The Last Midwife: A Novel

by Sandra Dallas

  Now, Gracy leaned against Daniel, felt his strong back warm through his shirt, felt her heart beat harder, and she wondered if that was love. She put her arm around him to steady herself, and Daniel placed his hand on top of hers. They rode along in the warm air, along a trail that was dappled with sunlight, not talking until they reached Nabby’s cabin. Daniel jumped down off the mule and turned to help Gracy, but she had dismounted on her own. She should have waited for him to help her, she thought, but there was no need for a man to do for her when she could do for herself. She didn’t know the ways of a young girl; she had been born old.

  She thanked Daniel, then thought to ask if he would like a drink of water. When he nodded, she went to the water barrel and brought back the dipper. Daniel drank his fill, then handed the dipper to Gracy, who finished it.

  “There’s side meat, and I could make pancakes. I wager you haven’t eaten since Lucy took to her bed.”

  Daniel grinned. “I’d like that.”

  Hiding her own smile, Gracy turned, but Daniel took her arm. “There’s something else I’ve a mind to ask you,” he said.

  “Ask it.”

  “You know how to read and write?”

  Gracy nodded.

  “Teach me.”

  “You need learning, then?”

  “I do. I have a fierce desire to know.”

  Slowly, Gracy nodded. So that was what he was after, not Gracy herself, not courtship, but reading and writing. She felt a flutter of disappointment, but she would not deny him. She herself had been so anxious for knowledge that she couldn’t refuse someone else with the same desire. Only later did it occur to her that Daniel could have found a teacher on his side of the hills.

  * * *

  They married in the spring.

  When Daniel asked, Gracy told him she wouldn’t leave Nabby. The old woman had a lump in her breast the size of a walnut and was almost too frail to get out of bed.

  “I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll wait if you’ll promise to leave when it’s over. I’m not of a mind to stay here.”

  “I have my work. I wouldn’t want to give it up,” she said, thinking no man would put up with the conditions she demanded.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s how I met you.”

  When Gracy told Nabby, the old woman said, “You go on. You can’t save me. Don’t wait for me to die.”

  Gracy refused.

  “You don’t think I’m making a mistake, do you, marrying him?” she asked Nabby once.

  Nabby studied the young woman she had raised from a baby, looked at the thin face she loved and saw that it had softened, saw the way Gracy’s eyes shone and she held her head high. Maybe she thought to warn her that Daniel would break her heart. She could have said such love would have its sorrows, that with love, Gracy would take on unhappiness, an unhappiness so great it would bow her down. But maybe it was Gracy’s only chance at love. Nabby didn’t want Gracy to be alone, her womb barren, not fulfilled like the wombs of the mothers she tended. Nabby herself had never had a man, but she had had Gracy, and that had been enough, more than enough. “No, I don’t think he’s a mistake,” Nabby said. Then she warned, “But guard yourself well. When the time comes, and it will, remember that the sin is his.”

  Gracy did not understand, and so she did not heed the words then.

  They stayed in Arkansas nearly a year, living in the cabin with Nabby until she died, within the week leaving for Kentucky—and later Illinois and Iowa. Then came word of gold discovered in California, and Daniel said that was where they would make their fortune.

  Gracy did not put up a fuss. She loved the Midwestern farm where they lived then and the women she tended. She had hoped Daniel would settle there for good. The Bible said a woman’s duty was to follow her husband, however, and besides, a part of her knew it was best to move on. They would start fresh, for by then, Gracy knew the sorrow Nabby had warned her about, the trouble the old woman, Jesse’s mother, had prophesied, knew it even better than either of those women had warned.

  Eight

  It was Daniel who found her not long after sunrise.

  The horse and buggy had returned to the stable without Gracy, Daniel told her later, wheel spokes broken out, reins dragging in the dirt. Earl, the stable boy, not taking the time to unhitch the horse, had rushed to the Brookens’ cabin and pounded on the door.

  “I was asleep,” Daniel explained to Gracy, then looked away when he added, “I’d gone on a high lonesome.”

