The Midwife
Author
Carolyn Davidson
Reads
19,9K
Chapters
17
Chapter One
Kirby Falls, MinnesotaJanuary 1892
“It’s a pity that such a handsome man should always look so forbidding.” Bonnie Nielsen’s eyes cast a longing look at the man she spoke of.
“He’s married, Bonnie.” Leah mentally calculated her purchases and searched through her purse for coins, spending barely a glance in the direction of the man in question. He stood on the outskirts of a group of menfolk who clustered around the stove in one corner of the general store. His arms were crossed, his mouth formed in a thin line, and he did indeed glower, Leah decided as she favored him with a second look.
Bonnie’s cheeks flushed a becoming pink and she looked up at her customer through a pale fringe of lashes. “All the good-looking ones are. More’s the pity!” Her hands were making quick work of Leah’s sparse selections, and she tied the package deftly as she spoke.
“Don’t you even look at the men, Leah?” Bonnie pushed the paper-wrapped bundle across the counter and accepted Leah’s coins in return.
“It’s enough that I wash their clothes. Why should I look at the men who wear them?” Leah picked up her foodstuffs, then made a liar out of herself as she allowed her gaze to pass over the group of men who were laughing at some private joke as they warmed themselves.
As always, her eyes hesitated, just for the smallest second, on the somber man, the tallest of the group. The one who said little, who seemed drawn to the noisy, friendly men, even though he appeared not to belong in their midst.
Gar Lundstrom. He did look forbidding. Bonnie had it right on the money. And yes, he was handsome, with pale hair that never darkened in the winter, as did her own. His eyes were striking, pale blue beneath dark brows, another puzzle. He should have been fair, right down to his eyebrows. Perhaps the hair on his chest…
Leah closed her eyes, aghast at the thought she had allowed to enter her mind. She’d been too long indoors, spent too many evenings alone, talked to herself too many hours on end.
And always, she kept the vision of Gar Lundstrom from her mind. Only when she caught sight of the man did she allow her thoughts to stray in his direction. But to what purpose? The man was someone’s husband. Hulda Lundstrom was the woman he’d chosen to wed: a small, nondescript woman who seldom came to town, and whose son always remained close at hand when she did venture into the general store.
Lundstrom was no doubt on his way home now, Leah decided, taking care to turn aside as he said terse goodbyes and made his way from the store. The talk resumed around the stove and Leah walked to the door, aware of eyes that watched her progress, her own gaze straight ahead, lest she mesh glances with one of the men who gathered on these winter mornings.
Most of them were married, but there were always, in their midst, one or two bachelors. Several had approached her, the elusive widow, hoping to strike a bargain of some sort.
She closed the door behind her and walked down the wooden sidewalk, her package dangling by the string with which it was tied. Tea, a bit of sugar, and a small piece of bacon weighed little, and cost less, but it had taken most of her cash. If the menfolk didn’t pick up their bundles of laundry today, she would be hardpressed to find money for the rent this month.
Her feet turned up the path to the small house she called home, and she stepped onto the porch, reaching for the doorknob.
“Yoo-hoo! Mrs. Gunderson!” From next door, a fragile voice called her name and Leah halted, one foot already past the threshold.
“Yes, Mrs. Thorwald,” she answered, pulling the door closed, lest the heat escape. “Are you all right?”
“I believe I have a touch of the quinsy, dear,” the old woman answered, barely visible behind the windowpanes, bending low to speak through the narrow opening she’d allowed above the sill.
“I put some soup bones on the stove to cook before I went to the store. I have to find some vegetables to put in with them, and then I’ll bring you a bowl of soup when it’s ready,” Leah promised, knowing that, more than soup, the widow lady wanted companionship. She waved a hand as she opened her door again and stepped into the warmth of her parlor.
The heat from the kitchen cookstove permeated the whole house, each room opening up into another. She could walk in a circle and visit each room within seconds. Leah hung her cloak by the front door and placed her boots on a mat beneath. Then she donned her knitted slippers.
Her skillet awaited, warming on the back of the shiny black stove. She unwrapped the bacon quickly, her mouth watering at the prospect of such a luxury this noontime. She sliced it, then placed the thick pieces in the pan, inhaling the scent as the edges began to sizzle.
A knock at the door halted her while she was pouring water from her teakettle into her favorite flowered cup.
