“Do you think Mr. Schmidt is smart?” Polly asked.
Adele felt a tug at her heart with the mention of Jerome Schmidt’s name. That wasn’t good.
“I suppose. He’s a lawyer and a banker. A very good one, I think. He follows up on his clients at least. What made you think of Mr. Schmidt?”
“Your face got red when he was here last, Mamadele.”
“Did it? Just the sun.”
“He must have flummoxed you.”
“Anytime a banker wants to talk about money I get flustered. But it’s nothing more than business.” They put out the candlelight then went upstairs together. Polly brushed her hair one hundred times and so did Adele, who was always thoughtful after the circuit rider preached. He wasn’t a fear-raising man as some she’d heard but rather spoke often of forgiveness. The subject made her think of Serena and Arthur. Polly made Adele’s life complete, Polly and the farm, her clients, her faith. She didn’t need the complication of someone making her feel giddy, even if he did think of her as being as lovely as a deer. She blew out the candle. She also didn’t need to jump to conclusions. The man was just doing his job.
Adele reread the letter Caroline Bevel sent requesting her presence the very next day. She smiled to herself. The tone was very much like her brother’s, setting the date and assuming Adele would show up when told.
Adele had planned to go to town that day. She considered posing an alternate time, to exert control over this possibly difficult woman. But it was her duty as a midwife to give the future mother as much control as possible. Uncertainty tended to increase worry in some women, who then became rigid in their demands of others and on themselves. Caroline was a first-time mother at the age of forty, a grieving widow who had just moved halfway across the continent, all facts that could complicate a birth. Adele would give her as much power as she could.
Caroline shared her brother’s height but lacked similar warmth in her brown eyes. One eyebrow arched higher than the other. She was almost too slender, Adele thought, as she stood on the landing of the Schmidt home, wondering if the woman ate little or if she was one of those naturally thin souls who could eat their menfolk under the table and still not gain an ounce. This wasn’t Adele’s problem.
“Please. Do come in. My brother hasn’t yet secured a maid and I did not bring my own, so I am forced to welcome you myself.” The lilt to her words reminded Adele of singing. “But he says such informalities are part of the Western experience and I will come to appreciate them, something I truly doubt.” Caroline sniffed the air, and Adele wondered if she’d stepped into cow manure without realizing it. “I believe my lilac-scented candle has burned out,” Caroline said.
“I love lilacs.”
“Do you? I prefer orchids or magnolia. But the candle was a leaving gift, and I burned it to rid the place of my brother’s smelly socks, which I believe are making my stomach truly uncomfortable.” She sighed. “Now then, follow me, and we’ll find as pleasant a place to sit as possible.”
The move to the parlor allowed Adele to glance at the ephemera in the cherrywood china cabinet—a collection of salt dishes with tiny spoons, small Indian baskets, a pitcher that looked like Dresden. The walls held framed paintings of likely ancestors bearing that same arched eyebrow. Flowers made of hair and silk splayed out from a Chinese vase. Adele wondered if the furnishings were Jerome’s or his sister’s.
“It’s quite lovely.”
The woman turned. “No, it’s not. It is replete with my brother’s pedestrian choices. When my things arrive, by wagon I suppose, since we’re in this outpost so far from civilization, I fully intend to have a housecleaning.” She swirled in her hoop dress, an attire few women in western Wisconsin considered for daily wear because of the hoop’s impracticality when milking, gardening, or fixing meals in small kitchens. “Now, let’s sit, shall we? I have questions to ask you.”
Adele sat. Today she’d listen and learn. Later she’d help prepare and advise, even though she wasn’t sure Caroline had the temperament for either.
Adele had her fill of tea and of Caroline’s opinions, which she freely gave on everything from dress shields to slavery. And they hadn’t yet gotten to the issues of Caroline’s pregnancy. The woman talked nonstop, and Adele wondered who Jerome would get to be Caroline’s maid and how long she might stay. She’d have to strategize with Polly about how to approach this difficult woman who, while never being pregnant before, assumed a doctor’s level of knowledge. “I am well read on this subject and am fully prepared to contest anything I deem as inappropriate.”
