The Midwife's Legacy (Romancing America)

by Jane Kirkpatrick

Christiana rejoined Noah, who stood at the back, waiting, her parents also standing nearby. He lifted his brow in concerned question, and she wondered what he would think of her views on the vote. She decided it best to remain silent on the matter, not wishing to begin another clash of wills and minds. The day had been too perfect to ruin it with opinionated drivel. She smiled and took the arm he held out to escort her to her seat.

  The show was delightful, tasteful, the costumes from an earlier era, the singing in another language and superb, operatic in nature. Christiana enjoyed every moment sitting beside Noah in the darkened room and the respite from the day’s heat.

  She did wish, however, that her papa would stop glaring at her escort and hoped that he would soon grow accustomed to the idea of having Noah around, since she anticipated seeing much more of him.

  Once the show concluded and they left the building, she stared with wide eyes. The Exposition had become an exotic fairy tale against an evening sky!

  Small electric lights covered the framework of every building in sight, near and far, and Christiana felt as if she’d been transported to a foreign world of splendor and mystery. The dark lake served to magnify the feeling of enchantment as it reflected the multitude of lights softly shimmering in the water.

  Due to the amount of time it would take to reach home with the traffic, her father soon announced it was time to leave. They had spent all day there, but Christiana didn’t feel as if they’d covered even a tenth of what the Exposition had to offer.

  “If you should like to come again,” Noah said, sotto voce, “I would love to bring you.”

  Eager to spend another day in his company, she nodded at his second invitation.

  “I plan to come back in two months for Portland Day.”

  “Oh.” She tried to stifle her disappointment. She didn’t want to wait that long to see him again and wondered how her mother would feel if she invited Noah to Sunday dinner. Would that be too forward, especially since Sunday was tomorrow?

  On the trip home, Christiana pondered how she might see Noah before September. He had not yet accepted her offer to do a story, and she wondered if he would.

  The perfect gentleman, he helped her on and off the trolley, finding her a seat though he was forced to stand. He kept close, to protect her from the traffic of the crowds. And Christiana felt a little more of her heart open to him with every hour in his company. Somehow she would see to it that they met again—sooner rather than later.

  Once they arrived at her house, Noah helped her alight from the hansom cab her father had hired to take them the rest of the way home.

  She turned to him. “I’ve had a wonderful day, Noah. It’s been a pleasure. Thank you for asking me.”

  “The pleasure has been all mine.”

  “Christiana, are you coming?” Her father turned from walking up the sidewalk with her mother and stared.

  “Yes, I won’t be a moment. I’d like to say good night if I may?”

  “Of course.” Her father didn’t budge.

  “Come along, dear.” Her mother eased her arm around his sleeve and gently pulled him toward the house.

  Christiana hid her embarrassment with a little laugh. “I’m his only daughter,” she said by way of explanation. “His only child.”

  “If I had a daughter like you, I’d do the same.”

  The gaslight flickered on near the porch, causing them both to look that direction. Her father stood in the open doorway, watching them.

  Christiana curbed a sigh. “Have you given any thought to writing the story?”

  Noah looked away from her father, hesitated as if considering, then nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  “You will?” She wasn’t sure if the bulk of her delight was because he agreed or because she would be seeing him again sooner than expected.

  He grinned. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

  “Would you like to come to Sunday dinner?” The words were out before she had a chance to think about what she was saying.

  His surprise was apparent by the manner in which his brows lifted.

  “I mean—” Christiana thought of a way to endorse her rash invitation, making the idea up as she went along, while knowing all she said was true. “Mother will want to speak with you first….” And she would definitely need to speak to Mother about the whole affair tonight! “And it would be an opportune time to discuss things.” It wasn’t like he hadn’t shared their table before.

  “Are you sure my presence at your home would be welcomed so soon?” He looked toward the porch. She directed a glance there, too, seeing her father still standing like a sentinel on watch.

  “Oh, Papa? He won’t mind.” She doubted that, but she hoped he would soon come around. “And I know Mother will be pleased.” Although she might not be happy to hear Christiana had allowed her tongue to get away from her again, in asking Noah to write the story.

  “Then I accept.”

  “Lovely. At noon tomorrow, then?”

  “Noon tomorrow. I should be going.” He darted another glance toward the house then again looked at Christiana and took her hand in his, lifting it.

  Christiana sensed sudden movement from the porch.

  “Good night, Christiana.” Noah touched his warm lips to her trembling hand then straightened, looked at her once more, and left.

  Christiana felt the tingle in her fingers during her entire walk to the porch. She ignored her father’s gruff demeanor and kissed his whiskered cheek. “Good night, Papa.”

  He patted her shoulder as she moved inside, gently muttering something she couldn’t make out, but she thought she caught the tail end of his words: “At least that’s over and done with.”

  No, Papa, not even close, she silently answered.

  Minutes later, in the kitchen, once Christiana admitted her deed, her mother shook her head.

  “You should have asked me first.”

  “I know, Mama. I was just so excited.” She lifted her downcast eyes. “Although Jillian did seem comfortable with the idea …,” she added hopefully.