“I’m coming,” she called, her slippered feet silent as she crossed the parlor.
“It’s Hobart Dunbar, Mrs. Gunderson,” the man said loudly, as if he would allay any concern a man at her door might bring.
The owner of the only hotel in Kirby Falls was most circumspect, always careful to remain on her porch while she brought him the big bundle of tablecloths and aprons she washed and ironed with such care. Bleach and starch were commodities he paid extra for, and gladly, since, as he’d told Leah upon their first encounter, his wife refused to spend half a day over a scrub board twice a week.
“Do come in, Mr. Dunbar,” Leah said cordially, waving her hand to usher him in.
As always, he shook his head. “No, no. I’ll just wait right here, ma’am. Close the door. Don’t waste your heat.” And all the while, he stamped his feet and shrugged his ears down into the collar of his heavy coat, until the brim of his hat met with it.
Leah hastened to the room she used as her laundry and snatched up the washing she’d completed late last evening. Wrapped in a stained sheet, the bundle contained sparkling white, heavily starched linens. Even the caps that Mr. Dunbar’s three waitresses wore when they served tables had been ironed and creased, ready to be buttoned at the back when the wearers donned them.
The three women also cleaned the hotel rooms and lobby daily, in between mealtimes, a sign of Hobart Dunbar’s frugality. Even his wife took her turn, standing behind the walnut desk, her lacy handkerchief attached to the front of her dress, her hair curled and pinned, her eyes ever watchful.
Mr. Dunbar accepted his laundry and pressed his money into Leah’s hand with a nod. “Thank you, Mrs. Gunderson. I’ll send the boy over tomorrow night with another batch.” He backed from her door and Leah closed it quickly, her fingers closing over the coins that were cold against her palm.
Through the glass that centered her front door, she watched as another gentleman passed through her gate, pausing to speak with the hotel owner. Quickly she hurried to find the appropriate bundle of laundry for Brian Havelock, knowing only too well that he would more than welcome an offer to enter her parlor.
Leah was breathless from her hasty movements when she opened the door for him, her smile barely moving her lips. “I thought I saw you coming through the gate,” she said brightly.
Brian peered past her into the house. “Are you all alone, Leah? Can I join you for a cup of tea, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m about to step over to visit with Mrs. Thorwald. She’s not feeling well.”
His disappointment was visible, and his gaze swept the length of her body, from the crown of her head to where her slippers peeked from beneath the hem of her dress. “I’d really enjoy spending time with you, you know.” His words were wistful, and he smiled with beguiling charm.
Leah sighed. “I know what you want, Mr. Havelock. At the risk of being too bold, I must tell you that I am not available for such a thing.”
“My intentions are otherwise, Leah,” he said quickly, a blush climbing his cheeks, turning them even more rosy than the wind had done.
She blinked, mouth open and mind wiped clean as he denied her accusation. “Otherwise?” she said after a moment.
He nodded, edging closer to her. “I’d like to come calling on you, ma’am.”
“I thought you were courting Kirsten Andersen,” Leah said bluntly. Her hand waved distractedly. “No matter. I’m entirely too old for you, Mr. Havelock, and too busy to waste either my time or yours.”
“Will you at least dance with me Saturday night?” he asked hopefully.
She nodded quickly, willing to promise that small boon, if only he would leave her house with his clean underwear and work clothes.
He smiled eagerly, counting out the money he owed her, managing to squeeze her fingers as he placed the coins in her palm. “I’ll plan on it, Leah.”
She shut the door behind him and leaned back against its cold surface. Now if he were only taller, with wide shoulders and the hands of a…She shook her head. The image in her mind was forbidden to her, the features of Gar Lundstrom taking form behind her closed eyes.
Never in her almost thirty years had she found herself in such little control of the thoughts and desires she lived with daily. Garlan Lundstrom had done nothing, said nothing, to insinuate himself into her mind. And yet he dwelt there.
She bent her head. From the very first time, over a year ago when she’d seen him in church, she’d felt a yearning for the man and scolded herself all during the long walk home. He was married.
And she was Leah Gunderson, wash lady to most of the bachelors in town. Not that that was anything to be ashamed of. On top of that, she was fairly skilled in the art of healing, enough so that she had been called upon to sew up cuts and set broken bones.
Her skills as a midwife were not known to the townspeople, and never would be, she had decided from the first. The doctor who tended the new mothers was old and beyond his prime, content to let the widow lady on the back side of town care for the odds and ends of healing that came her way.