“As is your right.” Adele set her teacup down. “The most important thing for a mother-to-be is to feel secure in her own strength and in the abilities and intentions of those she permits to assist her.”
“Indeed.” Caroline looked over the tops of her glasses into Adele’s eyes then wagged her finger. “My brother was duly impressed with you, but of course I’ve done my own checking. You’ve not been here long.”
“Five years, but I assisted with many mothers back in Milwaukee and even before that was my grandmother’s aide. She delivered hundreds of babies.”
“You’ve had no complications?”
“Those can happen to any woman, anytime,” Adele said. “But I have done my best to adapt as the circumstances needed.”
“You’ve lost no child?”
“None, praise God.”
Oddly, the woman didn’t pursue the next logical question, to ask of the mothers’ fates. But Adele knew that people sometimes intuitively don’t ask a question when they fear the answer.
“I’ll want to be certain you’re able to manage any number of possibilities,” Caroline summarized. “I’m an older mother.”
Adele nodded. “When did your former midwife determine the birth time will be?”
“It’s to be a Christmas baby.” Her eyes watered then, and Adele saw for the first time the woman’s vulnerability, her fears cloaked inside that wagging finger of control. “My husband’s birthday was December 24.” Caroline dabbed her eyes as she looked away. “I believe I’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you for coming.” She stood and brushed at her breast. As she did, she cried out in pain and knocked loose a cameo pin, the clasp’s sharp needle springing out as her hand brushed past the pin.
“Are you all right?” Adele asked. It looked like a nasty scratch.
Blood poured from the wound as Adele pressed her handkerchief into the woman’s palm. “I’ll get the doctor.”
“It’s so … debilitating,” Caroline said, looking up into Adele’s eyes, worry mixed with wonder. “Jerome did tell you, didn’t he? I’m a bleeder. There’s nothing to be done about it.”
Chapter 5
GAINING KNOWLEDGE, SEEKING FAITH
Once, Adele remembered, Serena cut her hand gutting a deer, and she said it bled a long time, but it stopped eventually. Adele should have been wary and sought advice beyond her own skills during Serena’s delivery. She did know that most women were advised not to get pregnant if they learned they had blood that didn’t clot. As Polly slept, Adele pawed through her grandmother’s journal, seeking notes on blood clotting. She’d done this before but did it again. The book wasn’t organized by any subject, something Adele did in her half of the book she intended one day to hand down to Polly. Her grandmother’s book was a hodgepodge of recipes, reminiscences, and rules such as Always wash your hands before adding oil to woman parts, or If the labor stalls, consider baking bread. The aroma of it will comfort the mother and allow the process to proceed.
The doctors Adele worked with usually scoffed at such practices, but what woman wanted someone with dirt beneath their nails to be touching her, and who was to say that the familiar aroma of bread couldn’t bring comfort enough to help a mother deliver her infant? Adele knew music sped a stalled delivery, too, and she often sang softly, learning the mother’s favorite hymns as part of becoming familiar with each mother-to-be.
Spend ample time before the birt
h getting to know your patient, Adele read. She must trust that you will be there for her no matter your own circumstances. Your own family, too, must be advised that the calling of the midwife means another’s needs will take precedence over theirs. Trust is essential.
Adele turned to her own section of the book and wrote the word Trust.What behaviors build such trust? She wrote: Be honest, always. Be an even, stable influence, never cheery one day and morose the next. Be reliable. Arrive when you say you will. Remember preferences in food or concerns and help address them. Finally, you must accept the mother no matter your personal judgments about her decisions. If she wants her other children in the room with her during the delivery, accept this. If she wants to squat or lie down, accept this. Accept her.
Adele closed the book.
