The Midwife's Tale (21 page)

Both frightened and challenged by the man he had become, she climbed into the buggy, more determined than ever to keep a tight rein on her thoughts as well as her heart.

16

T
he buggy’s wheels crunched over the rain-slicked cinders in the roadway and rocked its way toward the Finch homestead. The smell of damp wool emanating from Martha’s cape was near suffocating, and Martha loosened the neck of her cape. The roof overhead protected them from the bulk of the rain. Fortunately, the rain fell straight and there was no wind to blow it at them, and the open sides of the buggy did allow for fresh, if moist, air.

Being in a buggy, sitting side by side with Thomas Dillon, was just about the last place Martha had ever expected to find herself today. Given all that had happened at the market earlier, however, the day was turning almost surreal.

“You might want to remove your cape, at least until we get there,” Thomas suggested.

She tugged her cape closed again and tightened her grip on her bag, which was resting on her lap. “I’m fine. Did Daniel say what’s wrong with Adelaide? Aunt Hilda wouldn’t send for me, especially in this weather, unless something was truly amiss.
Both Adelaide and the babe were doing cleverly when I left,” she murmured, trying to think of something she might have missed as a portent of future difficulty she might have prevented.

“Whatever has developed, I’m sure you’ll be able to help.”

She nodded. “I pray you’re right.”

As though he sensed Martha’s worry, he smiled and changed the subject. “We almost met the other day at the tollgate. I was beginning to worry when you hadn’t arrived back in Trinity before me.”

Fiercely independent, she hesitated to respond or to admit that the idea that someone might worry about her was oddly comforting. No one had worried about her for a very long time. John, rest his soul, had been gone for so long she could scarcely recall having him worry about her. She lived with James and Lydia, of course, but they were also too busy raising their three girls and running the tavern to worry overmuch about Martha. Now that their three girls were all married with children of their own, James and Lydia were quite accustomed to having Martha appear or disappear without notice.

Victoria never appeared to worry; in fact, Martha had the distinct impression the girl welcomed Martha’s frequent absences as a respite from the inevitable clash of wills that had become the hallmark of their relationship.

Hearing Thomas say he had been worried about her was a novel experience. Encouraging him to worry, however, implied reconnecting something between them she had severed long ago. Anxious to dispel any thought that she might want to rekindle emotions she had battled through before, she met his gaze and held it. “There was no need to worry. No need at all . . . I hope you’re not implying Grace is anything but a steady, reliable mount,” she ventured, steering the conversation to safer ground.

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of it. She’s a tough old girl,
I’ll grant you that. But she did take you on a very long journey. Even the best horse loses a shoe or stumbles on a rock from time to time. Or just plain gets tuckered out, especially after traipsing through the countryside for how long now? Ten years?”

“About that,” Martha admitted, although she suspected he was concerned more about her than her horse, which only made her feel more uncomfortable. “We do get to rest in between calls.”

“Not always,” he countered. “Seems to me I could name more than one occasion when you literally rode Grace from one house to another for several weeks.”

“And never once failed to make it home safe and sound. Eventually.”

“No. Never once,” he murmured. His gaze grew anxious and troubled, and he glanced out his side of the buggy. “The rain’s letting up.” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat.

A belated flash of insight inspired a blush that burned her cheeks, along with the sin of selfishness that now tainted her soul. Memories of the riding accident that had claimed his wife surfaced, and Martha laid her hands on top of his, finding them cold and stiff.

“You miss her terribly, don’t you?”

He enfolded her hands within one of his own, but kept his gaze on the roadway ahead. The mask of the confident, outgoing widower he wore slipped away, revealing a vulnerable man grieving the loss of his wife while the single women in the world around him hustled to be the first in line when he chose a new one.

“I should have been there. I should have insisted she take the buggy. It was such a
stupid
accident,” he whispered. “This past year I’ve lain in bed some nights and wondered if I’d have the strength to make it through another day without her. It’s getting easier, but now . . .”

He paused and squeezed her hand. “She’s fading away, Mar
tha. I have to struggle to recall her face or the sound of her voice. What kind of man does that make me? I shared her life and her bed for nineteen years. We had four children together. Now she’s buried next to two of our babes, and I can’t even remember the feel of her anymore.”

Compassion filled her spirit. She had gone through the same troubling experience after losing John. She had learned over the years, however, that the passing of time was a gift, both wondrous and painful. Time might have muted her memories, but it had also eased the pain of loss and had allowed her shattered heart to heal. Would the same thing happen if Victoria never came home? She shuddered.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she assured him. “Time lets the past slip away from all but your heart. She’ll always be there. And in your children, too.”

