Healing Sarah

by Lorin Grace

  Mrs. Duncan sat in the corner of the kitchen, staring at the baby on the table. “That baby isn’t right, Doctor. The best thing to do is to bury it in the garden.”

  Tim looked at her in astonishment. “Why do you say that, Mrs. Duncan?”

  “She has the mark of the devil on her back.”

  Tim picked up the baby girl and turned her over to see a faint purplish stain covering half of her back.

  “Don’t make me look at it!”

  “Perhaps, Mrs. Duncan, it would be best if you went to bed. I’ll take care of the baby.” Tim examined the little girl. Other than the unusual mark, nothing seemed amiss. He finished washing her and wrapped her in the cloth Sarah had set out. “Shall we go meet your mother?”

  Sarah sat unmoving at the side of the bed.

  “Sarah?”

  “I think something is wrong with her breathing.”

  “Can you hold this little one?” Tim handed Sarah the baby and put his ear to Amity’s chest. He closed his eyes and listened. He knew the sound all too well.

  When he opened his eyes, he looked to Sarah. Her eyes were filled with tears. She knew it too.

  As dawn crept over the horizon, Amity slipped away, and her daughter, wrapped in the nine-patch quilt and in Sarah’s arms, took her first meal of goat’s milk sucked from a cloth.

  Thirty-two

  “What is that still doing here?” Mrs. Duncan’s shrill voice woke Sarah.

  “Dr. Dawes went for the undertaker. I suppose he hasn’t come yet.” Sarah sat up in the rocker and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

  “Not her, the child. It has the devil’s mark!”

  The baby, sleeping in a basket at Sarah’s feet, woke and began to cry. Sarah picked her up. “Mrs. Duncan, this baby has no such thing.”

  “I saw it with me own eyes. She is marked for the sin of the awful man.” Mrs. Duncan backed out of the room.

  “You mark my word. No child born that way can come to any good. That is why I told the doctor to bury it in the garden.”

  The baby in question cried harder. Sarah moved to the table, where she had prepared dry clothes. “Mrs. Duncan, it is nothing but an angel’s kiss. It isn’t as large as some I’ve seen.”

  “But those children be born of godly parents. The man who hurt poor Amity has given us the devil’s own child. The baby be no good because she was forced on the mother. That kind always turns out bad.”

  Sarah’s mind cleared. Mrs. Duncan wasn’t as concerned about the baby’s mark as she was her parentage. Sarah thought of Lucy. What if some backward-thinking woman had buried her in a garden because the man who’d sired her was a murderer? Her temper flared. “Seeing this child’s mother was as close to being an angel as any of us will ever meet, I think you are premature to doom her because her father was among the vilest men we know. How can you do that to a baby?” Sarah lifted the newly clothed infant to her shoulder.

  Mrs. Duncan stepped farther away and turned her face. “I won’t stay in the house with that devil child! Either she leaves or I do.”

  “I will not turn a baby out, so I suggest you pack your bags.”

  “I need me wages. The doctor hasn’t paid me this week.”

  Sarah didn’t believe it. Tim had been paying a week in advance each Monday morning. “Please gather your belongings.”

  “I get two dollars a week, and I’ll need a reference.”

  If Sarah wasn’t holding the baby, she might have walked the woman to the door and tossed her out. “Dr. Dawes hired you, so you will need to see him about a reference. As for the money, I watched him pay you a dollar each Monday since you have been here. I will not pay you a penny more.”

  “Then I’ll get my things.” Mrs. Duncan stomped upstairs.

  After Emma died, Sarah had moved the jar they kept their money in from the kitchen shelf to the chest in Emma’s room. Sarah put the baby down on the bed and retrieved the key from Emma’s dressing table. Sarah waited for Mrs. Duncan at the bottom of the stairs.

  The corner of a book stuck out from Mrs. Duncan’s bundle. Sarah pulled it out. “You told me you don’t read. Will you explain what you are doing with my copy of the second volume of Pride and Prejudice?”

  “It’s mine!”

  “Let me see what else you’re taking.”