She could do all those things except the last. Caroline never should have gotten pregnant. Adele wasn’t sure her judgment of this woman’s behavior could be set aside, especially when it reminded her of Adele’s greatest disaster. Accepting another’s choices wasn’t easy for Adele. She still blamed Arthur for abandoning Polly, even though Adele had gained so much from it.
She must decline this patient. Besides, Jerome Schmidt had said nothing of his sister’s blood condition. He’d misled her. She had every reason to cancel their verbal contract. It made her sad, but it must be done. She would tell Jerome Schmidt in the morning.
“I am so sorry.” The midwife sat before him in his bank office, his desk cleared of papers as he leaned back in his banker’s chair and gazed at her pleasant face. Her bonnet had a small brim, which he liked because he could see her eyes, though they were in slight shadow. Jerome had agreed to see her without an appointment, without even advance notice as she’d insisted he give her. The woman continued, “I have met your sister, and—”
“She’s pleased with you.” He’d been so grateful to come home from the bank to his sister’s first smile since she’d arrived. “She said you were both accommodating and competent, in that order, which is important for Caroline. Now, what are you sorry about?”
“I … She told me she is a bleeder.” The midwife swallowed. “I don’t think I’m skilled enough to care for her should something go wrong. She’s already met Doc Pederson, due to her cut.”
“A bleeder. Yes, I should have remembered that. Surely there are others with this malady.”
“I’ve spoken with other midwives in the past. I’ve conferred with the doctor. I’m not the one to assist her.”
“But she likes you!” She jerked back, and he lowered his voice. Caroline could be such a trial, and if he could not find someone willing to help, he wasn’t sure he could endure the next three months of her lying-in. He needed a midwife as much as Caroline did. “I mean, she has confidence in you. Women still become with child despite these maladies. There must be someone who knows how to assist a bleeder. Please, contact other midwives, see if there isn’t something to build your confidence—”
“It’s not my confidence I’m worried about.” She twisted the strings of her reticule. “It’s your sister’s health and that of her child.”
“All the more reason it should be you doing the delivery. You care about her, even after so short a visit. Please. Look for answers before deciding. Trust yourself.”
“I’ll look. But you need to look, too, for another midwife.”
He wanted to frighten her, intimidate her, maybe even suggest that her loan renewal was dependent upon her helping his sister. But he wasn’t that kind of man.
Imagine his suggesting that she lacked confidence, Adele thought as she walked to the dry goods store to pick up supplies. Telling her to trust herself. Hadn’t she just yesterday written of trust in her journal? But Adele would see what she could find out about helping a bleeder.
Back at the farm, she and Polly dug in the garden. Adele wielded the fork, and Polly bent to pick the carrots and brush the dirt from them. She rubbed a long carrot with her apron then bit it. “I love the taste of carrots,” she said. “Even with dirt on them.”
“A little carrot dirt never hurt anyone.” The thought made Adele wonder if what the mother ate had something to do with blood clotting. Perhaps potions or elixirs helped. That evening, after Adele had prayed, she decided to discuss her decision not to assist Mr. Schmidt’s sister. It would be good for Polly to understand the difficulties and how sometimes a midwife simply couldn’t be there for her charge. Midwifery meant being honest with the mother and, even more, with oneself.
“It’s something in their blood.” Adele explained the bleeding problem as best she could. “No one seems to know what would make it better. It’s … part of why your mother died, I believe. The blood refused to clot. You remember my telling you that.”
Polly looked thoughtful. “But doesn’t that mean even more that you should be there for Mr. Schmidt’s sister? Who else will take on such a difficult case?”
“She’ll have to accept a doctor’s assistance,” Adele said.
“But if what you were told is true, then even a doctor won’t be able to help. You have to be her midwife, Mamadele. You’d never forgive yourself if something bad happened to her and you weren’t there.”
Could she walk away? Maybe she didn’t trust herself. Maybe she’d never forgiven herself for not helping Serena. The child could be right.
“Someone at a college might know new things that would help.” Polly took another bite of carrot, cleaned now and lying in the dry sink. “Sam’s going to a medical college in Louisville next year. They might answer your questions.”
