.

  “That’s what we were hoping, wasn’t it, Emily?”

  Emily nodded emphatically. “And I want to see what kind of fish are in there. Do you like to fish, Dr. Hardy?”

  “I do.” He hoped Emily wouldn’t always call him Dr. Hardy. “Do you think you could call me Father?”

  Emily shrugged. “Sure. I’ll call you anything you want, but Mama said I had to wait for you to ask me to call you something other than Dr. Hardy.”

  “Well, then you can call me Father, Papa or Daddy. It’s your choice.”

  Emily appeared deep in thought for a moment. “I’ll try them all and see what feels right,” she finally said.

  He smiled at Patsy over the top of the girl’s head, liking the idea of her referring to him as her father.

  They reached the bank of the pond, and Patsy spread out the quilt she’d brought. When she was finished, she and Emily emptied the basket. She poured lemonade into each of three glasses, while Emily put fried chicken onto the plates.
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  Patsy added her potato salad to each plate, and then a thick piece of bread, still warm from the oven. “I thought a picnic might be nice today, since you only had to work this morning.”

  “I’d love for us to do this every Saturday. It’s nice to do things as a family.” As he said the words, he realized that even now she could be expecting. He loved the idea of her carrying his baby.

  After they’d finished eating, Emily jumped up, running to the edge of the pond. “There are fish in there, Papa. Do you have fishing poles?”

  He shook his head, frowning. “I don’t, but we could get some at the general store this week, and then the two of us could fish after our picnic next Saturday.”

  “I would like that very much, Daddy.” Emily’s face was scrunched up as she concentrated, obviously trying to decide which name she liked best.

  He hadn’t thought he’d fish with his daughter, but it obviously meant a lot to her, so he was willing to try it. “We’ll do that then.”

  Emily looked longingly at the baseball game happening on the other side of the pond. “May I go and join the game? Please?”

  Wesley sighed. “Yes, go and join the game.”

  “Would you watch me play, Father?” Emily asked, her voice forlorn. She obviously knew he didn’t like her tomboyish ways.

  He refused to let his feelings about what she should like to do interfere with her having a fun time. “I’d love to watch you play.” He got up, and took Emily’s hand, walking around the pond with her.

  Patsy watched them go, smiling to herself. Her new husband was warming up to Emily’s boyish ways, and she couldn’t be happier. She hated the idea of suppressing her daughter’s will all the time, but she knew that Wesley had the same attitude most men did about what girls should do.

  She carefully packed up the remains of their picnic, and folded the quilt. Picking up the quilt and basket, she wandered around the lake, wanting to watch her daughter play. It had been a long time since she’d had time to observe a baseball game.

  When she got to the other side of the pond, she spread out her quilt, noting that Emily had already taken her place on the pitcher’s mound, even though the game was being played by boys much older than she was. Wesley had taken up the stance of umpire.

  As she watched, her daughter struck out three batters in a row, then the teams switched sides, and Emily was the first at bat. She made herself very small, so her strike zone was tiny, something Patsy remembered hearing her nephews bragging about teaching Emily.

  She ignored the first two balls that whizzed by her head, and they were both called balls. Her bat connected with the third ball, and she sent the ball flying over the heads of all the boys who had moved in closer to the infield, obviously not thinking she would be able to hit the ball far.

  Emily got all the way to third base before the boys had the ball anywhere close to her, and she stayed there, cheering for the next boy who was at bat.

  Patsy was amazed that her daughter already knew the names of all the boys in town, and she was cheering for each of her teammates, using their names. The boys had cheered for Emily as well, and she was relieved that the boys didn’t seem to resent her ability on the ballfield.

  The next boy hit a home run, and Emily ran the short distance to home plate, her hands raised in victory.

  Patsy couldn’t help but laugh at her daughter’s obvious joy in the game. It may not be how she would choose to spend a Saturday afternoon, but if it made her daughter happy, that was all that really mattered.

  She felt like the day had been a huge success when they went back inside. Emily’s team had won the game, with Emily not letting a single hit happen. Wesley had bent his rules about the things that were acceptable for their daughter to do. And the best part of all was that Wesley seemed to be accepting her role as the new midwife in town. He’d even suggested one of his patients see her. She hoped that soon he would come to respect her abilities, and they could work well together.

  There was nothing she wanted more than a good marriage to a man who accepted her daughter as she was. After less than a week of marriage, she seemed to be getting what she wanted. Life could only get better from here. Right?

  Chapter Seven

  After breakfast on Sunday morning, Patsy had to hold Emily down so she could fix her hair. The child’s screams filled the house, and Patsy’s words could be heard by Wesley through two closed doors. “You will look like a lady on Sundays if it kills me! And it might!”

  “I don’t want to look like a lady!” Emily yelled back. “This dress has ruffles. I hate fairy puke!”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times to stop calling dresses with ruffles fairy puke! Where did you learn that anyway?”

  “That’s what Seamus, Sean, William, and Declan called them! And they know fairy puke when they see it!”

