The Last Midwife: A Novel

by Sandra Dallas

  Marianna Martin yanked her needle from the quilt and picked up her scissors and hurried after Edna, and Gracy knew she had lost Marianna. Another woman followed. So did Pearlie Evans.

  Josie stood in the doorway, transfixed, her eyes on Gracy. Then suddenly she came to her senses. “Our baby’s killed,” she said, and bolted.

  Eleven

  The courtroom was packed for the hearing, not just with men but with women, too. Women rarely came to court—they never sat on juries, of course, and only on occasion did they attend trials or hearings. It wasn’t seemly, even in a small mountain town that often ignored convention, for women to gather in a foul courtroom. So that morning they sat primly, uncomfortably, straight backed with their hands clutched together, while men sprawled in wooden chairs and on benches and even took over the rocking chairs in the jury box, since this was only a hearing and not a trial. The trial would come later, after a judge determined whether there was reason to formally charge Gracy. Every so often a man stood to offer a woman his seat, because while conventions could be done away with, manners might not.

  A burly miner, with a beard nearly to his waist, gave up his seat to Mittie McCauley, who nodded her thanks and perched on the edge of the chair. The seat was in the front row, and the miner walked heavily to the back of the room, where he leaned against the wall. Although a spittoon stood nearby, he spat tobacco juice on the floor, splattering it on his white beard as he did so. The beard was already stained with the brown stuff.

  The room was stifling, even with the windows open, and smelled of cigar smoke and chewing tobacco—and sweat, for the bathhouse charged twenty-five cents, and who needed a bath just to attend a hearing? Here and there a woman held a handkerchief against her nose, but most were used to the smells and didn’t notice them. Nor did they pay attention to the noises of men spitting, jawing, joking. The courtroom was a commotion until a clerk seated at a desk in front pounded a mallet on a piece of wood with the power of a stamp crushing ore in a mill, startling the audience into silence. In a few seconds a judge in a black robe emerged from a door, and the clerk ordered everyone to stand up.

  Those in the courtroom glanced at the judge briefly but saved their stares for Gracy as she followed the judge into the room, drawing a few glares as well as smiles. The injuries from her carriage fall were not yet healed. Her face was bruised, and she still limped a little as she clutched the heavy walking stick Daniel had made for her.

  Gracy was startled to see so many people. She faltered and grabbed the arm of the man beside her to steady herself. He was her attorney. Until John Miller insisted on it, she had not thought to hire such a man. She had never been in a courtroom before and knew nothing about trials. At first, she’d thought she would merely tell what had happened in the Halleck cabin and that people would believe her. They would decide whether her version was more credible than Jonas Halleck’s.

  John had disabused her of that idea not long after he’d offered to help her escape, however. “You need a solicitor. You need him bad, Gracy. The prosecutor is a rough fellow who will dig up every bit of trash he can find about you, whether it’s true or not. He will call you a murderess, and so will men like Coy Chaney and Little Dickie Erickson. And you know how powerful Jonas Halleck is in Swandyke. Folks may not like him, but they respect him.”

  Gracy thought that over—after all, John was more knowledgeable about such things than she—and finally nodded. “I could hire old Andy Hawkins. He’s as good as we’ve got on the Tenmile Range.” Hawkins handled mining claims and property disputes, and he’d arranged a divorce for a woman whose husband had run off with her silver spoons.

  “He’s old and dotty,” John replied.

  Gracy shrugged. “He’s also all there is.”

  “You need a good lawyer, someone from Denver.”

  Gracy shook her head. “That’ll cost. Where’ll we get the money to pay for a Denver lawyer? Andy will have to do.”

  John had taken her arm then and turned her to face him. “Maybe you don’t really understand, Gracy. You could be charged with anything from manslaughter to murder, first-degree murder if that prosecutor has anything to say about it. He’ll play Ned with the truth. You could go to jail. You might even hang.”

  He let the words themselves hang there. He’d said them to her before, but this time she listened.

  “You get a decent barrister and let me worry about paying him,” John told her.

  “Blamed if I’d let you do that.”

