The Midwife's Tale (24 page)

Martha smiled. “Indeed, he is. I haven’t seen Dr. Park, but I talked with Micah. He tells me you hope to deliver in midwinter.”

“February,” she murmured. Her eyes misted with fear. “I’ve done everything Dr. Park has told me to do. Everything. But . . . but I’m . . . but . . .” She dissolved into gentle weeping, unable to continue.

Martha stroked the young woman’s belly, concerned the baby might be smaller than normal. “But you’re growing weaker. Losing weight, too, I’d venture.” She gazed down at the several scabs on Eleanor’s arm where Dr. Park had apparently bled her and caught a frown before it formed. She could ill afford to alarm her patient, and she needed to know much more than what Micah had told her before she could even contemplate an opinion on how best to restore Eleanor’s
health without putting the babe she carried at risk—if indeed there was a risk.

Eleanor sniffled and wiped away her tears. “Will you help me? I couldn’t bear to lose my baby. Not again. I can’t,” she pleaded.

“I know how important this baby is to you,” Martha crooned. “But you’re important, too, especially to Micah and your father. And to your baby, you’re the most important person on earth right now. I want you to remember that when I ask you some questions so you’ll be completely honest with your answers. It may not be the answer you think I want to hear. You may find a question painful or embarrassing. You might not understand why the question is important, and you might wonder if you should even give me an answer because you feel loyal to Dr. Park because he’s been trying to help you. But every answer you give me will help me to understand what’s happened before in each of your pregnancies and what’s been happening during this one so you and Micah can decide together what’s right for you to do this time.”

A sniffle. A brave smile. “I’ll remember. And I’ll try to be as honest as I can be.”

“Good. Now, let’s go back a bit to the first time you were teeming,” Martha began. Gently, she led Eleanor through a series of questions. When she finished, she got a fresh cloth from the bureau, dampened it, and washed Eleanor’s face.

“Now the second time,” she prompted. Tears accompanied more of the young woman’s answers this time, and she did not seem to be anything but completely forthright. Once Martha sorted the information she had already gleaned, she got Eleanor to provide more about her current condition.

By the time the young woman finished, she was near exhaustion and had to battle to keep her eyelids from staying closed.

“You’ve been a great help. Now rest. That’s right. Take a
short nap. By the time you wake up, I’ll have some recommendations, and we’ll have Micah join us. Then you can ask any questions you might have,” Martha added, mindful that she must keep careful balance on the tightrope on which she found herself now that her worst fears about her own position here had been confirmed.

Only Eleanor and her husband had the right to choose between continuing with Dr. Park or letting Martha take over caring for Eleanor for the rest of her pregnancy—a choice that would decide the fate of their unborn child and Eleanor, as well.

Obligated by her calling to offer them both that choice, Martha eased from the chair, dropped to her knees, and bowed her head in prayer—the only weapon she had that would be powerful enough to prepare her for meeting with Eleanor and Micah and later, if they decided in Martha’s favor, with Dr. Park himself.

Martha had no doubt about her recommendations. She had no doubt the decision facing this young couple was difficult. As they gathered together later that night, the only doubt that niggled at her mind and spirit was that she might fail to help them reaffirm their faith, for only faith would give them the courage they would need tonight and all the nights that would pass between now and the birth of their child.

Martha sat in the same chair as earlier. Eleanor was still in bed, and Micah sat on the bed facing her. With their hands entwined and their faces glowing with affection for one another, they looked so very young to have endured such tragedy and to be facing such uncertainty now.

“All I can give you is my honest opinion,” Martha began. “Whatever decision you make about whether or not to continue with Dr. Park will be entirely your own.”

“I trust you. We both trust you, don’t we, Micah?”

The young man sobered. “Yes, we do.”

Martha took a deep breath and quickly outlined her recommendations, which Micah challenged at every turn. She ended with one last plea. “Trust one another. Respect one another’s opinion. You don’t have to make your decision tonight, but I would urge you to not wait too long.”

She glanced at both of them and smiled. “I’ve delivered hundreds of babies since Grandmother Poore passed on, and I’d like very much to deliver yours. I know how frightened you both are. With good reason. But I have every faith and hope that come February you’ll be able to hold your babe in your arms—but only if you discontinue Dr. Park’s treatments.”

Micah paled. “All of them?”

“All of them,” she repeated. “You lost your first babe very early, but don’t forget that nature plays a very important role. When something is wrong, nature takes over and ends the pregnancy. It’s simply nature’s way of correcting itself to prevent the birth of a deformed child, for example. In the end, we must trust God to know what is best before we do, and to know that one day He will shower us with joy equal to the pain we have endured.”

She paused and watched with compassion as Micah wiped away his wife’s tears. She waited for Eleanor to regain her composure before continuing. “What happened the second time was an unfortunate quirk of fate. There is nothing you or Dr. Park, or I, could have done to prevent the cord from wrapping around your baby’s neck as he was being born. From everything I’ve been able to learn, however, there is nothing that would indicate either scenario would hold true this time.”