  Gracy knew that was unusual for him. Long ago when the promises had been made, one was that he wouldn’t drink anymore. He’d backslid on that one. Not often. But sometimes the occasion called for it. Like that day. Gracy forgave him, because she knew you couldn’t expect a man to hear that his wife was being charged with murder and not want to ease the pain.

  “Earl came for me,” he explained. “I’d thought someone was knocking for you, but it was Earl there to tell me the horse had come back with the buggy and there was no sign of you. I told him to saddle a horse for me.” Gracy imagined Daniel riding to her, riding fast. Even at his age, Daniel was a fine horseman, and folks would have stopped to watch as he sped past.

  When Daniel found her, Gracy was lying in a ditch, unconscious, and she did not come to her senses until she heard a dog bark and then hurried footsteps. She curled into herself, thinking someone had come to hurt her. And then she heard Daniel’s voice.

  “Gracy!” he whispered. His voice was low and full of anguish. “Gracy! Are you all right? It’s me. It’s your Danny.” He dropped down beside his wife, who lay facedown in the dirt, her cloak covering her like angel wings. “Gracy,” he said once more. He knelt on one knee and gently turned her over, while she moaned a little. “Well, God!” he said when he heard her. “You’re alive. Are you hurt bad?” he asked.

  Not quite conscious, Gracy did not reply right away. She heard her husband’s voice through a fog, felt him brush her hair from her face, knew he wiped away the dirt. He touched the lump on her head caused by the fall. Daniel felt her arms and then her legs, and Gracy moaned because one leg was twisted under her. She stirred a little and lifted her hand. “It hurts,” she muttered.

  “Be still,” he told her. “John Miller’s behind me, and Little Dickie. I told Earl to fetch them. They’ll be here in a minute.”

  “The buggy…” Gracy muttered. “It tipped. Is Buddy…?”

  “Buddy made it to the stable. He’s all right.” Daniel reached for Gracy and held her, and despite the pain his embrace caused, she was glad.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “There’s a log in the road. It must have fallen off a wagon. I expect the buggy hit it.”

  “She all right?” a voice asked.

  Gracy felt Daniel whirl around.

  “Didn’t hear you, John. I can’t tell. She’s had a bad fall, hurt her head, and her leg’s twisted. I best get her home. Will you go back and bring a wagon?”

  “No need. Earl says Little Dickie’ll be on his way in one. I said to tell that doctor it was a matter of life and death and to hurry up or he’d have the town to face. He’ll be along directly.”

  “’Bliged.”

  “She conscious?”

  Daniel nodded. “Gracy, John Miller’s here,” he said in a loud voice, as though Gracy had lost her hearing. “I believe she’s in some pain,” he told John.

  “Nothing me and you can do for her, I guess, till Little Dickie gets here. He’s three removes from an idiot, but he’s the only doctor we got.” He paused, then said, “Dan, we ought to move that log before somebody else gets hurt.”

  “I’ll be right here,” Daniel whispered as he made a pillow for Gracy with his coat, then covered her with her cloak. “You watch over her,” he told Sandy.

  Gracy heard the two men grunt as they rolled the log to the side of the road. Then John said, “I wonder how that log got there. It’s big enough for a mine timber. Must have fallen off a wagon, maybe going up to
the Princess of India mill.” He stopped, frowning. “But that don’t make sense. The Princess is off Shirt Tail Canyon. You don’t take the Mayflower Gulch trail to it. Nobody comes this way, just a few people that live on this side of the gulch. I bet not more than five or twelve use this trail in a day.”

  Gracy was fully conscious now, and she listened to the two men talk.

  “That ain’t no log. It’s a tree,” Daniel said. “Lookit there. Somebody’s felled it a-purpose to lay across the road. You can see the stump over there and the hatchet marks on it. Whoever did this hacked off the branches so’s you’d not notice it in the dark.”

  “Who’d do that?” John asked. The two men stared at each other for a time, and the sheriff answered his own question. “Maybe somebody who wanted to hurt a person coming down the road in the dark.” Then he asked, “Do you think someone was after Gracy?”