  “Yes, I imagine she would be,” her mother mused. “She was once a thespian and enjoys an audience. Well, never mind. What’s done is done.” She smiled. “I, for one, like the young man and would enjoy having him sit at our table.”

  “Do you think Papa will mind?” A foolish question, but she felt compelled to ask.

  “Don’t worry about Papa, darling.” Her mother laid her hand against Christiana’s cheek. “It’s not that he dislikes Noah. If he did, Noah wouldn’t have stepped two feet from this house with you, even accompanied. Your father would have seen to that. He simply must learn to accept that you’re now a young woman. You’ve always been his little girl.”

  Christiana gave a careful nod. She only hoped Papa’s revelation would occur before Noah became weary of the whole ordeal to see her and lost interest in trying.

  Chapter 7

  Noah could not believe his good fortune. He hurried to catch up to the pretty brunette who walked ahead of him.

  “Hello.” He tipped his hat with a grin.

  “Noah!” Christiana’s answering smile assured him of her pleasure to see him, though he had no cause to doubt it after last night’s invitation to a meal. Beneath her yellow parasol, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “You attend this church, too?”

  “Yes, when I’m in town.” Relieved to see that papa lion stalked nowhere nearby, he extended his bent arm. “Would you do me the honor of sitting beside me?”

  Her eyes were shy as she nodded and took his arm. He didn’t want to spoil the moment but had to know. “Are your parents here today?” He wanted no confrontation with her father right before the service but wished to be prepared.

  “They went inside. I was talking with another woman I plan for you to interview. She wishes to talk it over with her husband first, but Jillian, the woman you met yesterday, is in absolute favor of the idea.” Her words came out in a rush, the interviews clearly exciti
ng to her with the manner in which her blue-gray eyes sparkled.

  He doubted his editor would be as enthralled, but he’d told Noah, “It’s the controversial issues that sell the most papers.” And this idea was all that and more. Nor did Noah feel that doing this for Christiana would be time wasted, on more than one count.

  “How are Lanie and the baby?” she asked as they walked through the entryway into the quiet, dimly lit building.

  “They’re doing well….”

  Inside, Noah wished for the peace to extend to his soul. Christiana’s father looked shocked, angry, then frustrated as Noah greeted them and Christiana pulled him to sit beside her at the end of the pew. To his credit, her father didn’t glare at him during the service, and Noah was able to concentrate on the minister’s message of patience and endurance. It appeared he certainly would be learning more of that today.

  The glaring came afterward, when they were again outside and Christiana’s mother expressed her delight that Noah would be spending the afternoon dining with them. By her father’s initial reaction of surprise, he guessed it was the first he’d heard of it.

  As his wife gently nudged her husband toward the direction of their vehicle, Noah walked with Christiana a short distance behind.

  “Your father didn’t know I was coming?”

  “Oh, he knew. Mama told him last night.”

  “He seemed surprised.”

  “I think he feels Mama should be on his side in all this. I mean—” She looked at him, embarrassed. “He doesn’t understand her reasoning at times. But then, not all couples agree on everything, and it doesn’t change their feelings for each other. Does it?” Her face flushed rosy, and she looked away. “Oh, look, there’s Maribelle. Doesn’t she look nice in that blue feathered hat. Hello!” She gave a little wave, and Noah looked toward the departing carriage and the redhead waving back, wondering who Maribelle was and why Christiana thought he should know her.

  By the time they all reached the Leonard home, Noah following her parents’ buggy on his horse, Christiana had calmed from whatever so unsettled her. Her father, however, had not.

  While the two women worked in the kitchen, Noah sat in the chair across from the uncharacteristically silent, but still glaring, bearded lion, all the while wondering if he was to be the appetizer. His few attempts at conversation were truncated with deliberate monosyllabic answers that prevented further discussion.

  Once Mrs. Leonard announced that dinner was ready, Noah practically leaped from the chair.

  The lion remained quiet during the meal, concentrating on his food. His kind wife was gracious, bringing up the Exposition and the displays that appealed to her. Christiana was talkative as well, darting looks at Noah as she spoke, and Noah tried to converse with both women, eat his meal, and keep a wary eye on the sleeping lion.

  “What did you like best, sir?” Noah surprised himself and the others by asking.

  Mr. Leonard looked full at him, narrowing his eyes. Noah swallowed hard.

  “Portland’s exhibition, of course,” he declared as if that should be obvious.

  He then went into another recounting of each item on exhibit and those who helped him put it together. Noah could almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the ladies as the master of the den relaxed and spoke of the topic he enjoyed best.

  The atmosphere around the table lightened considerably, and the dessert of lemon meringue pie was a pleasure.

  “I thought we could sit outside on the porch and discuss the interviews,” Christiana said to Noah.

  “Interviews?” her father suddenly barked. “What interviews? It’s too hot outside.”

  “That sounds like a splendid idea, dear,” her mother said. “I’ll bring lemonade.”

  “What blasted interviews?”

  “Noah plans to interview a few of our clients for a piece he’s writing in his newspaper,” Mrs. Leonard said in the same mild tone.

