The Midwife's Legacy

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  “Have you made plans for what you’ll do after the baby arrives?” Adele asked.

  “I’ll stay right here. Jerome is engaged, you know, to a woman from Milwaukee. He’s quite smitten with her and she him. She gave him that timepiece he carries so proudly, and apparently she didn’t resist too much when he moved to this little outpost of a village. I’m sure she’ll be joining him in the spring. He doesn’t say much, of course. Men never do. But I think that’s why he hasn’t wanted to hire another domestic. He knows that in the spring his Clarissa will arrive, and then I’ll have help and the baby will have a family. It’ll be a lovely arrangement, don’t you think?”

  Adele felt like a cow had just swatted her face with its wet tail. Her eyes watered; her face stung. “I hope they’ll be very happy.”

  “They would have married by now, but of course my brother’s opening his home to me set their plans back several months. He’s so thoughtful, and Clarissa must be as well to have postponed a wedding. Goodness. A woman who would do that must have a heart of kindness.”

  “A heart of kindness, yes.”

  “So you’ll come next week with plans to stay?”

  Adele controlled her voice, which threatened to falter, and prevented a rush of tears down her cheeks. “If that’s what you want, Caroline. I’ll speak with Polly, and we’ll see what can be done. I need to go now. I’ll—”

  “But my brother so likes it when you’re here when he gets home. He enjoys your company. Please stay.”

  “He’ll have plenty of my company for the next few weeks then, won’t he?”

  “I’ll ask Roy—I mean, the doctor—to come for supper on Tuesday next. We’ll have a happy foursome or five with Polly. Six, should Clarissa arrive at last. Oh, this will be such a fun time for us all!”

  She’d been so foolish, thinking that kiss was something special, that Mr. Schmidt thought she was beautiful even. The mule slipped on the icy road but kept his feet beneath him as he carried Adele back to the farm. A cold wind bit her cheeks, freezing the tears. It was better to find this out now about Jerome’s—Mr. Schmidt’s—entanglements before she did something foolish while staying in his home to help his sister, like letting him steal another kiss or expressing care for him. She was there to assist Caroline, that was all. She’d gotten distracted. Her joy should have been wrapped in the mother’s joy. She had Polly. She had her farm. She’d had love once, and that was more than many had in a lifetime. The one great joy that had eluded her was to bear a child herself, but God had blessed her with so many other babies whose lives she was a part of, so how could she complain?

  Jerome Schmidt had caused her to dream again. But she was awake now and would stay that way.

  At the farm she discussed with Polly what might be done about her being with Caroline longer than intended.

  “I’ll be fine here, Mamadele. I’d love to help you, and if the weather holds, I can come in when Mr. Schmidt comes to tell me that Mrs. Bevel is in labor. We’ll feed the cows heavy before we join you, and I can come back and milk, even if it is later in the evening.”

  “You’re a good girl,” Adele told her, patting her hand. Polly sketched at the table. “I just hate to leave you alone with the responsibilities. There’s wood to chop, butter to churn, the chickens cooped and fed. All the work the two of us do, you’ll have to do alone. Just keeping the fireplace going will take time.”

  “It’ll make me feel like a grown-up.”

  Adele brushed maple crystals from her daughter’s cheeks. “You’ve been at the maple cone, I see.”

  “I love sweets.”

  “As do I. Unfortunately, sweets migrate from my stomach to my hips.”

  “You have nice hips, Mamadele.” Polly grinned. “I think Mr. Schmidt likes them. I’ve seen him watch you when he’s been here and you’re at the dry sink peeling potatoes.”

  Adele stiffened. “What Mr. Schmidt does or doesn’t like is no concern of mine.”

  “I’m … I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Adele said. “It’s just … men. John was such a dear, forthright and honest. I miss him so much.”

  “Isn’t Mr. Schmidt forthright and honest? He’s a banker.”

  “And I suspect a good one. He plays his cards quite close to his chest so his clients might never see it coming that he intends to foreclose. But charming has its shadows.”