  “I owe you a debt. You were Elizabeth’s friend.”

  “You owe me nothing. Elizabeth died. I can’t ever forget that. She died because I couldn’t save her, and so did the baby.” Elizabeth’s death was among those that haunted Gracy most. She might have saved the woman if she’d been willing to kill the baby, but she hadn’t been, and so both of them had died.

  “You did everything you could for her. Besides, when things were down for me, you stuck. You and Dan stuck.”

  “You did the same for me.”

  Neither of them wanted to think of those times, and they broke their gaze.

  “She’ll tell me to do it, Elizabeth will. She’s a fondness for you even after all this time, Gracy.”

  “Has she talked to you about it yet?” Gracy could hardly believe she was having this conversation about a … a ghost.

  John shook his head, and Gracy was about to say that if Elizabeth “visited” him again, he should tell her Gracy paid her own way. Still, Gracy understood that John would be hurt she if didn’t accept his aid, even though it smacked of charity. Giving help could be harder than receiving it. So she nodded her thanks. “A loan,” she insisted. “I’ll repay.”

  “I know of a good man in Denver. He’s young, but I’ve seen him at work. He’s been up here in the courtroom a time or three, and he knows mountain folks, knows they want respect, so he doesn’t talk down to them or use fancy words. I’ll arrange for him.” He added a final word of persuasion. “Jeff would want you to have the best defense.”

  Yes, he would, Gracy thought. She remembered a time when a drunken miner had stumbled on the street, knocking her down, and Jeff had defended her. He’d taken a swing at the man and done a pretty good job of it, too, although he was only ten years old.

  And so Gracy walked into the courtroom that morning on the arm of Ted Coombs, a man dressed in corduroy and rough wool who did not look much different from the miners in the room. He was clean shaven, but his hair was rumpled like that of the men around him. He had told her to hold her head high and smile the smile of the innocent.

  The smile faded as Gracy saw the crowd. She knew she was a curiosity, but she hadn’t expected the courtroom to be jammed. Many in the audience were familiar—men who had come to fetch her in the night when their wives were in labor, here and there a woman whose baby she had delivered, a few girls who had approached her in time of trouble. There were people she knew in town, women from the church, men who had prospected with Daniel. But others were strangers, and Gracy wondered what business they had in the courtroom that day. Surely they had not come to see her. But in her heart, she knew better. The talk at the quilting had taught her that. Besides, she’d seen the looks people gave her as she walked past them, noticed the abrupt end to conversations when she entered the store, even the church. She was someone they knew who had been accused of murder, and a woman at that. Gracy Brookens was a novelty, an attraction, just like the freaks in a sideshow. The hearing must have cleaned out the saloons, because a woman likely to be charged with murder was a sight more interesting than even a drunken fight.

  She glanced at Mittie in the front row, a quilt square in her lap to still her hands, and smiled. Mittie grinned back and made a steeple with her hands as if to tell Gracy she was praying for her.

  Gracy’s eyes searched the rest of the room. Daniel wasn’t there, she realized, with a start. She frowned as she looked about. He should be there. The lawyer had said Daniel couldn’t walk with her into the courtroom, but
he should be in one of the seats—in the front row, for that matter. Folks would take stock by the way he looked at his wife. Now what would they think if her own husband wasn’t in the courtroom to see her through the hearing?

  She turned to whisper a question to Ted, to ask had he sent Daniel away? Perhaps Daniel had gone on a high lonesome, but that wouldn’t be like him. He’d sworn off drink years ago, although he’d backslid now and then, had done it the day Coy Chaney accused Gracy of murder. He’d gotten drunk at the Nugget then. Still, Daniel wouldn’t have taken a drink that morning. He wouldn’t let her down like that. Maybe he’d gotten into a fight. He still had fists as tough as chunks of ore. John could have taken him to jail. But John was right there in the front row, looking solemn, since it wouldn’t be proper for the sheriff to smile at her.