  “Your cousins should not have used that language around you, and you will stop using it around anyone!” Patsy yelled back.

  When his two ladies emerged from Emily’s bedroom a few minutes later, he saw that her fairy puke was firmly in place. “You look beautiful, Emily.”

  “I don’t want to look beautiful. I want to look strong and muddy.” Emily kicked the toe of her shoe against the floor, obviously annoyed.

  Patsy looked slightly worse for wear. Her hair, which had been wound into a perfect knot atop her head, was now trying to escape the pins. He smiled at her. “We have five minutes if you want to repair your hair. I’ll watch to be sure she doesn’t get dirty.”

  “Hold her hand the entire time!” Patsy never worried about how she looked, but it was her first time in a new church, and she was the doctor’s wife. How could she not worry?

  She slipped into the bedroom she now shared with Wesley and quickly unpinned her hair, redoing it quickly and efficiently. After ten years of being woken up at midnight for birthings, she was able to fix her hair in an instant.

  She stepped back out in the hall and saw that Wesley had taken her advice and was holding onto Emily’s wrist, as if he was afraid she’d escape and go find a mud puddle. “Thank you,” Patsy said with a nod.

  “She really hates having to wear ruffled dresses,” he said with amazement. “I really thought she just hadn’t been introduced to the finer points of being a lady.”

  “No, she’s against the finer points of being a lady. She wants to run wild and play baseball.” Patsy sighed. “She’s as wild as they come.”

  “I think you’re right to make her act as if she’s a lady on Sundays. It won’t kill her.”

  Emily frowned looking between them. “It might kill me. Then what would you do? Your only daughter would be dead!”

  Patsy shook her head, smiling sadly. “It’s a risk we’re going to have to take, I’m afraid.” She reached for Emily’s hand and smiled sweetly at Wesley. “I have a pork roast in the oven, so we can have someone over for Sunday lunch if you’d like.”

  They walked down the street to the church, dragging a sad Emily between them.

  “Does she hate church so much?” Wesley asked.

  “Not at all. She hates having to look like a girl for church and not being allowed to get muddy on the way. And she hates that she’s not allowed to have critters in her pockets for church.”

  “Critters?”

  “Spiders, lizards, frogs, chipmunks. No live or dead animals of any sort are allowed in her pockets at church, and I make her turn out her pockets on the way into the building, because of past experience.”

  Wesley shook his head. “I’m not even going to ask. I’m afraid the answer would frighten me.”

  “Oh, trust me, it would.” Patsy looked down at her daughter, who had her head lowered, dragging her feet every step of the way. “You can wear your hair in a braid tomorrow.”

  Emily looked up at her mother. “Do you mean it? No pretty stuff in my hair?”

  “I mean it. But only if you behave yourself.”

  “I’ll do my best, Mama.” Emily gave a long-suffering s
igh. “Being a girl is terrible, isn’t it?”

  Patsy laughed. “But only girls get to have babies. I wouldn’t trade having you for anything in the world.”

  “I guess.”

  When they arrived at the church, Pastor Robertson shook hands with Wesley and Patsy. He looked down at Emily. “You’re a lot more awake than you were the first time I saw you, and I’ve heard your pitching skills are legendary.”

  Emily grinned up at the man. “My fastball strikes all the boys out every time.”

  “That’s what I hear! I can’t wait to see you pitch at the next church picnic!”

  Patsy smiled at the pastor gratefully, glad he wasn’t one to criticize a girl for boyish pursuits. They went in and found their seats, and Patsy was surprised at how many people came to talk to her. She’d already met more people than she’d realized.

  An older woman hurried across the church to her, taking both her hands. “Thank you for delivering my granddaughter. I don’t know what would have happened to Betty if you hadn’t been there.”

  Patsy smiled at the woman. “Many women have had babies without help. I’m sure she’d have managed, but I’m glad I was able to be there.”

  “She said you were a midwife back East, before you moved here to marry Dr. Hardy.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been a midwife for about ten years.” Patsy kept Emily’s shoulder firmly in her grasp, as the child spotted boys playing off to one side of the church.

  “And I hear this little one has the best fastball in all of South Dakota.”

  Patsy didn’t let the smile fade from her face. “That she does. She played with her cousins while I worked before we moved out here.”

  “I’m glad she had cousins to play with.” The woman smiled at Emily. “Do you remember the boy who said girls couldn’t play baseball?”

  “The one I threw my fastball at and his head got a huge lump?” Emily asked excitedly.

  “That one! He’s my son.”

  “Oh—I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to hurt your son. I just meant to hurt the mean boy who said girls couldn’t play baseball.”

  The woman laughed, a full-throated laugh that made relief wash over Patsy. She’d been worried the woman would be angry. “I forgive you for hurting my son, and I applaud you for hitting the boy who said girls couldn’t play baseball! Obviously some girls can!” She stood up and winked at Patsy. “Where are my manners? I’m Stella Smith. It’s so good to meet you.”