  “Only my own things.”

  Mrs. Morton and Tim entered the house without knocking.

  Sarah acknowledged them with a nod. “If it is yours, why is my name inside the cover?”

  “I got it mixed up. Mine must still be in me room.” Mrs. Duncan tried to step around Sarah.

  Sarah stood her ground. “Mrs. Duncan, I insist you let me see the rest of what you are taking.”

  “You got no right.” Mrs. Duncan tried to push past Sarah and succeeded only to turn the corner and run into Mrs. Morton and Tim.

  “Why are you leaving, Mrs. Duncan?” asked Tim.

  “Dr. Dawes, Mrs. Morton, I didn’t know you was here.”

  Once again Sarah attempted to block the ornery housekeeper. “Mrs. Duncan has taken exception to being in the house with Amity’s child. We were just having a discussion over some of her belongings.”

  “So I heard. Mrs Duncan, I believe you were protesting Miss Marden’s right to check your bundle. However, since I employed you, I do have that right. Set the bundle on the kitchen table, and let’s make sure no other books with Miss Marden’s name have been inadvertently packed among your things.” Tim herded the woman into the kitchen.

  The baby began to fuss again. Mrs. Morton left in the direction of the sound.

  Tim picked up a handkerchief edged in fine lace. “S. M. Mrs. Duncan, I do not believe this is yours.” He handed it to Sarah. “Do you recognize anything else?”

  Sarah claimed a doily, a lace fichu, and another volume. When she reached for a pair of embroidered silk stockings, she felt her cheeks warm and tried to hide them behind her book. “Miss Marden, might I suggest you go check your room for anything else you might be missing so we can ascertain if we need to check Mrs. Duncan’s person as well?”

  Sarah hurried up the stairs. Mrs. Duncan was not a good thief. Sarah’s drawers stood open. Papers littered the floor—the notes tucked in the first volume. Thank goodness the woman was illiterate! Inside a carved box, the two letters Mark had sent before he died remained in their ribbon, as did the letters her father had written her mother so long ago. The yards of ribbon Tim had given her after his sister’s wedding lay in a tangled web. But the leather pouch that had once been filled with Spanish coins was gone, as was the broach Mark had given her the day he’d proposed. She had been foolish to leave her mother’s box unlocked.

  Sarah couldn’t see anything else missing, but tears were starting to cloud her vision.

  Mrs. Duncan kept shifting her weight.

  “You are either hoping Miss Marden will miss something you took, or you are late to an appointment. If you have something else about your person, I suggest you place it on the table before she comes down and I find it necessary to send for the sheriff.” Tim crossed his arms and waited.

  From someplace inside the folds of her dress. Mrs. Duncan produced a leather pouch, a broach, and a cameo.

  Hearing light footfalls on the stairs, Tim turned to allow Sarah into the room. She immediately picked up the cameo. “How could you paw through my things and take them?” Sarah examined the broach, then looked inside the bag.

  Tim heard coins clink. “You may want to count that.”

  “I didn’t have time to take any out. It be all there.” Mrs. Duncan crossed her arms.

  Sarah studied the interior of the pouch again. “I don’t need to count it. The contents have not been rearranged.”

  Mrs. Duncan gathered the clothing she’d come with and
added an apron from a hook near the door. “What about me pay?”

  “I paid you on Monday in advance for this week. You are fortunate I don’t ask for it back. I advise you leave before I change my mind.”

  The woman slunk out the back door.

  Tim moved to the window. “Should I watch to see she doesn’t take your eggs?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “More goat’s milk? This tiny one is hungry.” The baby let out a belch twice her size, spitting up a bit on Mrs. Morton’s shoulder.

  “No, but I need to go milk the nanny anyway. Let me go put these away.” Sarah lifted her full hands.

  “It may have been a few years, but I can do it.” More than a few, more like a score, but Tim was sure he’d remember how.

  “Doctor, let me. Nanny tends to kick,” Sarah said as she held her treasures close.