  “We don’t have to worry about a foreclosure, do we?” Polly looked alarmed.

  “Not at all.” Adele patted Polly’s hand. “We have a good herd, and with our harvest I paid the previous note. Come spring I’ll borrow for operating expenses again. No, we’re fine.”

  “And you have the midwife fees.”

  “Yes, though the Wastes paid in bacon and hams. But that’s nothing to complain about. We’ll have one of those hams for Christmas dinner. Maybe invite the Bentzes and their little Luke. You could invite your friend Sam and his family.”

  “Mr. Schmidt and his sister, too?”

  “Once the baby comes, our paths aren’t likely to cross with theirs again.”

  Adele checked her midwife satchel. Oil, forceps—which she hoped she wouldn’t need—needles and thread, special candles she’d scented with mint, clean rags, other sundries. Caroline would provide the cues for this delivery, for her and her baby. At least by staying at Jerome’s, Adele would be able to see that Caroline consumed good portions of sauerkraut and onions, steaming even the old tops for breakfast. Eggs were good, too, the doctor from the college had written. Adele reread the letter before putting it into the journal. It is good to remember that physicians often find that in delivery, clotting improves for a hemophiliac, perhaps as a natural protection for both mother and baby, even when bleeding is an issue prior to pregnancy. We are all fearfully and wonderfully made, are we not?

  Adele wished that had been so with Serena. She stuffed the letter then halted. Maybe Serena had died of something else! A torn artery, perhaps, or any of a dozen things that could go wrong. She’d settled on Serena being a bleeder because of what the doctor had said and because there’d been so much blood. But maybe she was wrong. She’d make note of that in her journal, something to encourage Polly one day and remind her that what she thought was so might not always be the case and to trust beyond herself, trust in the intricacies of creation, of the human body and its desire to bring new life safely into the world.

  Her confidence increased with the doctor’s reminder that God manages details like having blood clot as it should when needed for safe birthing.

  Chapter 9

  THERE WHEN NEEDED

  I’m leaving, “Adele called upstairs to Polly. It was December 15, and the wind swirled around the outside of the house, pushing late-falling leaves across the three inches of packed snow that covered the rolling hills, dusted the woods. Adele had baked and baked. She’d made hardtack, brought in a smoked ham Polly could slice off for a week or more. The two of them steeped chicken soup, and Polly was reminded to put leftovers on the porch high up so no marauding wolves or bears would come by and snatch them. The girl had plenty of powder for the musket and knew how to keep it dry. She’d picked up new paper for Polly to sketch with and told her if she ran out of books to read, she could open up one—just one—of the wrapped boxes they’d placed under the Christmas tree. Polly was the most important person in her life, and she’d done what she could to attend to her. Now her thoughts would go to Caroline.

  And Jerome Schmidt.

  Fortunately, she had not encountered him since the news of his impending marriage so blithely shared by his sister. Adele wondered when he planned to tell her—or if he ever did. But of course now that she’d be staying with them, she’d have to listen to his baritone voice, be required to serve him. Maybe that was why he’d wanted her to come earlier—so he wouldn’t have to cook anymore or hire a girl. She hoped that when he told her of his marriage, she could look happy for him, the scoundrel.

  God had placed Jerome Schmidt
in her way to give her a pleasant summer, and God had taken him away. She put her knitted scarf over her head and stuffed the wool around her neck for more warmth. Her hair would look like a flatiron had pressed it, but she didn’t care. She just prayed she’d make it safely, that the baby would come and all would go well, and that in the meantime Polly would feel grown-up without having a crisis.

  She didn’t want any crisis of her own, either, facing Mr. Schmidt.

  “Miss Adele.” He couldn’t believe how pleased he was to see her safely arrived. He’d missed her. “Here, let me take your bag.” He bent toward her as though to kiss her cheek.

  She swept by him like a wolf pup spurting out of its den. “Just tend to the mule, if you would, Mr. Schmidt. And it’s Mrs. Marley to you.”

