The Midwife's Choice (14 page)

Finally, Fern rose from her seat. Ivy laid her hand on her sister's arm. Fern shrugged her away, turned, and faced Mar
tha. “That girl's all alone. She's got no family here. She needs somebody to help her, somebody to talk some sense into her,” she argued as she held the rolling pin close to her side.

Martha swallowed the lump in her throat. No matter how well-intentioned Fern and Ivy meant to be, they were both overwrought and not thinking clearly. “We don't know all the facts yet. How can you be so sure about what happened? How can you be sure about what Russell will or won't do? How can you be so sure about what Nancy needs?”

Fern took her sister's hand. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Ivy leaped to her feet. “Please, Fern. You don't have to explain. You don't have to say another word.”

Fern pressed her lips together and they stopped quivering. She drew in a deep breath, then smiled. “It's time,” she whispered. “I'm tired of always running away. I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of living a lie.” She looked directly into Martha's eyes. “I know. I'm sure. I only survived the nightmare Nancy is living right now because I had someone who loved me enough to sacrifice her future happiness for me. When no one else would come forward. Ivy did. For me.”

M
artha froze in place. Beyond shocked, she could only stare at Fern as her mind tried to comprehend the unthinkable and juxtaposed images of Fern as a wife who had been mistreated and a God-fearing, good-natured spinster.

The opening and closing of the back door, followed by heavy footsteps, broke through the momentary hush that had settled in the kitchen.

Ivy stood and aimed her poker at the doorway. Fern raised her rolling pin and rested it in the palm of her other hand. Martha turned, her nerves aflutter. What on earth would happen if Russell Clifford appeared, asking for his wife?

Thomas strode into the room, took one look at the armed sisters, and rocked back on his heels. “Ladies? Any particular reason you're angry at me and armed for battle?”

“Thought you might be that scoundrel,” Ivy explained as she waved the poker through the air.

Fern ducked, barely in time. She patted the palm of her hand
with the body of the rolling pin. “Are you still set on staying the night?”

He nodded. “Now that I'm back, maybe you should store your weapons and think about getting some rest. It's been a long day for both of you.”

Martha had to give the man credit. Mocking either woman right now would have been a big mistake, but there was not an iota of condescension in his words.

Ivy turned and started to put the poker back on the stand near the hearth, hesitated, then returned to her sister's side. “We'll take them upstairs with us.”

Fern squared her jaw. “Just in case he tries to sneak in through a window.”

Thomas's eyes widened. “On the second floor?” he asked as he took a few steps forward.

Ivy huffed and raised the poker again.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“He might catch you dozing and slip past you,” she argued.

Fern nodded in agreement. “Or break through the shop and use the front stairs. He'd find that poor girl before you even—”

“That's not going to happen,” he countered. Wisely, he stayed put, but looked to Martha for help.

Martha found her voice, although her heart was still racing. “No. Thomas will stay awake and make sure nothing happens. I'll be up awhile yet, too,” she promised. “You've both had a difficult day. You should try to get some sleep. You have to be up early for tomorrow's baking, and it won't go well if you're not well rested.”

After many long, pounding heartbeats, Martha saw Ivy lower her poker. “Maybe she's right,” she said to her sister. “Martha won't let anything happen.”

Fern caught Martha's gaze and held it. A plea to keep her revelations about her past in confidence glistened in her eyes and tugged at Martha's heartstrings.

Martha nodded, ever so slightly.

Relief flooded Fern's gaze. A small smile tickled the corners of her lips.

“Perhaps you can check on Nancy and Victoria for me,” Martha suggested. “The dressings probably need to be changed soon. And you should take the tea upstairs, just in case Nancy wakes up.”

“I can do that,” Fern murmured. “I'll spell Victoria for a bit, too. The girl's too young to have to see all this. Come along, Ivy.”

When they left, side by side, they also carried their weapons with them, apparently much to Thomas's chagrin. Wisely, he did not challenge them, but as soon as their footsteps rained overhead, he turned on Martha. “What's gotten into those two? I know the whole affair has been unsettling, but . . . but they'd be no match for Clifford if he somehow managed to show up here.”

Thomas rubbed one of his temples. “Ivy's plumb dangerous with that poker. She's lucky she didn't put out somebody's eye the way she was waving that blasted thing around. Did you see how close she came to hitting Fern? Foolish women. I told them Sheriff Myer would keep watch on Clifford. I've never known them to be so . . . so unreasonable.”

