“What about your sister Sarah? She’ll be at the birthing, won’t she?” Knowing another experienced midwife would be present would certainly be reassuring.
Maggie sank down into the rocking chair. “I’m afraid you cannot depend on my sister these days. Her behavior is…sometimes when we’re talking, she gets a blank look on her face, as if she sees right through me. And what alarms me even more is her inability to hold a conversation. It seems her ordeal is always with her.”
“The poor thing.”
“Bethan, I cannot depend on my sister to see me through in my time of need.”
“Maggie, I promise I will attend to you as if you were my own sister.”
“You were a quick study at your sister’s birth, and I know you will learn much still.” She hefted herself out of the divan with an unladylike grunt. “Besides, the Holy Nun tells me to have faith in you, Bethan.”
Before she could respond to Maggie’s strange comment, Elunid giggled.
“Ian has a way with her.”
“He has an affinity with people who suffer from afflictions of the mind.”
They fell silent for a moment as Maggie gazed at her husband.
Maggie waddled over to the bookcase and pulled out a thick, battered book. She caressed the cover, handed it to Bethan with the reverence a priest would give his bible.
“It’s heavy.”
“Read the midwife manual whenever you get a spare moment. You’ll learn much.”
Just then, the door opened, and Ruthie, Maggie’s niece, entered. “Aunt Maggie, Uncle Ian!”
“My beauty,” Ian crowed. “So happy to see you.”
Sarah’s daughter skipped into the parlor and straight into Maggie’s arms. She had inherited her father, Samuel’s black hair and had the long gangly legs of a yearling.
“Auntie, you’re very big.”
She held her little hands over the midwife’s belly with a professional air, bringing a smile to Maggie’s face.
“How are you, my sweet? I’ve missed you. You must come over more.”
Ruthie’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve been helping Mother.”
Maggie grasped her little hand. “How does she fare?”
A shadow passed over her face, making her look older than her years. “Not well. Not ill in her body but will not stir from her chair, staring at… I know not what.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Father sent me to see if Uncle Ian had a—what did he call it?—stimulant?”
“Where’s Gracie?”
“Sister’s playing at Joanie’s. She likes to be around her children.”
Maggie nodded. “Don’t worry, Ruthie. Your mother is going to be fine.”
Ruthie bit her bottom lip. Poor child. She’d had to grow up quickly, after the trauma her mother had suffered two years ago. And no wonder Sarah was altered; how could anyone survive being buried alive without ill effects?
“Ruthie, go speak with Uncle Ian. He has some Turkish delight for you.”
“Ooh!” And suddenly she transformed into a little girl again.
Bethan eyed Maggie’s belly. How could something so immense come out of a woman’s body? And she was responsible for her and the child’s safety. Uneasiness crawled up her spine.
As if she sensed her doubt, Maggie said, “You have your sister to care for. Can you shoulder all the responsibility?”
She nodded.
“Mind you, I’ll attend the births if I am able.”
Ian’s voice carried into the parlor. “Not if I have my say. She should go to bed with the chickens every night.”
“I agree.”
Maggie folded her arms and gave Bethan the gimlet eye. “Whose side are you on?”
Bethan grinned. “I’m on the side of the babe who needs a rested mother. We should be on our way.”
“Goodbye,” Ruthie called. “Father said I must come right back.”
Maggie shook her head after they said their goodbyes. “Poor girl. Sit and have some tea. Rest while you can, for it’s going to be a busy summer.”
“It’s you who should be resting.” Bethan herded Maggie to the divan and put a stool under her feet. Was it normal for a woman’s ankles and feet to swell?
She prepared tea and called Ian and Elunid in. Ian made his way slowly with the aid of a cane and plopped down in the chair, shaking from the effort and cursing under his breath.
Elunid leaned over Ian and gestured with her long arms while Ian dodged them in an exaggerated manner. “You see, the color of the cross is significant, and must be perfect.”
Bethan sighed. “Elunid, have you tried a tea cake? They’re delicious. Almonds.”