  As she walked to her seat, Gracy scanned the courtroom again, looking for her husband, and then the door opened, and she looked up to see Daniel enter the room, his hat in his hand, his face red as if he had been running. She smiled at him, and then the smile turned into a look of joy as she spotted the young man behind her husband. “Jeff!” she mouthed, and her son grinned back at her. “You found him. You called him to us, Daniel,” she whispered. She felt an overwhelming happiness at the sight of him. Gracy held out her hands as the two men walked toward her. “My son,” she told the lawyer, then squeezed her son’s hand so hard that he winced. She would have hugged him, but it wouldn’t have been proper, right there in the courtroom. Gracy wanted to know where he’d been, how he was, but just then, it was enough that he was there.

  Ted shook hands with both men. Then he stared at two miners seated in the front row, stared so hard that they got up and moved to the back of the courtroom, freeing up their chairs for Daniel and Jeff. Father and son sat down next to Mittie.

  Gracy wanted to ask how Jeff had known to come home, how Daniel had found him, but Ted led her to a table and told her to sit down. She eased herself into the chair and sat, back erect, staring at the judge, who had his own mallet and pounded it, silencing the murmurs that had begun when Gracy entered the room.

  The judge was not a local man. He was a circuit rider, going from camp to camp and holding court in courthouses or meeting halls or even in barrooms. He held court in Swandyke every four weeks or so. Gracy smiled at him, but he did not return the smile, and she felt foolish. She clasped her hands on the table and stared straight ahead.

  “Gentlemen—and ladies,” he added, clearing his throat. “We are here to consider charges against this woman.” He nodded at Gracy. “This is not a trial. It is a hearing to determine whether there is enough evidence for a trial. I brook no outbursts. I warn you to be quiet and observe proper decorum, or I’ll eject you from the courtroom.” Then he added for those who did not understand his words, “Quiet, or out you go. Understand?” There were nods and a few murmurs.

  “Mr. Doak, are you ready?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” A small man who was narrow between the eyes, which made him appear untrustworthy to Gracy, stood up. She had never seen him before, had not noticed him when she entered the room, but she realized he traveled with the judge and was the prosecutor. Ted had warned her that convicting a woman of murder would add to his stature, so he would be relentless.

  The man walked to the center of the room and looked over the audience, smiling at them. “Ladies and gentlemen—” he began, but the judge cut him off.

  “We’re not here for a trial, Mr. Doak. We are here to determine whether murder charges will be filed against this woman”—he glanced down at a paper in front of him—“Gracy Brookens. Is Gracy your baptismal name, Mrs. Brookens, or is it Grace?”

  Gracy glanced at her lawyer, who nodded at her to answer. “It’s Gracy, sir,” she said.

  Her voice was so low that the judge leaned forward and said, “Eh?”

  “Gracy,” she said in a louder voice. “Gracy Harriett Brookens.”

  Doak turned and smirked at her, as if there were something obscene about the name. He reminded Gracy of a weasel, and she wondered again how anyone could have confidence in what he said. But as if knowing what his client was thinking, Ted sought to disabuse her of the idea. “Don’t sell him short, Mrs. Brookens,” he muttered. “He’s tough as granite. I’ve seen him work. He doesn’t like to lose, and he doesn’t do so often.”

  Doak walked to the judge’s bench. “Your Honor,” he said, smiling in such a way that Gracy suspected they were old friends. “It is my solemn duty to ask for charges against this Mrs. Gracy Harriett Brookens of Swandyke, Colorado, for the heinous murder of a newborn baby just two weeks ago.”

  He paused and lifted his chin at the gasps in the courtroom. Although everyone there knew Gracy was likely to be charged with the murder of an infant, people were nonetheless shocked at hearing the words said out loud.

  “A murder so vile, so ungodly that I hate to speak of it in the presence of ladies,” he continued.

  “Then don’t,” the judge interjected. “This is a hearing for an indictment, Mr. Doak. You can save the rhetoric for the trial.”

  Ted jumped up. “Your Honor, I object to the assumption that there will be a trial. We are here for the purpose of deciding whether there is enough evidence for a trial, and I for one believe there is not.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do,” the judge said. “But you are quite right. Our job here is to determine whether to prefer charges. And Mr. Doak, you will watch your language.”