Mindful of her obligations to keep the sisters' motivation secret as well as their fears that nothing would be done, in the end, to protect Nancy, Martha tried turning his attention to herself. “They're just upset, and they're alone without a male protector. They're not used to seeing anyone hurt so badly. It's my fault, actually. I knew it would be an imposition for me to stay here, but until now, it's never been more than calls in the middle of the night that disturbed them. If I'd just been here—”

“Well, you weren't. Just where were you?” he asked.

“With Samuel and Will.”

He sobered. “Dr. McMillan told me about Samuel's problem. What are you going to do with them now?”

She sighed, pointed to the two chairs by the fire, and took one of them for herself. He joined her there.

“What makes you think I'll be doing anything for either one of them?” she asked.

“Because I know you. Because once you've taken an interest in something or somebody, you never let go. You're like a beaver, constantly at work, either building something, patching holes, or looking for weaknesses. It's part of your charm. You took an interest in me some years ago. I suppose that's what gives me hope you'll weaken and accept my proposal. You will. Eventually.”

“A beaver? That's the best comparison you could come up with?” Highly insulted, she huffed. “I'd never marry a man who told me I reminded him of a beaver! Seems to me you're a bit too sure of yourself, Thomas. A beaver indeed!”

He grinned. “Your cheeks get all pink when you're flustered. Did you know that?”

She went to touch her cheek, then dropped her hand back to her lap. “Embarrassing a lady is ungallant. Given all the day's troubles, perhaps you'd better content yourself with telling me what happened and how you got involved. The last time we spoke, you said you were leaving at first light for Philadelphia.”

He stretched out his legs and leaned back in his chair. “Actually, I was on my way when I passed by the Fenway farm. Mrs. Fenway flagged me down. She told me she thought there might be some trouble at the Cliffords'.”

Martha nodded. “She was at home? Russell was supposed to fetch her to stay with Nancy.”

“To hear her side, Clifford sent her home at the end of the first day. He said his wife didn't need any more help.”

“I told him she'd need someone for a few weeks,” Martha argued.

“Mrs. Fenway tried. He wouldn't let her stay. Apparently, she'd seen enough to be concerned about that poor young woman, and he knew it.”

Martha smiled. “He just didn't know Millicent Fenway.”

“No, he didn't. She was concerned enough to insist I head right there to check things out and save her husband from heading to town for the sheriff. Seemed to be the right thing for me to do. Mrs. Fenway isn't a woman prone to hysterics without good reason.”

He paused to stare into the fire, and Martha did not rush him. Judging by the set of his jaw and the hardening of his gaze, he was remembering what must have been a difficult scene. “Once I got to the Clifford cabin, he wasn't too pleased to see me. I guess when I told him I was the mayor, he thought twice about slamming the door in my face. I didn't want to tell him about Mrs. Fenway's concerns, just in case she was wrong. I . . . I almost didn't get to see Nancy. I spent some time talking with Russell, encouraging him to join the congregation, especially after he told me about the son he'd just buried in the yard.”

He shook his head. “He was amiable enough. Spoke highly of you. Seemed worried about his wife. Till she started moaning and calling for him from the bedchamber. He tried really hard to get me to leave.”

Thomas turned to face Martha.

She smiled. “But you wouldn't leave.”

“No. When she wouldn't give up crying out for him, he had no other course but to go to her. When he opened the door and tried to slip inside, I got enough of a glimpse of her to know Mrs. Fenway had been right. There was big trouble at the Cliffords'. Unfortunately,” he added, “Nancy disagrees.”

Martha leaned toward him. She kept her fingers entwined and her hands on her lap to keep them from trembling. “How could she possibly explain the injuries she sustained?”

His expression grew troubled. “She kept babbling about how clumsy she was by nature and how weak she was from childbirth.” His hands balled into fists. “She claims she merely fell out of bed and landed flat on her face.”

Martha snorted. “That's hogwash! Women weak from childbirth don't fall out of their own beds! Even if they did, they'd be able to break their fall with their hands! As for Russell Clifford, the only help he could have given her came
after
he pummeled her with his fists.”