  “What?” The word bounced off her back.

  He returned to the house and heard the women chattering in the small bedroom that had been his since Caroline’s lying-in. He’d given her the largest bedroom. He’d already moved most of his things into the loft area so that Adele could be close to Caroline in the night.

  “Adele’s brought me a mint-scented candle.” Caroline held it up. “See how thoughtful she is?”

  “Indeed. May I help you get settled in any way?”

  “I’ll be preparing hot meals for us, so if you’ll see to the filling of the wood box, I’d be grateful. I have bean soup with ham. That should be good for us all. Caroline, would you like a back rub?”

  “I would, I would.” Caroline pushed her burgeoning body so she lay on her side on the fainting couch. She was nearly too large for it.

  “I believe we need privacy now.” Adele’s eyes told him to leave.

  Jerome started to back out of the room when Adele reached across then handed him his timepiece, the gift from Clarissa. “I believe this belongs to you?”

  “Won’t you need it?”

  “I have my own timepiece.” Her words dismissed him.

  He backed out of the room, stung by her words. His hands shook. What had he done to upset her? He hadn’t even had an occasion to press his case with her, and from the frost of her words and her physical avoidance of him, he had to assume something happened to turn her against him. Could Caroline have upset her? His sister loved Adele as much as she seemed able to love anyone other than herself. What had he done wrong?

  The next week bumped along. Adele made certain she was never alone with Jerome, who fortunately was there only in the evening or at midday, and that there were no lengthy conversations around the table. Caroline chattered about herself so easily there was really no need to speak, except to say, “Really?” or “How interesting.”

  Once Jerome had looked at her with piercing eyes while his sister told a family story, something about her husband’s buying her a horse. His eyes were troubled with such hurt, Adele looked away. And later she nearly succumbed when he reached his hand out to her as she passed behind him in the kitchen. But she did not. Usually direct, she realized she had nothing to confront him about. He hadn’t promised her anything; she’d merely let him into her heart and assumed it was where he wanted to be. His wounded look was just a shade of his charm, a way of “filling time” with Adele while he waited for his Clarissa. Adele would work to forgive herself for having been so naive as to think that if a man calls you beautiful it means he’s in love.

  At night, Adele read alone in her room, but she could hear Jerome moving above her in his loft. Once she thought she heard soft snoring. When she turned her face into her pillow, she imagined she could smell his cologne there even though she’d washed the pillow slip herself. She had to expel him. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me, she wrote in her journal, this time for her own delivery from longing.

  In the second week of her stay, Adele told Caroline she was going to go home for a day to make sure all was well with Polly. Caroline worked herself into a frenzy about what she’d do if the baby started to come and Adele was back at the farm, caught in a snowstorm, eaten by wolves. “The possibilities of danger are endless,” Caroline wailed.

  “There aren’t that many wolves around here. And the sky is clear and blue, no snow clouds in sight. And Doc Pederson makes his way here easily.”

  Caroline began a silent crying. Adele could see her shoulders shake. Maybe she wasn’t being dramatic; maybe she really was frightened of what could go wrong if Adele wasn’t there to tend the birth. A midwife does what she must to comfort and give assurance to the mother. Adele stroked Caroline’s hair. “I’ll stay.” Her obedience to her calling proved providential, for on December 24 the sky darkened, folded like a deep-blue blanket over the treetops and houses of the village, and buried the skyline, dropping snow so heavily and for so long that Adele could barely see the shed where her mule and Jerome’s horse stayed. On Christmas morning, snow pushed up to the windows and stood two feet on top of the woodpile. And of course, Caroline went into labor.

  “Let’s walk.” Adele urged her to stand.

  “I can’t walk,” Caroline whined. “I don’t like to walk.”

  “It will be good for the baby. You ate cabbage you didn’t like either, remember? But you did it for your child.”

