The Midwife's Choice (28 page)

M
artha approached Samuel's cabin, reminded of her failure to help Samuel and Will, as well as her smug approach which had led them to flee. She prayed her encounter with Russell Clifford would be more successful, although she wanted similar results—Russell's absence from Nancy's life.

Smoke suddenly belched from the chimney, and a weak trail of smoke began to twirl upward. Any hope Russell might be addled and unconscious immediately faded. With both windows shuttered closed, she could not even peek inside. At the same time, the shuttered windows prevented him from seeing her approach his doorstep.

Whatever angels had been sent to help her, in response to her desperate prayers all the way here, had yet to arrive. She knocked on the door, using the signal knock she had used with Samuel out of pure habit, but she still had absolutely no idea what she would say or do when Russell Clifford answered the door.

No response.

She tried again, knocking only once.

Still no response.

At this rate, she would not be able to do anything to delay him except stand helplessly outside while every bone in her body froze solid as she waited for him to leave for Sunday meeting. Fortunately, she was familiar enough with the cabin to know there was no back door. He would have to pass by her when he finally did leave, which gave her no choice but to stand and wait.

That idea appealed to her even less than confronting the brute, who may not have been addled enough the other day to forget how she had slammed the door in his face at the confectionery. She tugged on the sides of her hood to nearly cover her face and protect her skin from the cold wind, one of the decided benefits to using a hood instead of a bonnet during winter.

She thought wearing a hood might compare to a horse forced to wear blinders, which is why she never used them with Grace because it was disconcerting being unable to see. Or to be seen, for that matter.

Actually, with her features almost completely hidden, Russell would have to get right up to her face to be able to identify her. She could use that to her advantage and surprise him, if she ever got him to answer the door.

Mercy, it was cold! She pounded at the door again with both fists and added a kick for good measure—a painful mistake that nearly stole her breath away.

“Go away!”

She pounded again. “It's urgent that I see you,” she shouted, without any idea of what she might claim to be urgent if he believed her.

Heavy, agitated footsteps clomped toward the door. She held her breath and bowed her head until the door swung open. With one quick, sudden movement, she had her foot inside, resting against the doorframe. She offered a silent prayer. If he decided to use all his strength to slam the door closed, she would wind up with one very sore foot.

“What?” he snarled.

She detected no odor of honey wine, which meant part of the sisters' plan had not worked, and lifted her face. With his face freshly shaved and his dark hair slicked back, he had also cleaned himself up. “I've come to . . . apologize,” she blurted.

He leaned closer. When his gaze finally lit with recognition, his hands balled into fists, despite her claim to have come to offer an apology. He glared at her so coldly, her heart nearly stopped beating.

“I . . . I can't go to meeting with my heart so deeply burdened by the wrong that's been done to you, so . . . so I came to apologize and . . . and offer my help.” She caught her breath. Where were those angels anyway? She needed help and she needed it now!

He returned her words with a smirk. “I don't need your help.”

“I think you do,” she countered. When the wind gusted and tore at her cape, she tried to hold it closed. “If I could come inside, maybe I could explain.”

He cocked a brow. “After all you've done to destroy my marriage and poison my wife and the rest of the town against me, give me one good reason why I should listen to anythin' you have to say.”

Drat. Still no angels!

“Because . . . because I know the others are planning to help your wife to escape, and you'll never be able to stop them. Not unless I help you,” she said, praying all the lies she had already told and would have to create during the next hour or so would be forgiven because they were well intentioned.

He continued to glare at her. Disbelief filled his eyes and held them steady. Until a flicker of doubt, ever so small, appeared.

“I'll only take up a few minutes of your time,” she prompted. In that very heartbeat, she felt a distinct pressure in the small of her back, almost like a shove, tripped on the hem of her cape, wrenched her ankle, and fell—straight into the enemy's arms.

The angels had arrived. Pushy, but effective cherubs.

Caught off guard, he apparently reacted instinctively and grabbed her shoulders to keep her from knocking him off his feet. “You are one ornery, stubborn woman,” he snapped as he set her back on her feet.