Chest heaving, she could barely pull a breath deep enough to fill her lungs. Images of Russell repeatedly striking his wife collided with images of some man brutalizing Fern. Martha's cheeks flamed. Her blood boiled, melting the reins on her temper as well as her self-control. She hissed. “That horrid monster. That . . . that brute!”

Thomas flinched. “Martha! I've . . . I've never heard you utter such judgmental, nasty words about anyone!”

She shook and offered heaven a quick prayer for forgiveness. Her cheeks felt like they had burst into flames, fueled by the fire of indignation still raging in her body. She bowed her head. “I'm sorry. Please forgive me.”

He took her hands and covered them with one of his own. “You're forgiven. I let loose more than a few judgments about the man myself today.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “My primary and only concern is for Nancy,” she said. “How did you manage getting her here, away from her husband?”

He gave her hands a squeeze before folding his arms over his chest and staring back at the fire. “It wasn't as hard as I expected it would be. I sent Russell's own words praising you right back at him, but I had to stretch the truth a bit, too. I told him you'd have my hide and his, too, if I didn't get his wife straight to town so you could tend to her.”

Given her current state of mind concerning Russell Clifford, Martha was not sure if Thomas had stretched the truth, but she chose not to think about it. “But didn't he just insist that I go there instead?”

Thomas cocked his head and looked at her sideways. “I can
be very persuasive. Oddly enough, Nancy fought harder against coming here than her husband did.”

She swallowed hard. “He must have insisted on taking her back home when I wasn't here.”

“It was precisely because you weren't here that I was able to get him to leave her and go home. I told him there was nothing he could do here to help and there was no sense wasting his time waiting for you. With Fern and Ivy huddled together fussing over Nancy, all he could do was get in the way.”

He glanced overhead. “Considering the armed guards I found waiting for me just now, the young man was probably wise to put some miles between himself and the Lynn sisters.”

“Indeed,” Martha said. “But I still don't understand how Sheriff Myer got involved.”

He took in a long drag of air. “After Russell left and his wife was being tended to, I rode over to Enoch's and told him my suspicions.” He chuckled. “That's when my language became spirited and . . . salty. He agreed to go see Russell Clifford right away and told me he was going to stop to see if Reverend Welsh would go, too. I came back here to wait for you. I doubt Russell will simply confess, in which case Myer wants a statement from you before he'll pursue the matter officially. That's assuming Nancy tells the truth and stops lying to protect her husband. If she doesn't, I'm afraid there's nothing more to be done. I'll stay put for a few days, but there's not much else I can do. Will you help?”

Martha stared down at her lap. As a midwife, she had only been summoned to a birthing on two occasions where one of her duties had been to get the unmarried woman to identify the father of her babe. If her family could not convince the man to marry her, the law would force him to support his own illegitimate child rather than letting moral, God-fearing taxpayers carry the burden.

Martha did not like taking advantage of a suffering woman.
She liked the prospect of a man abandoning his responsibilities even less, so on both occasions, she had done her duty.

Both women had married the fathers of their babes within days, sparing Martha the ordeal of testifying in court. She recalled Grandmother Poore telling her about testifying herself only once, but it was so long ago, Martha could not remember the people involved.

As a healer for women and children, Martha had never been asked to gather information and to be prepared to testify before now. She assumed her word would carry the same weight as in those cases, but it placed a heavier burden on her shoulders.

With childbirth, there was no question. There had to be a father. With illness or injuries, there could be any number of causes. In this case, it would be Martha's assessment of those injuries that would determine whether the law became involved, since no jury of men would likely take the word of a man's wife against him without corroboration of some kind.

The echo of Fern and Ivy's warning about the futility of getting men to take action against a brutalizing husband rang loud and clear, clanging against Thomas's words that suggested otherwise. Despite the sisters' vehement position, Martha had no doubt Thomas would keep his word.

Right now, however, everything depended on what Martha would do and say, as well as her ability to get Nancy to admit to the truth: Her husband had beaten her. If Martha gave any credence to Fern and Ivy's claims that women who had been brutalized by their husbands would not be cooperative in making allegations against them, Martha had to have greater faith in her own ability to get Nancy to admit the truth—first to herself, then to others.

Even so, Martha had to act quickly. Before the law could take any action, some people in the community might be tempted to take matters into their own hands and give Russell Clifford a sampling of his own brutality.