One eyebrow rose. “Oh. Well then.” She sat down, and Bethan handed her a cake, which she promptly put in her mouth. “Yes indeed. White and delightsome.”
Maggie rested her teacup on her stomach, eyes intent on Elunid. Suddenly, the tea cup rattled, and her stomach rolled and bucked. “Ack!”
None of them could drag their eyes away, for it seemed as if the babe would burst right through her skin.
“Holy balls of shit!” Elunid gasped.
“Elunid!” She couldn’t take her twin anywhere.
“A little earthy, but well put.” Ian chuckled.
The door to the shoppe burst open.
“Hallo! Is anyone there?”
“Yes, Henry. We’re in the parlor.”
“Ian, we’ve a gift for you. But we have to get it through the door first.”
Chapter Four
Bethan rushed into the shoppe room. George held the door open while Henry pushed a wooden chair with wheels upon it through the door.
“All right then, George. Let’s see if we measured correctly.”
Henry eased the chair through the doorway. “Oh, Bethan. Good afternoon.”
His large, muscular hands caressed the handles of the strange chair. He could crush the wood if he wanted to. His eyes glowed like the polished wood.
George held his three-cornered hat to his chest and bowed. “Good afternoon, Mistress Bethan.”
The two wore identical wide grins, and her heart knocked against her chest.
Henry joined Bethan in the background, grinning as George showed off the contraption.
“You made this?”
Henry nodded, brows raised. “Are you surprised a lowly night laborer could make such a thing of beauty?”
How did he always manage to make her feel uncharitable? “No, not at all. I’ve just never seen such a thing. It’s a fine piece of furniture, actually.”
Henry’s grin lit his face, as if her praise meant something to him.
“We’ve been working on it since it seemed apparent Ian would not walk for a while, or ever.” He whispered the last two words.
“I helped polish it,” George said.
“You’re so skilled,” Bethan said. “Why do you work all night gathering shite?” It popped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
He filled the room with his broad shoulders, making her feel shielded with his steady strength. She swallowed. “I meant you could be a carpenter instead, couldn’t you?”
“Oh, I’m not a carpenter.”
She ran her hands along the side of it and felt his gaze upon them. “It’s quite intricate, which must involve a lot of planning and figuring.”
“You think I’ve not the intellect for it?” He grinned. His eyes had changed from a warm brown to hazel, with flecks of blue and green. The scent of sandalwood and cedar tempted her to draw nearer.
“You twist my words, sir!”
“I’m sorry, Mistress Bethan.”
“You don’t sound sorry, Da.”
“Don’t be impertinent, George. You asked a very logical question, milady. And it’s clear you can’t help your curiosity any more than George here can help liking trifles.”
“’Tis true.” George nodded, hair flopping in his eyes.
“I will answer your question, at least in part. When it comes to carpentry, I only know wha
t Josef taught me, God rest his soul.” He bowed his head, and in perfect imitation, George did the same.
She giggled, then blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Fortunately, Ian struggled in with the aid of a cane and Maggie’s assistance.
“Henry, my good fellow. What is that you have there?”
“Mr. Ian, look what Da and I made for you.” George gestured grandly toward the chair in the middle of the room.
Ian and Maggie approached the chair, running their hands over the smooth wood.
“It’s beautiful,” Ian exclaimed.
“Look at the detail.” Maggie pointed at the scrolled handles.
“Get in, Ian,” Henry said. “Let’s see how it fits.”
Henry and George helped him into it, and Ian rested his long fingers on the wheels, experimenting with the movement, rolling it back and forth.
“Oh, it’s grand! Henry, you are the finest friend a man could ever have. Thank you. I can never repay you.”
“No need,” Henry said gruffly. “And nothing you would not do for me, if I needed it.”
Bethan’s eyes filled with tears despite herself. The apothecary’s joy was contagious as he bent forward and wheeled himself about, and Bethan could not help laughing as he bumped into the wall, eliciting cries of alarm from Maggie.