  “Why would anybody want to hurt her?”

  “Maybe a man that thinks she killed a baby.” John had lowered his voice, but he still spoke loud enough for Gracy to hear. She wondered if the two men knew she was listening.

  “She never,” Daniel said.

  “You believe that, and so do I, but there’s others…” He glanced down the road, hearing the sound of horses. “That’ll be Little Dickie.”

  But it was not. Two men loomed up in the gloom of the trees, riding fast. When they saw Daniel and the sheriff, they stopped. Daniel faced them, his hands clenched. “What are you doing here?” he growled.

  One of the men held up a hand and said, “Whoa, now, Brookens. Earl at the stable said the Sagehen’s missing. We come to help,” he said.

  “There’s others that’ll search,” the second man said. “We’d feel awful bad if something happened to the Sagehen.”

  Gracy tried to sit up so that the men could see she wasn’t dead and raised her hand in a gesture of thanks.

  “Mrs. Brookens is all right. She’s here, just where we found her,” the sheriff said, nodding his head at Gracy. “The dog’s watched over her whilst we moved the log. It was in the middle of the road. Her buggy must have run into it and tipped. You know anything about that?”

  The two riders glanced at each other. “Of course not,” one said. “Probably a freighter dropped it.”

  “There isn’t any reason for a freighter to be along here. Most likely somebody cut it down and not long ago, maybe just an hour or two,” the sheriff said.

  “Why’d he leave it like that?” the second man asked.

  The question hung in the air, and none of the men answered it. They stared at each other until they heard a wagon and turned to see Little Dickie. Gracy turned to him, too.

  “’Bout time you got here,” John said.

  Little Dickie ignored him as he climbed down from the wagon. “You found her?” he asked Daniel.

  Daniel led him to where Gracy lay and knelt beside her.

  “Move out of the way, then. I’ll see to her,” Little Dickie said in a voice that sounded almost arrogant.

  Daniel held up his hand, stopping the doctor. “You be gentle. You hurt her, you answer to me.”

  “And me,” John added.

  “I’m a doctor. I don’t hurt people,” Little Dickie said. He reached into the wagon for his medical bag, then squatted down beside Gracy. “Mrs. Brookens,” he said. His voice was high-pitched, and he lowered it. “Gracy. It’s Dr. Erickson. Can you hear me?”

  Gracy had slumped down and didn’t answer, and John asked, “Is she gone up?”

  “No,” Little Dickie replied. “I shall use all of my medical skills, and they are considerable. She will be all right.”

  “God, hell! I hope you’re more than book smart,” Daniel thundered.

  Little Dickie sniffed, then examined Gracy, touching the bruise on her head, feeling her limbs, stopping to examine her twisted leg. “Might be broke. Get her in the wagon,” he said, and Gracy thought he sounded hopeful. Daniel and John lifted Gracy and carried her to the vehicle. Daniel climbed in and took the reins. “I’ll drive. You tend her,” he told the doctor.

  “You know where my place is?” he asked.

  “We’re not going to your place. I’m taking her home,” Daniel told him. “She won’t want to wake up anywhere but her own bed.”

  “But—”

  “Do like he says,” John said quietly. “You don’t want to rile him.”

  Daniel drove slowly to keep from jarring Gracy, but he couldn’t miss all the holes and rocks in the road, and Gracy moaned from time to time as the buggy hit obstacles. John followed, leading Daniel’s horse, the two men riding behind him. They passed other riders who had come to help, who called, “Earl says the Sagehen’s hurt. Is she all right?” Daniel didn’t answer them, but John said they were taking her home.

  “We’ll pray for her,” one man said.

  “Already done that,” Daniel muttered.

  Gracy, lying in the bed of the wagon, her cloak covering her, caught the words, and her eyes watered. Daniel was not a praying man. Then she heard her husband mutter, “If it please you, God, sir…”

  “What’s that?” Little Dickie asked.

  “Mind your business,” Daniel said.