“So I've been told.” She winced the instant her right foot held the slightest pressure and went down on her knee. She held her breath until the sharp pain gentled into mere throbbing. “I'm afraid I've twisted my ankle.”

“Nice excuse. You can turn right around and take your leave. You've done everythin' you're goin' to do to ruin my life. I'd be a fool to give you any more opportunity than you've already had.”

She tried to get up and nearly toppled over. This time, he left her to her own devices and offered no help. She latched on to the edge of the door for support. “I'll limp all the way home, if that's what you want, but you'll just make it harder on yourself.”

He laughed at her. “I doubt that.”

“Suit yourself,” she snapped, thoroughly disappointed in both the timing and the manner of her so-called reinforcements. “All the good Lord requires is that I tried to make amends. I can go to meeting now and not be judged a hypocrite. If and when you ever decide you want to hear more, let me know. I wouldn't wait too long, though. For every moment you wait, Nancy will be that much further beyond your reach.”

With her head held high and her backbone stiff, she pivoted on her left foot, grabbed the doorframe, and limped forward. The pain was surprisingly bearable, although she could feel her ankle swelling. She scanned the area just beyond the front door, but the snow covered up anything she might have used for a makeshift crutch.

More than slightly irritated, she looked back over her shoulder and cast him a withering look she had not used since castigating Will for his bad language. “You might offer me something
to use for a crutch, considering I hurt myself attempting to reconcile our differences.”

Finally he had enough left in his sorry spirit to respond like a man with some character. “I just started a fire. You may as well sit down and warm up for a few moments before . . .”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“Just come in. Before I lose the little heat I've got left, since you've had me keep the door open for so long.”

She limped inside, more certain than ever she had not imagined that none-too-gentle nudge in the small of her back. She even accepted Russell's help so she could make it to one of the chairs in front of the Franklin stove. She sank into her seat, shook the hood back and off her head, and slid her hand into her pocket to check her watch while he went to the corner of the room for more wood.

Still an hour and a half until meeting.

Well, she had gotten inside. Now all she had to do was keep him so preoccupied that he lost track of time and it would be too late to get inside the meetinghouse to attend services. Beyond that, her town sisters would be in charge.

She hoped they had been assigned angels who were a tad more gentle.

Nearly an hour and a half later, using a tree branch for a crutch, Martha made slow, painful progress as Russell Clifford led her through a trail in the woods toward the meetinghouse. Apparently, he had been using this trail, for the snow had been packed down on the pathway, a decided blessing considering Martha's weakened ankle. She had wrapped it tightly, grateful the injury only appeared to be a mild sprain that should heal within a few days.

She deliberately slowed her pace and allowed him to get a
few yards ahead so she could check her watch. Three minutes until services began. She looked around and realized they were just passing the rear of Dr. McMillan's property, which meant they would never make it on time, even if Russell abandoned her and ran the rest of the way.

The tension that had stiffened her shoulders and wrapped a tight band around her forehead so that her head ached melted away. Until Russell stopped and turned around. “We have to go faster than this or we'll be late.”

She stopped and waved him on with her crutch. “Go ahead, then. I can meet you there.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” He closed the distance between them and glared at her.

She nearly took a step back, but locked her knees and refused to let him intimidate her. “What are you talking about?”

“If I go ahead and leave you behind, what guarantee do I have that you'll eventually show up and talk to the congregation on my behalf like you promised?” He hooked her arm in his and never gave her a chance to answer him. “We're goin' together.”

She trembled. “It's getting colder. If you insist on escorting me, then let's not waste time arguing or we'll both get a good dose of frostbite.”

With his support, she actually did make faster progress. The moment they approached the rear of the meetinghouse, she could hear the congregation, their voices lifted in the opening hymn. She offered a quick prayer of thanksgiving and another asking for protection when he realized the door was locked from the inside.

“There's no door in the back. We'll have to go around to the front.”

He paused to stop and stare at the back of the log structure and shrugged his shoulders. He did not seem the least bit upset they were late. Victoria had been right. He was indeed too new to the congregation to know the minister's habits.

They made quick time walking along the side of the meetinghouse. When they rounded the corner, he rocked to a halt and forced Martha to do the same.