  The labor had stalled well into Christmas night, and Adele had decided she needed to get Caroline to move, despite her bulk. But Adele was so short she didn’t offer much assurance to an unsteady Caroline. She’d have to ask for help.

  “Mr. Schmidt,” Adele called. “Can you assist?”

  He appeared as though he sat right outside the room, and maybe he did. If he’d been listening, he would have heard Adele ask if Caroline minded if she prayed for her and her baby before they began to walk; and he would have heard her asking God to bless this child and this mother and then Caroline telling her which song was her favorite. But all that was past and the labor hadn’t started up.

  “What, what can I do?” Jerome’s arched eyebrow expressed his eagerness.

  “Get on the other side of Caroline and help support her. We’re going to walk.”

  “Is that wise? What if she falls?”

  “There, you see? What if I fall?” Caroline’s eyes grew large.

  Adele glared at Jerome. To Caroline she said, “You have to trust me, Caroline. I wouldn’t ask you to do a single thing that might hurt the baby. Walking helps. Mothers often walk, and if it’s a spring birth where they can get outside, smell the apple blossoms, feel warm air on their arms, it speeds up the delivery. The baby wants to be here now. He broke the water. Your body is contracting as it should to help move him out.”

  “How do you know it’s a him?”

  “I don’t. I’m just saying him, Caroline. Now he’s a little tired, too, maybe, so let’s help him or her arrive.”

  Caroline groaned, but Jerome said, “Sister, you can do this.” The three walked then from the bedroom to the kitchen table to the horsehair couch with a log cabin quilt hung over the side and then walked back again. Once or twice Adele felt Jerome’s hand brush hers as they steadied Caroline. A tingle of desire ran up her arm, and she wished it would linger. She urged Caroline to talk about her childhood, speak of pleasant memories. Jerome chimed in a time or two when Caroline gasped for breath. “Good memories are important,” Adele told them. “You’re telling your baby what family he—or she—is being born into. Tell me about your parents, Caroline. Tell me what you loved about growing up in Milwaukee. Tell me about meeting the baby’s father, all of that.”

  Caroline stopped to take a deep breath. The lamplight flickered with the howl of the wind, and Adele looked out the window. Snow fell again, the kind of snow that drifted up against the barns and made feeding animals difficult. She hoped Polly was all right, that she had plenty of wood in the wood box. Would she remember to tie a rope to the porch railing if the snow got too deep or the wind blew so she could always find her way back to the house from the barn? Assuming she could make it to the barn. She hoped Polly wouldn’t try to feed the animals if the snow drifted deep and wet. The cows woul
d have to fend for themselves. She prayed that the girl would be safe.

  Adele was keeping one ear to the sound of Caroline’s breathing and the other to the chatter between the brother and sister when Caroline arched her back and cried out: “Oh, that was horribly, horribly painful. Just horribly! You didn’t tell me it would hurt so much.”

  Adele didn’t argue with her. “You can endure this. You’re strong enough to do this hard work of birthing.” Adele broke into “Jingle Bells” then “Ain’t Got Time to Tarry,” with Caroline saying she’d heard that in the slave quarters and hadn’t realized how fitting it could be for a woman walking toward motherhood. She laughed. “I want to sing ‘Can Can.’” Can you imagine me doing that dance?”

  Adele looked at Jerome, and both grinned. “I do believe I am no longer of good use here,” he said.

  But Adele told him he was. “Keep her walking and singing and laughing. What better home for a child to come into?”

  Adele heard Doc Pederson arrive with Jerome late in the night, but before she could greet him, Caroline succumbed to Adele’s encouragement that she squat, even though Caroline protested that only “Cherokee and slaves” gave birth that way. “I’ve put a hole in the wicker chair so you can sit and push against the arms, so it’s not exactly the same.” Within minutes of the position, Caroline cried out, and Adele was there to reach down and catch the baby. She held it while Caroline leaned back, sobbing, but this time with relief. “It’s a girl.” Adele watched for excess bleeding. She saw none.

  Doc Pederson nodded. “Everything looks fine.”