  In town, people stood along the road, a few with bowed heads, others staring. One man muttered, “She’s tried to run away, has she?”

  “Shut your mouth,” a woman told him.

  He shrugged. “That’s what you do when you’re guilty.”

  “Who says she is?”

  When the procession reached the Brookens cabin, Daniel and John lifted Gracy out of the wagon and carried her into the house, laying her on the bed.

  “I’ll fetch you a basin of hot water,” Daniel told the young doctor. He knelt beside the fireplace, added kindling, and started a blaze.

  “I’ll get her out of her clothes,” Little Dickie said, and Daniel said no. Nobody but he would undress his wife.

  “I can do it,” Gracy whispered.

  “I’ll wait outside,” John said. It was clear that the sheriff did not want to remain in the room while Gracy was being examined.

  “You go, too,” Little Dickie told Daniel.

  “I’m staying.”

  “You’ll just be in the way. I’ll wager your wife doesn’t want men around when she’s delivering a baby.”

  “Come along. We need to talk about that tree,” John said.

  Daniel was stubborn. “You go. I’m staying.” He stood beside the bed and unbuttoned Gracy’s dress. She could have done it more easily herself, but she wouldn’t stop Daniel from helping her. Then he held the garment, still warm from Gracy’s body, smoothing it with his hand, as if the dress were Gracy herself. She was a little ashamed then of the dress, faded from too many washings, and worn. The material was so thin in places that Daniel could have poked his finger through it. The collar had been white, but it was gray with age and had been mended, and more than once. Daniel had forgotten her bonnet, so Gracy reached up and removed it. The bonnet was old, too, worn and faded from the sun. She had trimmed it last year—or was it the year before?—but the new ribbons were wrinkled and the color washed out.

  The doctor began to examine Gracy, and Daniel went to the other end of the room, as if embarrassed. After a time, John came back into the cabin. “I’m real sorry,” John said. “I hope she’s all right. I can’t think what we’d do without her. Gracy’s the only woman I admire as much as I did Elizabeth.”

  “She’s the best woman…” Daniel couldn’t finish, and Gracy, lying on the bed, reached out her hand. But Daniel had turned away.

  “I’ll go back to that tree, check the axe marks now that the sun’s out, see what I can find out,” John said. The doctor had gone to his wagon for something, and the two men raised their voices a little, and Gracy could hear them clearly.

  “Everybody in Swandyke’s got an axe. You can’t tell one axe mark from another.”

  “You’re right about that. But maybe there’s something else I can find. Might be he
dropped something—a button, a cigar.”

  “You think this was done a-purpose to hurt Gracy? You thinking somebody wanted to kill her, then.” Daniel lowered his voice but not enough.

  “I do.”

  “Who? There’s nobody would do such a thing.”

  “One man.”

  Daniel looked at the sheriff.

  “Jonas Halleck.”

  Daniel shook his head back and forth as he considered the name. “You think he really believes Gracy killed that baby?”

  “Of course he don’t believe it. I bet he done it himself. I can’t prove it, though.”

  Daniel turned away for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. “If it was Halleck felled that tree, he should have made sure it killed her, because Gracy doesn’t scare.”

  “No, I don’t,” she muttered.

  “You know that, Dan, and Gracy there knows it, and I know that. Jonas Halleck don’t.” He paused. “My guess is he didn’t put that tree there. Most likely, he was in the mine office with somebody to vouch for him. He sent a man to do it.”

  “But you can’t prove that, either,” Gracy muttered.

  “No, I can’t. But I’ll try.” The doctor returned to the room, and the sheriff was quiet. After a moment, he went out, leaving the door open. Daniel sat down in his chair and stared at the bed until there was a soft knock on the doorjamb.

  “Somebody’s been at your tin can pile, Mr. Brookens,” a voice observed.

  Gracy raised her head off the bed. There had been too much activity in that can pile. It was just outside the window, and Jonas Halleck must have sent someone to snoop. She recognized the woman and smiled. “Hello, Mittie,” she called. The woman was Mittie McCauley from her quilt group.