“Mayhap you need a pillow at your back.”
“Don’t coddle me, woman. It’s very comfortable, as if it was custom made, which it was.” He waggled his brows. “Sit upon my lap, my lovely. I’ll give you a ride.”
Henry lurched forward. “Uh, I’m not sure the chair can accommodate…”
“Someone as enormous as me?”
The midwife could look threatening when provoked. But just then, her belly heaved and an apparent elbow or a foot poked out from the bottom of her ribcage. She groaned.
“Ho, my offspring doesn’t agree with your indignation.” He wheeled over to her and took her hand. “Remember, you are not fat, you are with child, and even if you were the size of a clipper ship, it would just mean there is more of you to love, Queen Sumptuous.”
Bethan glanced at Henry, who wore an odd look of amusement and—was it longing? While she could never hope for the possibility of someone who loved her with all their heart, why should he not hope for such a thing?
Where was Elunid? She must have slipped out during all the excitement. “Excuse me. I must go find my sister.”
In her haste she ran into Henry’s solid torso. He placed his hands upon her shoulders to steady her, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. So warm, his body radiating strength, but his fingers so gentle upon her, as if she were precious and rare.
“She’s sitting in the parlor,” he murmured, his breath brushing her cheeks like a kiss. Their lips were close enough they could have easily kissed. What did his lips feel like? She broke away.
In the parlor, Elunid sat with a piece of cloth, unravelling the embroidery.
“Ellie, no!” She snatched it from her hand. The material itself was of very fine silk and the artistry of the exotic bird magnificent.
“Don’t disturb me. I have found the brown I need for the cross in the tree branch upon which the bird sits. They are well pleased.”
“Is anything amiss?” Maggie rushed in, holding her stomach.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie. She’s fine, but your embroidery isn’t.”
Maggie shrugged. “Don’t worry, Bethan. It’s just a thing.”
Ian had brought the rare embroidered cloth back from his travels. When a man selects a gift for the woman he loves, it is a precious thing. Or so she’d heard. “I know it had sentimental value.” She handed it to Maggie.
Maggie put her hand on Bethan’s arm. “Don’t fret about it, Bethan.”
Elunid loomed over Bethan and poked her in the chest. “I told you I need thread, woman.”
“Enough, Sister.”
“Here, Elunid.” Maggie handed the cloth to her. “With my blessing. I’ll look forward to seeing what you’re making.”
“It’s not for your eyes,” Elunid mumbled.
Bethan took her sister by the arm. How nice for her to never have to be responsible for her own behavior. “Thank you, Maggie, and I’m so sorry.”
Maggie smiled. “We’ll speak soon, Bethan.”
Elunid headed for the door. Bethan had no time to give her regards to the men, who celebrated Ian’s new acquisition with a glass of sherry. As she opened the door, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she felt Henry’s gaze upon her.
As they walked, Bethan decided to make a foray into manners, however fruitless.
“Elunid, must you be so rude? It was bad enough, destroying Maggie’s cloth, but not to apologize or express gratitude for her generosity. Two words: sorry and thank you.” Had she not spent half her life apologizing for her?
Elunid fingered the linen and met Bethan’s gaze. “Do you not understand? Much is required of me, and my life is not my own.”
Bethan decided not to comment and followed her into the store. She must have a plan to have Elunid supervised when she delivered babies. Lena, who already had her hands full? Or Sabine, Lena’s adopted daughter? George had a soothing effect on her, but he was too young for such a responsibility.
As Elunid perused the thread supply for what seemed like hours, Bethan let her mind drift to the time before her sister’s illness. Even during their idyllic early childhood by the sea, their mother was often abed, but the two of them played on the beach with Davyd, the local gentry’s son.
She and Elunid created stories on the sand, and Bethan would sing to the sea, mouth wide open, the music carrying on the wind. Davyd was their captive audience.
Ellie always found ways of coloring the sand. She created intricate artwork and cried like a babe when the water carried it away.