  The baby yawned and snuggled into Mrs. Morton. “No rush on her account, but we do need to—”

  A knock interrupted the conversation. “Sar—Miss Marden, go put those away. I’ll answer the door.”

  Mrs. Larkin and Mrs. Palmer stood on the doorstep. He ushered them in. Mrs. Palmer scrutinized him. “Doctor, we didn’t think you would still be here. You look like you had a very long night.”

  Tim nodded, unable to come up with a more coherent answer. Sarah and Mrs. Morton soon joined them in the parlor.

  Mrs. Larkin took off her bonnet. “You all look like you could use some sleep. I heard there were three babies born last night.”

  “Four, if you count the Oakes baby, but he never took a breath. Mrs. Oakes is having a hard go of it, but her mother is there. Widow Potting presided at two deliveries. Tillie Smyth had a boy, and Mrs. Girl had a Pollard. I mean Mrs. Pollard had a girl.” Mrs. Morton yawned.

  Mrs. Palmer produced an apron Tim hadn’t noticed before. “We came over to prepare Miss Amity. Why don’t you all try to sleep. We can watch the baby or get Mrs. Duncan to.”

  Sarah tried to hide a yawn. “Mrs. Duncan has left our employ.”

  The visitors exchanged glances.

  Sarah didn’t elaborate, and Tim saw no need. “I think Mrs. Larkin has had a very good idea. I am going to go home and get some sleep before someone needs me again. Mrs. Morton, would you like a ride?”

  “Definitely. Sarah, you get some sleep too. I’ll look for a wet nurse, but the goat’s milk will suffice until we get one.” Mrs. Morton handed the baby to Mrs. Palmer.

  “Nanny! I forgot I need to milk her.”

  Mrs. Larkin stopped Sarah with a hand on her arm. “Noah can come do it. You get some sleep.”

  “There isn’t a cradle, but I made a bed out of a baske—” Sarah couldn’t hide her yawn.

  “That’s it. All of you go get some sleep.” Mrs. Larkin chased everyone out of the room. Tim mounted the buggy before he realized he hadn’t bid any of them good day.

  Thirty-three

  An unheard-of August frost covered the ground the four days after Amity’s funeral. Sarah would have put off her chores if it hadn’t been for the baby she had dubbed Rose for the shape of the mark on her back. It may have been her imagination, but Rose seemed to cry more than her nieces and nephews did. Sarah shivered in the old gray work dress. Rose had spit up twice on the black bombazine, and it waited to be washed.

  Sarah set the milk and eggs on the table next to the crock Mrs. Larkin had left. Maybe she would have an idea on how to calm the baby. She checked to make sure Rose was still sleeping before dashing across the street.

  Another paper fluttered to the ground as she opened the front door.

  Enjoy playing the mother while you can.

  The school board is meeting tomorrow.

  Sarah stepped back inside.

  Tim yawned, interrupting Dr. Morton.

  “And there you have the evidence that I am right. I see too many patients to handle these days, and Dr. Norris has the same problem. I’ve been back in the office for half days for the past week, and you are still run off your feet.”

  “But if many of the farmers move west, like John Wilson, your patient load will be reduced.”

  “If that happens, you may want to consider doing the same thing. There would be plenty of call for a doctor out in the wilds of Indiana.”

  He couldn’t go to Indiana if Sarah went there. Or could he? Part of him was willing to follow her twice that far if she would just give him a chance. Following that line of thought was not helpful. “I get the feeling Dr. Norris rather I not join the two of you.”

  “He thinks I can come back like before I fell. But the pain and the late nights . . .” Dr. Morton rubbed his leg. “I just can’t do it anymore. If I had been up all night with house calls, my wife would put me in bed and spike my tea with laudanum again.”

  “I think she is just as busy.” Tim had helped her with a breech birth late last night. Or was it early this morning?

  “That she is. But you are not going to change the conversation that easily. Think about it, and give me an answer by the end of the month. If you say no, I need to start looking for someone else.”

  “I’ll be honest. I don’t have any other offers, but I would like to take the next two weeks to think about it.”