The yard in front of the meetinghouse was packed with wagons and sleighs, all oddly parked side by side to form two large circles with the horses and mules huddled together in the center. She had not seen this before; neither had she seen this many vehicles at meeting since . . . since ever!

He grinned. “Must be packed inside.”

She could almost see his mind working, anticipating the moment she would step forward, endorsing his redemption, as well as his reunion with his wife, as she had promised. It had not been easy convincing him of her change in heart, until he heard her tale of Nancy's plea for a reunion. It would be far more difficult for both Nancy and herself to escape his wrath once he realized he had been played for a fool.

“You're sure Nancy is at meetin'?” he asked as he changed his position and gripped her upper arm.

She yanked free. “Of course I am. I spoke to her right before I left. She's expecting you to be there, too.”

When he turned her toward the door and hooked her arm again, her heart began to pound. “Let's not keep her waitin',” he suggested.

Before she had taken a single step, a familiar, beloved voice rang out. Not exactly an angel's voice, but one that reassured her that gentler, more competent reinforcements had arrived.

M
artha? Is that you?”

She turned to look back over her shoulder, nudged her hood back, and flashed the biggest smile of her life. “Thomas!”

When Russell Clifford turned about, he also loosened his grip, enough to allow Martha to free herself so she could face Thomas. As he hurried toward them, she leaned on the branch for support.

He locked his gaze with hers. Concern etched his face. “What happened?”

“Just a silly accident. I turned my ankle.”

“You shouldn't be walking on it,” he countered. He took her arm to help support her and acknowledged Russell with a cold stare.

Clifford offered a curt nod, but did not extend his hand. “Mayor Dillon. Looks like Widow Cade and I aren't the only ones arrivin' late for meetin'.”

“Indeed. And properly locked out as well,” Thomas noted.

“Locked out?” Clifford turned and tested the door. With a
grunt, he put his shoulder to the door, but it would not budge. He raised his hand to knock.

“Don't,” Thomas cautioned. “Apparently Reverend Welsh is not having one of his better days. You knock and interrupt the service, and he'll have you down in front listening to a diatribe so fierce you'll wish you had listened to me.”

Clifford kicked the door and spun around. He glared at Martha, but dared not approach her with Thomas as her protector. “I have to get inside. We both have to get inside.”

“Obviously, that's not going to happen now,” she argued. “We can . . . we can slip inside the moment the service is over and catch everyone before they leave. Or . . . or if not, don't forget that Nancy will have to come out that door. When she does, we'll both be here waiting for her. I know it's not exactly what you wanted, but . . . but at least you'll be with your wife again. Isn't that what you want more than anything?”

Before Russell could respond, Thomas scooped her up into his arms and nearly stole her breath away. “I have to wait for the Misses Lynn. We're leaving for Philadelphia as soon as the services end. If you insist on staying, then you'll wait in the sleigh with me. At least there are blankets to keep you warm and you'll be off that ankle. Mr. Clifford, you wait by the door. As soon as Nancy comes out, bring her over. Widow Cade is in no condition to stand and wait, especially in this weather.”

He gave Clifford no time to argue, or Martha, for that matter. He simply carried her off toward his sleigh and left the younger man standing at the door. She snuggled close and laid her head on his chest. “Thank you.”

He looked down at her and smiled. “I had a feeling you might need rescuing. Is your ankle really sprained or is that just a ploy, part of the ladies' plan, too?”

“Plan? What plan?”

When he chuckled, again and again, the sound in his chest rumbled against her ear.

She swatted his arm. “No, it's not part of the plan. I fell and twisted my ankle,” she admitted, although she was careful not to tell him she thought an angel had pushed her.

When he reached the sleigh, she saw that the sisters' trunk, as well as one apparently for Thomas, had been strapped to a platform attached to the back. Their treat basket sat on the second seat. Thomas settled her up front, layered several blankets over her lap and legs, and got in beside her.

He nodded toward Russell Clifford, who stood with his back braced against the door. “I have a feeling he's about to feel the full wrath of the sisterhood here in Trinity.”

Her eyes widened, and she tilted her chin. “Did you say sisterhood? That's an odd term.”