Their hoyden lifestyle ended when their father went to sea and never returned, and they moved into the lighthouse.
After she paid for Elunid’s purchases, they followed the delicious aroma wafting from the Wilson’s bake shoppe.
Elunid sniffed. “Cinnamon buns.” She walked toward the shoppe.
“Excellent idea.”
Mrs. Wilson slathered icing on a tray of buns still warm from the oven. “Well, here I thought my eyes were giving me fits, to see the two of you, so alike.”
“It must be our mutual love for your wonderful baking.” Really, there was nothing better.
“Please, girls. Let me fetch you plates, and you can sit and chat with me awhile.” She glanced at her daughter Isadora and whispered behind her hand. “What with Mistress Woebegone there.”
Isadora stood behind the counter. Mayhap they could be friends, for there weren’t many women their age in town.
Isadora nodded curtly and began transferring loaves of bread into the display case.
“For heaven’s sake, girl,” Mrs. Wilson snapped. “Have you no manners? Greet your neighbors.”
Bethan laid a hand on Mrs. Wilson’s arm. “It’s fine. Sometimes I’m of the same mood.”
“No excuse for bad manners.”
Isadora sighed and approached them. “Good morning.” She lowered her eyes, which were a brilliant blue. Her neck and face were riddled with pockmarks, but she had a shapely figure and a graceful way about her when she wasn’t pouting.
“It’s lovely to see you, Isadora. You must come round the inn and have a cup of tea with Elunid and me.”
“I…” Isadora stared at Elunid, who gobbled the cinnamon roll as if she’d not eaten for days.
Mrs. Wilson crowed. “Now, there’s a girl with an appetite. I can’t abide a girl who won’t eat for vanity’s sake.” Her philosophy was reflected in her robust figure, and who could blame her? She handed Elunid another one.
Elunid licked the icing of the bun slowly. “White as a disciple.”
Mother and daughter turned their heads in her direction.
“Your cinnamon buns are her very favorite treat.” Bethan popped the last
bite into her mouth.
She turned to Isadora. “I imagine you’re missing your own sister. Have you heard from Bess?”
Isadora set her mouth in a thin line. “Her new husband is perfect. Her house is perfect. Her life is perfect, while I’m here toiling away.”
“Isadora.” Mrs. Wilson strode over and grabbed her by the chin. “There’s no one on God’s earth whose life is perfect, your sister included. No one likes a sulker, and it does nothing for your looks, to be sure.”
Bethan cringed in sympathy for the girl.
“Sorry, Mother.”
“Isadora,” Bethan touched her arm. “Would you like to walk back to the inn with us?” She glanced at Martha. “If you can spare her, of course.”
“No thank you.” She avoided Bethan’s eyes. “I have someplace I must go.” Without another word, she walked out the door.
Martha shook her head. “That girl. Where’s she off to, I wonder? She’s been nothing but trouble since her sister married in June. I don’t know what to do with her. She’s so rude, and then I say things I don’t mean.”
“Mothers and daughters, blotters,” Elunid intoned.
As nonsensical as the comment was, Bethan had to agree. God knows they’d had their share of acrimony with their own mother. “Have I offended Isadora in some way?”
“No, no. I fear we have spoiled her since her bout with smallpox. She was so close to death, and we let her behave as she pleased for too long. It’s my fault.”
“Mrs. Wilson, don’t be too harsh with yourself. I would have been lucky to have such a mother as you.”
“You’re very kind, dear.” Mrs. Wilson wiped the corners of her eyes with her apron.
“May I buy some cinnamon buns to take to Lena?”
“Of course. I’ll slip an extra one in for your sister.”
Elunid gazed out of the window, her lips moving soundlessly.
“Oh dear! I have some puddings in the oven, and no one here to help me get them out.”
“I can give you a hand. Elunid, stay put.”
When they returned from the kitchen, Elunid had disappeared.
“I’m sorry, lass.”
“It’s so like her to take off. I’m sure she’s not far.”
Echoes of the Moon Page 3