  Dr. Morton leaned back in his chair and gave Tim a fatherly smile. “I probably shouldn’t ask this, but does part of your answer lie in the hands of a certain school teacher taking in orphans this summer?”

  Tim stopped at the doorway before answering. “I think it may.”

  He ignored the laughter coming from Dr. Morton as he left the building.

  Sarah’s head nodded in rhythm to the breathing of the infant. Try as she might, she was no replacement for the child’s dead mother. Neither was the goat’s milk. She couldn’t remember any of her nieces or nephews fussing so much, but then, she had always been able to pass the child off to Lucy when the time arose.

  The baby needed a wet nurse. Why hadn’t Tim or Mrs. Morton been able to find someone willing? Even with Mrs. Duncan’s wild stories, some woman must want the pay. A goat and a spinster were no replacement, although Mrs. Morton maintained the baby could suckle directly from the goat “quite satisfactorily.” Orphan homes in London did it all the time. The nanny goats had been trained to stand over the cradles.

  Sarah tried to picture her goat standing over Rose’s basket. Every time she did, the goat ended up eating a prized quilt or running around the house, knocking something over. The alternative of taking Rose to the shed was not as chaotic in her mind’s eye. But if Nanny kicked while Rose ate … Sarah shuddered. No goat was going to kick Amity’s baby.

  Whenever Rose slept sweetly, like now, Sarah relished the feeling of a tiny one in her arms. It had been years since she had let herself dream of motherhood.

  The baby squirmed.

  Sarah tensed, waiting for the cry she knew would come. Instead, a loud burp filled the room, and Rose snuggled back into her shoulder. Sarah knew she should lay the child down in the basket and try to get some sleep too. They had been up hours before the cock crowed, and the church bell had already announced the noon hour. Her stomach grumbled. Breakfast consisted of a wedge of cheese and stale bread as there wasn’t much else prepared in the house, and there wasn’t much of that. Some mother she would make.

  Sarah stood, intent on finding some food for herself, when a knock interrupted her. Whether it was the knock or her sudden jump, the result was the same. The baby began to wail.

  There would be no chance her caller would leave with the racket. Sarah opened the door. When had it started raining?

  Tim looked as haggard as she felt. Without a word, she opened the door wider and let him in. She hoped the letter writer was avoiding the downpour and staying inside.

  “I come bearing a gift.” Tim handed her a pewter bab
y bottle. “It was mine when I was little. Mother says I was one of those babies who could never eat enough.”

  Sarah took it in her free hand and shook it, hoping to distract Rose. “Look what Dr. Dawes brought you. Ever so much nicer than using a rag.”

  Rose stopped crying. For a moment.

  “Shall we try it?”

  Sarah swayed with the baby. “Anything to get her to calm down.”

  Tim took the bottle out to Nanny and filled it. He brought it back with a scrap of cloth. “If you think the end is too hard on her mouth, you can cover it with a cloth. But it is pretty smooth.”

  Sarah sat in the parlor rocking chair. Greedy sucking sounds filled the room. “You may have saved my life. Rose and I were just discussing what a terrible mother I am. She can’t rest, and I have no food in the house. It is a good thing this is only temporary.”

  “I think you would make a wonderful mother. You aren’t old enough to be on the shelf yet.”

  “I can’t ever be a mother.”

  Tim watched as tears collected in Sarah’s eyes.

  “You could if you would give me a chance. I know you are still in mourn—”

  “Stop! Just stop!” The tears poured unchecked down Sarah’s face. “I can’t have children, so there is no reason to give you or anyone else a chance!”

  Tim scooted to the edge of the chair. “What do you mean you can’t have children?”

  “When I lost—” Sarah spoke through her sobs, only some of the words intelligible. “So much blood … Emma said … I shouldn’t . . .” Sarah gasped, her eyes wide.

  For a second Tim thought she would bolt and drop Rose. He knelt in front of them to prevent either from happening and covered the hand holding the bottle with his.

  Sarah took several deep breaths. “I guess I’d rather you heard the truth from me and not from whatever happens at the school-board meeting.”