“That’s a grand idea, Polly. Let’s write the letter together.”
When they finished she wrote in her journal under the section she’d titled INSIGHTS:
Polly is such a comfort to me, and she is also a good partner in midwifery. She’s not afraid to ask for help, something I must remember. Or perhaps I taught her that. I struggled today with whether to take on this difficult patient because of a fear that I am not wise enough. And yet, I feel called. I must remember the midwives of Exodus who together defied the Pharaoh when he instructed them to kill the Hebrew babies. Together, they resisted. My pharaoh is fear. I must pray to let God be my guide, to trust that if this is a calling, then like the Exodus midwives, I will not be alone. A midwife must always be willing to learn more, for we are intricately and wonderfully made, with complexities wrapped inside worries that only knowledge and faith can relieve.
Chapter 6
WHEN NEEDED
Jerome sighed. What he wouldn’t give for a good newspaper to read. Surely he could manage better than this local rag. It only came out when it wanted to, so it was useless as advertising and rarely printed notice of events such as the Fourth of July picnic or the Harvest Festival with enough lead time for someone to actually plan to attend. Word of mouth was still the best way to get information to the people of Mondovi—that and pinning posters up at Olson’s store. If he ever made it to Oregon, he’d start a newspaper and commit to getting it out on a regular basis so people could count on it.
He tossed the two-page paper in the trash basket and checked his watch. It was time to gird himself to address his sister’s needs. “I need a fresh peach, Jerome.” Or “I need these sheets ironed, and I haven’t the strength.” He couldn’t get her the fresh peach, but the ironing he could do. He’d had two girls hired, but they left after Caroline’s constant criticism of their efforts. He didn’t mind ironing, because Caroline left him alone in the heat of the kitchen. He did wonder how she’d ever manage her “needs” over those of the child once it arrived. Hopefully maternal instincts appeared with birth. Maybe that little midwife would prepare her.
He was growing fond of time with Adele. He’d admired her concern about being the best midwife for his sister, and when she’d come to him later saying she’d had a change of heart, he’d been delighted. She’d found new information, she told him, and was ready to assist if Caroline would agree to her requests. She also said she’d prayed for guida
nce and decided he’d been right to suggest she might lack confidence in her own abilities. He couldn’t have been more touched by her disclosure and her decision. He’d never told his sister Adele’s service was questionable, instead telling Caroline that Adele’s farm demanded much attention from her, but he was certain she’d be more attentive as her time drew near.
The biggest changes were the foods his sister now consumed. He hadn’t realized midwives dealt with such things. She’d convinced Caroline to consume mounds of sauerkraut. The house reeked of it, and she said if mustard greens were in season, Caroline would be green from eating them at every meal. Stuffed bullock’s heart was a regular, served with Caroline’s southern corn pone. Adele came by every week now to talk with Caroline about this and that, fixing bran coffee with molasses, enough to last a week or more. Somehow Adele had gotten his sister to listen, even agreeing to allow the big Swedish doctor to attend the birth—if needed.
He checked his watch again. Adele usually came by at midday. With the days shortening, and cold settling on dusk’s shoulder, Adele liked to be home before dark, and her farm was three miles out. He donned his hat and locked his office door, telling Miss Piggins he’d be back by two. He set his own time here; he really didn’t have much to do at all. He needed challenges. He wondered if Adele would mind some suggestions for her farm.
As he walked, he considered how to broach the subject of Adele’s staying with them as Caroline’s delivery approached. He didn’t want Adele to say no, but he didn’t have any suggestions for how she could tend to the farm while she was gone. He assumed that would be the primary reason she’d refuse. He’d also begun considering another question for this woman he’d grown fond of. When he saw her mule tied up at his home, he felt his steps quicken. When he walked around the village, he noticed women’s things in the window of the dry goods store. Women things and baby things. If Caroline could have a child at forty, surely Adele wasn’t too old to bear a child. He was certain she was younger than Caroline.
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