Yet Leah mourned for the disuse of those abilities she had learned in her young years. She’d visited women in all stages of labor with her mother, Minna Polk. She’d helped with birthings from the time she was sixteen. And then called herself a widow in order to set up her own practice.
A single woman could not deliver children. There was a stigma against it that forbade such contact. Young girls were supposed to be innocent.
Innocence. Sometimes Leah could not remember the meaning of the word.
Laundry came first, as always, and the soup kettle was moved to the back of the stove so Leah could heat wash water in the copper boiler. She scrubbed on her board in between cutting up her store of vegetables for the kettle on the stove. The day was waning by the time she reached the bottom of Orville Hunsicker’s laundry basket, and Leah hurried now to complete her mission to the neighbor who depended on her kindness.
The soup was a bit thin, but Mrs. Thorwald was most appreciative in any case, tasting each spoonful with appropriate murmurs.
“You are such a joy to have right next door,” she said sweetly, her spoon scraping at the bottom of her bowl. “You’ll never know how much I appreciate your company, dear.”
Leah smiled, ashamed of her impatience, as she watched the old lady enjoy her soup. “I’m happy to help out,” she said, pleasantly enough. Her mind raced ahead to the pile of washing she had yet to hang in her kitchen tonight. It would be dry by morning, and she would iron it before noon.
“Do you have any more of that salve you gave me to rub on my chest, dear?” Peering up at Leah, the wizened old woman’s eyes were rheumy and her mouth trembled.
A pang of guilt struck Leah. “Of course, I have. I’ll just run home and bring it back to you, Mrs. Thorwald.” She rose and eyed her soup kettle. “Why don’t you just keep the rest of the soup, and I’ll take the kettle home to wash.”
Mrs. Thorwald’s eyes brightened, and the widow nodded eagerly. “It’ll be just the thing for my quinsy, won’t it, dear?”
Leah donned her boots and coat and let herself out the front door, walking on the path to the gate to her own yard. The sun had gone down, and dusk had settled while she sat in the widow’s kitchen. Beneath her feet, the snow was too deep to attempt crossing the yards.
“I feel I’ve adopted a grandmother,” Leah muttered to herself, stomping up the stairs to her house. And that wasn’t all bad, she admitted silently. It was just that some day, she yearned—
“Mrs. Gunderson.”
The voice was dark, deep and richly resonant. It halted her in her tracks, one foot on the porch, the other on the top step. From the shadows beneath the steep roof, a tall figure stepped forward, and Leah watched as one long arm reached up to scoop the wide-brimmed hat from his head.
“Ma’am?” That single word held the power to set her heart beating almost double time, and Leah pressed her palm against her chest.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Leah made her way slowly, carefully, to her door, her legs trembling as she turned to face Gar Lundstrom. “You only startled me, Mr. Lundstrom. I was thinking about my neighbor. About her quinsy, actually.” She peered up at him. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am. I was told you might be able to help, since the doctor is…indisposed,” he said carefully.
She leaned forward. “Are you hurt? Have you sustained a wound?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not me, ma’am.” He stepped closer and she caught sight of his face, strained and anxious in the twilight.
“What, then? Your boy?”
“My wife. She is about to give birth, and she needs help. The women in the store have told me you are learned in the art of healing, and I thought—”
“I don’t deliver babies, Mr. Lundstrom,” Leah interjected forcefully. “I can sew up a cut or give herbs for some ailments, but babies are the business of the doctor.”
“He’s—”
“Yes, you said. Not available.”
He stepped closer, and his dark eyes burned with an intensity that stopped Leah’s breath in her throat. “I’ve driven my team hard to come back to town, ma’am. I fear to leave my wife alone longer.” He reached to grip Leah’s arm. “I need you to come with me. Surely you know about birthing babies. There is no one else to ask.”
“Doesn’t your wife have any women friends?” Leah asked, her voice hopeful.
He shook his head. “She doesn’t leave the farm much. Only to church, when she’s able, and to the store.”
“I haven’t seen her for quite some time.” Leah tried to remember the last occasion.
“She’s been in bed most of the time. For months,” Gar Lundstrom said tightly. “She’s not been well.”
“I can’t do it,” Leah told him, tilting her chin and gritting her teeth as she faced him.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “You must. There is no one else. My wife needs your help.”