When he shrugged his shoulders, she continued. “Harry has his mother’s smile, doesn’t he? And Eleanor. She might have your smile, but she has her mother’s infallible good humor and grace. I know Harry can’t come home during the school term, but Eleanor’s only living in Clarion now. Have her come home for a visit. Eva Clark certainly wouldn’t object to having a guest to care for.”

Upon hearing his housekeeper’s name, he smiled. “She says the same thing at least twice a week: ‘Invite Eleanor home for a spell.’ And I always give her the same reply: ‘I’ll think it over.’”

Briefly, he turned his gaze from the roadway, captured Martha’s, and held it. “Truth be told, Martha, Eleanor is teeming again. After losing the first two, she’s frightened the same thing will happen again. The doctor confined her to bed for this one. She doesn’t want anyone to know about this,” he added.

“You mean Anne.”

He nodded. “My sister, dear heart that she is, is apt to leave
the capital, head straight to Clarion, and park herself in Eleanor’s bedchamber for the next five or six months.”

In spite of herself, Martha groaned. Anne Sweet, ten years older than Thomas, had a heart as pure as the driven snow, but she had a reputation as an incurable chitchat. She could talk nonstop for hours, seemingly without stopping to draw a breath. Well-intentioned, she never stopped long enough to think she might be saying something that could be painful to the very person she was attempting to cheer.

“In her last letter, Eleanor made me promise not to tell anyone, especially Anne. Except for you, of course.”

“I’ll keep this in strictest confidence.”

He smiled. “I trusted you would. Actually . . . when you’re rested from your last trip, I was wondering . . . that is . . . Eleanor asked me if you could go to Clarion and talk to her. Reassure her this time she might carry her babe.”

“I’ll leave once I’m certain Adelaide is mending properly,” she assured him, although traveling such a distance so soon was about as appealing as the dismal weather that surrounded her. Going to Clarion, however, would allow her to replenish her dwindling supply of simples, which she usually purchased from Doc Beyer, at the large apothecary there. She would also have the opportunity to pursue a new remedy for Samuel, one that might fully restore his vision.

Relief flooded Thomas’s features, and he leaned back against the seat.

She withdrew her hand, finding herself in an awkward, thoroughly embarrassed state. The interest she had perceived Thomas felt for her was not a personal one. He was concerned about his daughter and needed Martha’s skills as a healer, a reality she found only deepened her sense of shame at believing he might have wanted more.

While he toyed with the reins to guide the horses around a rather large hole in the road, she quickly dismissed any notion that her foolish perceptions about him earlier had stemmed from her own interest in him. She had loved him once with all her heart, but wisely chose another when she married John Cade.

“Naturally, I’d take care of all your expenses. Micah is still young and struggling with his law practice,” he explained.

She expected Thomas might. Although Eleanor had married equal to her station, Martha also knew a husband with a good family name, excellent education, and a solid future in his father’s law firm did not make the early years free from financial worry. “I’ll keep a record and give it to you when I return.”

He moistened his lips. “I can give you funds before you leave and put my buggy at your disposal, as well.”

She shook her head. “That might prove awkward to explain. For both of us,” she advised, fully aware of the double entendre of her words.

“What will you tell James and Lydia?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I usually just leave a note for them if I have to leave in the middle of the night. I’ll do that and simply write that I’ve gone to Clarion to purchase some of the remedies I used to buy from Doc Beyer. In the meantime, you can write to Eleanor and tell her to expect me.” She chuckled. “With the mail delivery as slow as it is, I’ll probably get there ahead of the letter, but try anyway.”

“First thing in the morning,” he promised. He sat up straighter, then turned toward her. “Now that I’ve got that out of the way, why don’t you tell me what happened after you left New York to see Oliver in Boston?”

By the time they reached the Finch homestead, Martha had shared most of the details of her brief visit with her son, Oliver, who practiced law in Boston. Daniel opened the door before the buggy had rolled to a complete stop. Relief flooded his features. “Thank you for coming,” he called.

Martha disembarked and followed him into the cabin while Thomas secured the horse. Any curiosity she had about the difference between the man she had loved twenty-five years ago and the man Thomas had become took a back seat to duty the moment she entered the bedchamber.

Adelaide lay abed, her face pale as she slept. Aunt Hilda rose and greeted Martha with a relieved look before shutting the door to keep the menfolk out. “I’m mighty glad you came so quickly. I wasn’t sure Daniel would find you at home.”

Martha removed her cape and tossed it onto the chair at the side of the bed where Aunt Hilda had been sitting. “I was at the market, actually, but I’ll save that tale for later,” she murmured while peeking into the cradle at the foot of the bed. Glory was fast asleep, too, with her cheeks still plump and rosy. Satisfied all was well with the babe, she approached Adelaide and laid a hand on her brow.

“No fever. What’s wrong that’s got you so worried?”