Leaning forward, she placed her hand atop Micah’s and Eleanor’s. “If you honestly thought Dr. Park’s treatments were helping, you wouldn’t have sent for me. But in the end,” she
cautioned, “it is your own fear and your own doubt that you must conquer. For that, you need faith. Not in me. Not in one another. Faith in God. Faith that He’ll restore Eleanor so she is strong enough to deliver your child. Faith He would never send you a gift you didn’t cherish, whether that gift caused tears of joy or sorrow. Faith that He will bless you with peace of mind when you make the right decision. Whether you choose to remain under Dr. Park’s care or return to Trinity, where I can help you, I will support your decision because I know you turned to Him for guidance and will accept His will when the time comes for this babe to enter the world.”

She rose and straightened her skirts. “I’ll leave you now so you can talk this over together.” Whispers accompanied the sound of her footsteps as she took her leave. She had no sooner returned to her own room when Micah knocked at her door. When she looked at him quizzically, he grinned. “I don’t suppose they need a good lawyer in Trinity?”

She chuckled. “I think that’s something you should discuss with Thomas.”

“I will. As soon as we get there. Perhaps you could speak to him for me so he’ll know what my plans are. For now, would you come back to Eleanor’s room? We’d like you to pray with us.”

The following morning, Martha lost no time implementing her plan to save both mother and child. While Micah waited downstairs to intercept Dr. Park, Martha tackled the room first, careful to avoid the bathing tub now sitting in front of the hearth. She tied back the drapes and opened the windows—only several inches, since the air had turned quite brisk. She left the bowls and linens on top of the bureau, but packed the medicines into a box she set out in the hallway.

She paused several times to listen, but heard no sounds from downstairs that suggested the doctor might have arrived. Satisfied that she could proceed uninterrupted for a spell, she helped Eleanor from the bed into the chair. “Now, sit still,” she warned. “I want you to get used to sitting up before we attempt that bath.”

With one eye on her patient, she changed the bed linens and found a fresh day dress for Eleanor in the trunk at the foot of the bed. With everything well under way, she opened her bag and perused the contents. “The hot water isn’t here for your bath yet, but while we’re waiting, you should get to choose the scent you’d prefer to add to the bathwater. I have some lavender here . . . and, yes, I thought so, some mint and lilac.”

Eleanor winced when she cracked a smile, but giggled anyway. “Mint, I think. Do you always have bath scents in your bag? I thought you only carried remedies.”

“My simples are remedies that are as different as our complaints. Sometimes, a woman just needs to be . . . pampered. I have some salve for your lips, too. It’s been so dry in here, it’s a wonder they aren’t worse.”

Thundering voices. Thundering footsteps charging up the stairs. Apparently, Dr. Park had not taken the news well. Martha froze in place, then hurried to stand next to Eleanor. She had barely turned to face the doorway when a middle-aged thundercloud of a man stormed into the room and rocked back on his heels the moment he reached the side of the bed.

Micah arrived within seconds, but remained just inside the doorway. “I think it’s best if you leave, Dr. Park.”

His command sounded like a plea, which the doctor promptly ignored. His dark eyes blazed with fury as he glanced around the room. His lips twitched and he sputtered a bit before he exploded, filling the room with the bitter accusations he hurled
at Martha. “You!” He shook his finger at her. “You will be responsible for not one death but two! What kind of charlatan are you to prey on a weak, defenseless—”

“I am a midwife,” Martha said calmly while her heart galloped in her chest.

“Same thing,” he spat.

She blanched, but held her tongue.

He dismissed Martha with a snort and gazed at his former patient with surprising tenderness. “Eleanor, please. You mustn’t be swayed by this . . . this woman. You’re very ill. You’re not strong enough—”

“Eleanor is very weak, that’s true,” Martha interjected to prevent Eleanor from being drawn into a battle she was too weak to wage on her own behalf. She put her hand on Eleanor’s shoulder and felt the girl quaking. “Bloodletting will weaken anyone, but most especially a teeming woman. Using emetics and purges to cleanse her system very well may cause her to expel the babe. Medications to keep her sedated may, in fact, be harmful. But Eleanor isn’t ill. She’s teeming, a perfectly natural state for married women. With proper diet, along with moderate activity and fresh air, she’ll be able to gain the strength she needs to birth her babe.”

There. She put the explosive issue dividing them out in the open, fully aware that neither she nor the doctor would budge from their respective viewpoints. Doctors, by training, treated pregnancy as an illness cured only by birth, which was yet another illness that required treatment.

Midwives, on the other hand, saw the entire process, from conception through birthing, as a purely natural process that usually proceeded without the need for intervention.

She stared directly into the doctor’s furious eyes and refused to blink for fear he might sense she was weak.

He glared back at her. “Your notions might be well-intentioned, but they are sorely misguided,” he spat. “Your ignorance will exact a high price when you fail. Are you prepared to pay that price? Will you be able to look Eleanor and her husband in the eye when they bury yet another babe because you interfered and contradicted the advice of a trained physician?”

She refused to take the bait he dangled in front of her, and held tight rein on her temper. “I respect your formal medical education, even as I would ask that you acknowledge my own apprenticeship and training. I know when my skills are not adequate, and I send for a doctor without hesitation in those cases. This is not one of them,” she said firmly.

He raised both brows, but when he attempted to speak, she cut him off. “Neither one of us has the right to argue anything here now that will distress the patient or her husband. It’s time for you to leave. Quickly, if you will. It’s time for Eleanor’s bath.”