  The look in Mr. Leonard’s eyes impaled Noah, like a moth pinned to a board. He could almost hear his mind issuing the angry words: That is why you have an interest in my daughter—to use her for your paper?

  “Actually, it was my idea. I thought it would be splendid for Noah to get the midwife perspective from our angle.” Christiana quickly rose from the table and looked at Noah. “Shall we go outside?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the parlor!”

  Noah couldn’t imagine trying to concentrate on what Christiana said to him with a threatening pair of topaz eyes focused on him the entire time.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the porch either, dear.”

  Mr. Leonard brooded. Noah stood to his feet and thanked Christiana’s mother for the meal, uncertain if the matter was settled but not wishing to wait around to ask.

  He followed Christiana to the porch and took a seat next to her on the glider, leaving a socially acceptable amount of space between them. Movement caught his attention. He looked toward the house.

  Christiana’s father stood at the window and stared from between parted curtains. The lemon curdled in his stomach, and Noah curbed the insane urge to let out a miserable laugh.

  Christiana also turned to look. “Pa-pa …,” she enunciated in a softly pleading fashion.

  He didn’t move away, but a pale, slender hand appeared at his sleeve. He turned his head to answer then moved aside, and the drape fell back in place.

  Christiana sighed. “He’s really a very nice person. Everyone at the university loves him, both his students and the other professors.”

  “Ah.” Noah smiled politely, unable to say much else.

  “Yes, well, Mother and I will be visiting Jillian on Tuesday. Does that work for you?”

  “I don’t expect you to arrange your appointments around me,” he teased lightly. “I’ll make it work.”

  “I’m still waiting to hear back from Mrs. Radcliffe. There’s also another lady I’d like to ask—she gave birth a little over two months ago. I think she also would be amenable to the idea.”

  “What about you? Are you amenable to it?”

  “Pardon?” His enigmatic smile made her heart turn over.

  “To an interview.”

  “You want to interview me?” she squeaked nervously.

  “Of course, since the article will be based around your work. Any objection?”

  “No, I just didn’t think you’d want to …” Flustered, she let her words trail off as she watched him pull a pad and pencil from his pocket. “What—now?”

  He chuckled softly. “Can you think of a better time? A reporter’s always working, Christiana. The news stops for no man.”

  “No, of course not …” She just didn’t realize she would be the news.

  “Relax.” His voice was soothing. “If we were getting to know each other, we would ask questions, right? It’s the same sort of idea.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?” She offered an uncertain smile.

  “Well … yes.”

  “All right then.” Her smile grew more confident. “How do we do this?”

  “I’ll ask a question and you answer. Like … how long have you done this sort of thing?”

  “Midwifery?” At his nod, she continued: “I started assisting Mother when I was fifteen, almost three years ago. My first actual delivery, I told you, was Lanie’s. Mother said that she long knew I was ready for the next step. I just had to know and exert the courage to try—oh, but don’t write that! That’s just a minor confession for the getting-to-know-you part of this.”

  He grinned, crossing out what he’d last written. “And your mother? How long has she been involved?”

  “Since before I was born, I imagine. I don’t remember her not being a midwife.”

  His brows arched. “How does your father feel about your mother engaged in a job that could interfere with her duties at home?”

  Christiana resolved not to take offense at the question; he was conducting an interview, after all. She wondered if he should ask Pap
a then immediately thought better of it. “He has no problem with what Mama does. There are no true duties that she’s taken away from. We have a maid and cook, though she’s on a vacation of sorts, visiting her sister who’s ill. While she’s gone, Mama is tending to meals and keeping house.”

  “Hmm.” He jotted something down.

  Christiana wasn’t sure she liked the sound of his hmm.

  She straightened her spine. “As long as the home is well kept and the husbands and children don’t starve, I see no reason that women, no matter their social status, cannot be allowed to work outside the home. Do you?”

  He looked up from writing to smile. “I’m not the one being interviewed.”

  She let out an irritated breath then chided herself. She already knew his answer; it matched what most men thought. She couldn’t fault him for a gender-shared attitude.

  “What interested you in the occupation?”

  “Oh, it’s much more than an ‘occupation.’ It’s my godly calling. My grandmother, who took the Oregon Trail, and her mother before her, and even before that, into several generations, all were midwives. My mother gave me their journal filled with advice to those who followed after them, along with their bits of inspiration. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes, but later. Why do you consider it your calling?”

  She struggled with how to explain. “It’s nested inside my heart. Every mother is special to me and every child born. Helping to bring life into the world is an exhilarating experience—sometimes frightening. But each time I look at a newborn’s face, I wonder how anyone can question the existence of God. Midwifery keeps me humble, and yet at the same time confident that God watches out for His own.” She made a mental note to jot that down in the journal also, for her own wisdom to share.

  He nodded slowly. “I can understand that, having just been through the experience—and never wanting to go through it again.”

  “It’s a good thing you weren’t called to be a midwife, then,” she teased.

  “Or a doctor.”

  He posed other questions, his responses polite, when asked, but also letting her know he didn’t agree, and in her frustration she spoke without thinking: “Since you’re clearly not in favor of women working outside the home, I suppose you’re also opposed to women gaining the vote?”