He chuckled again. “I overheard Eleanor talking to Mrs. Clark about it. After I got a glimpse inside that meetinghouse today, I got an inkling of what she meant. When I found out you weren't inside, I suspected you might need some assistance when you arrived.”

“You are a blessing to me,” she whispered. “Truly a blessing.”

He took her hand. “Does that mean you've reconsidered my proposal? The congregation is assembled. I'm sure Reverend Welsh wouldn't mind—”

“No. I mean yes. But no . . . not . . .”

He cocked his brow. She realized the stitches had been removed, leaving only a thin scar that sliced through his brow. “I've never known you to be indecisive. Which is it going to be? Yes. No. Or not?”

She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath before gazing into his eyes. “Yes. I've thought about your proposal. A great deal. There are certain . . . certain possibilities I'd like to discuss with you.”

The corners of his lips began to shape a smile.

“They're just possibilities, mind you. I can't marry you today because . . . because I want some time to think them through.”

His lips stretched into a small smile, but he did not interrupt or offer her any assistance as she struggled to explain herself.

“When you come home in February, I'd . . . I'd like for us to talk again.”

He caressed her cheek. “About these . . . possibilities.”

Her heart began to race. “Yes.”

“And if we can reach some sort of accord, then you'll marry me?”

She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the sweet sensations on her cheek that he was creating with just the touch of his fingertips. “Yes.”

“Yes. Yes what?”

She cocked her head. “Yes. I'll marry you. If we reach—”

He kissed her silent. It was just a gentle kiss. Enough to let her know he would wait for her to be sure. Enough to let her feel the power of his enduring affection. Enough to reassure her that the obstacles between them were not insurmountable. And just enough to let her know his patience would be stretched thin by next month, when he returned.

When he ended the kiss, he looked at her with his gray eyes twinkling. “Now that wasn't so bad, was it?”

She felt a blush that started in her toes and traveled to the tip of her nose. “Actually, I thought that was quite . . . lovely,” she admitted, although if anyone had seen them kiss, she would have been hard-pressed to control the gossip that would follow.

He chuckled and pulled her into his embrace. “I was talking about making the decision to accept my proposal. Even if it is conditional.”

“I'm not sure I can marry a man so smug and so sure of himself,” she teased as she relaxed in his embrace. “Rather than simply basking in the glory of your triumph, maybe you could tell me about your plans to help Fern.”

The next hour passed quickly enough.

Despite the mound of blankets, the cold was sorely aggravating Martha's ankle. To keep her mind from focusing on the pain, she tried to imagine Aunt Hilda's great joy today, as well as Victoria's as she greeted old friends and shared her future plans with them.

Sitting next to Thomas, enjoying his protection and companionship, as well as his account of the plans he had for helping Fern, Martha could scarcely believe she had actually questioned the idea of spending the rest of her life with him. Whatever the future held, whatever changes took place, she knew she could face it all with Thomas by her side and her faith to sustain her.

When the congregation once again raised their voices in song, she recognized the closing hymn. Apparently, so did Thomas. He stiffened, too. “Should we get down so we can get closer?” she asked.

He still held on to her hand. “We'll have a better view from here.”

He was right. His sleigh was parked at such an angle that they would be able to see everyone as they emerged from the meetinghouse. Also, being seated in the sleigh provided the added advantage of height so they would have a panoramic view.

The moment the door opened, she caught her breath for a moment. “What are you going to do when he brings Nancy over to us?” she asked. She was not even certain Nancy would agree to come over or if that was part of the plan.

Thomas grinned. “Just watch.”

She looked back at the meetinghouse. Several children, as usual, piled out first, followed by several men she recognized as farmers from up on Double Trouble Creek. To her surprise, the first woman she saw was Nancy. Her hood was pushed fully forward. Martha could not see Nancy's face, but she recognized her by that awful, garish ribbon trimming her cape.

Clifford immediately rushed forward to speak to his wife.
Martha turned back to Thomas. “I told them to take off that ribbon!” she whispered. “He found her right away.”

“Look again,” Thomas suggested.

She glanced back, blinked to clear her vision, and blinked again. But the images remained the same. Only then did she realize that the sisterhood in Trinity was much larger, and much more powerful, than she could ever have imagined.