  “Of course,” the prosecutor said in a voice that sounded as if he were thanking the judge.

  “And Mr. Coombs, you are not a participant in this hearing, so I expect you not to interrupt. If your client is charged, you will have your say later. Today, only the prosecutor gets a turn.” He turned to the courtroom. “Let me make it clear again that the evidence Mr. Doak presents will determine whether we proceed with an indictment. If we do so, then Mrs. Brookens will have the opportunity to defend herself at trial.” He looked around to make sure everyone understood, then nodded at the prosecutor to continue.

  “Your Honor, it is the belief of the prosecution that Mrs. Brookens was called to examine the Halleck child and was so distraught at seeing the happiness it brought its father, a man she had reason to hate, that she strangled the poor little thing.”

  Again there were murmurs of horror.

  “This woman, this Gracy Brookens is a backwoods witch doctor who employs the crudest techniques in her practice as a midwife. There was a time when she was the only one in Swandyke who could deliver a baby. As you will see, the town now has a competent doctor. But Mr. Halleck, being a kind and compassionate man and knowing Mrs. Brookens is the sole support of a worthless husband—”

  At that, Daniel jumped up. “You got no call—” he began, but the judge pounded his gavel, and Jeff pushed his father back into the chair.

  Gracy was stunned and turned to Ted. “That’s not right. Daniel’s a decent man.”

  “We’ll have our turn,” Ted whispered back. “The more outrageous the things he says, the easier it will be for us to poke holes in his case.” Ted patted her hand, and they turned back to the prosecutor.

  “As I was saying, Mr. Halleck is as good a man as ever lived, and to his everlasting sorrow, this woman was called upon to examine his child. We will now present the evidence.”

  He read Coy Chaney’s name off a list, and the man who was mortician as well as coroner walked to a chair beside the judge’s bench and sat down.

  “Stand while we swear you in,” the judge ordered.

  Coy jumped up, embarrassed, while a few in the courtroom snickered. He swore to tell the truth and was told to sit back down.

  “Tell us how you first saw the baby in question, the Halleck baby.” The prosecutor nodded at Coy.

  Coy swallowed and seemed shy, perhaps because of the crowd in the courtroom. “It’s all wrote down in that report I made. Can’t you read?”

  Doak smiled, as if that were a good joke, and said,
“We’d like you to tell us out loud.”

  Coy took a deep breath and steadied himself. “I’m the undertaker. And the coroner, too. Jonas Halleck brought that baby to me to be buried. I could tell right off there was something wrong.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Well, the baby had been buried already, shoved in the cold ground in a dynamite box, not one of my good coffins that I sell cheap, if you’re in need of one.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t need one, thank you.” Doak thought over the words and looked confused. “You say the baby had been buried before?”

  Ted smiled at Gracy, because it was obvious the prosecutor hadn’t known about the first burial.

  “Yes, sir, he told me he planted the body right off, but his wife couldn’t abide it not having a proper burial, so he dug it up and brought it to me.”

  “Mr. Chaney,” the judge interrupted. “You can testify only to what you know personally, not what someone told you.”

  “Well, can’t I testify to what he personally told me?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “And will you describe the baby to us, Mr. Chaney?” Doak said.

  “Well, it was a boy. I could tell that right off by the little button on him.”

  A few men smirked at the remark. One even let out a laugh, and the judge tapped the gavel to silence him. “This is not a matter for humor.”

  “The baby’s neck,” Doak prompted. “Tell us about the baby’s neck.”

  “Oh, that.” Coy raised his head and looked around the courtroom, smiling a little as he saw that everybody was watching him. “There was a red mark going all around his neck, and I seen a bit of linen thread caught on it like what the Sagehen uses. I knew right there that baby had been strangled. Knew she done it, too—Gracy Brookens. Her always so high-and-mighty and not getting there in time to do what she’s supposed to. My daughter’d be alive if that woman’d come sooner. Didn’t have nothing to do with my stopping for a drink. I wasn’t never drunk that night.”