She shook her head even as her heart raced in response. How could she turn this man away, knowing that, as they spoke, his wife was probably in the throes of labor, alone in a farmhouse, miles outside of town.
Gar Lundstrom’s big hand slid up her forearm and gripped her elbow more firmly. “You must come with me. Do you need a warmer coat?”
He hesitated only a moment as she stared up at him. “Come then,” he said tightly, tugging her to the steps.
Leah closed her eyes. It was too much. How could she deny the woman what small help she could give? Either she would deliver a healthy baby or she wouldn’t. “I’ll get my bag,” she whispered, snatching her arm from his grip.
He followed her into the house, and she fumbled for the lamp, striking a match and lighting it quickly.
“Wait here,” she said, striding purposefully through the doorway into her bedroom. Falling to her knees before the big chest she kept beneath the window, she opened it wide. Under her summer dresses was a leather bag, and she gripped the handles, feeling them warm in her palm.
She rose to her feet and drew a deep breath. It was happening again. She could feel the hopelessness grip her as she turned to face the man who had followed her into her bedroom. As if he were afraid she would disappear, he stood in the doorway, eyes alert and scanning the simple contents of her room.
“You needn’t follow me, Mr. Lundstrom. I said I’d come with you.”
He nodded his head. “Yes, you did.” His eyes were bold as he surveyed her. “Are you stronger than you look, Mrs. Gunderson?” He waited for a moment and nodded again. “Yes, I think you are. You may need to be, ma’am.”
He turned and she followed him, her gaze filled with the broad back, the slight hitch in his gait and the glow of his golden hair in the lamplight.
She blew out the lamp and they walked out onto the porch. “I need to tell my neighbor where I’m going, and I promised her some salve for her quinsy,” she said, suddenly remembering Mrs. Thorwald. “Pick me up by her gate.”
She hurried down the path, aware of his big sleigh sitting in the street. It was a wonder she had not noticed it earlier.
Mrs. Thorwald accepted the jar of salve with thanks, then clucked her tongue knowingly as she heard Leah’s words of explanation. “That one will keep you up all night, I’ll warrant. She’s what they call a hard delivery, Leah. Perhaps she’s lucky the doctor’s not available. He hasn’t done her much good in the past.”
With those words ringing cryptically in her ears, Leah made her way to the sleigh, where a gloved hand reached down to her. She hesitated for only a second, then placed her palm in that of Gar Lundstrom. He pulled her with little effort into his sleigh.
A fur robe was tucked over her lap, and Gar cast her one searching glance before he picked up the reins. Leah felt the heat of his body beside her, yet shivered as if an icy blast had cut through her covering.
“Sit closer,” he said bluntly. “You need to stay warm.” His big hand circled her shoulder, and he moved her across the seat until their thighs were brushing.
Leah swallowed words of protest that begged to be spoken. He was too big, too warm, too close; yet, for just a moment, she relished the warmth, the size and the nearness of the man. For just this short time, she allowed her mind to be blank of all else, to dwell only on the presence of Gar Lundstrom beside her.
The woman who labored on the big bed was as pitiful a sight as Leah had ever been exposed to. Hulda Lundstrom’s dry lips were drawn back over clenched teeth and her hair hung lank with sweat. She groaned unceasingly.
In less than a second, Leah cast a glance around the bedroom, tossed her cloak aside and placed her bag on a chair. “I need water to wash with, good hot water.”
“Right away.” Gar Lundstrom’s voice was gruff with emotion as he left the room, Leah’s cloak over his arm.
“How long have you been like this?” Leah asked Hulda Lundstrom, who panted harshly as her body convulsed with the pain of a violent contraction.
“Not long…a couple of hours maybe.” Her voice was raw, weakened by her pain, and Hulda opened her eyes to reveal a dull acceptance of her state. “It’s no worse than the other times.” She rested, taking deep breaths as the pain left her, her body seeming to sink into the depths of the mattress.
“How many other times have there been?” Leah asked, looking up as the door opened and Gar backed into the bedroom, his hands cradling a basin of steaming water.
“Two. No, three. But one was only three months gone and it was nothing.” Hulda’s gaze fastened on her husband. “You don’t need to be here, Gar. Go be with Kristofer,” she whispered. “It will be a long time yet.”
Leah turned to the man, anger rising in her throat. “You didn’t tell me your wife was having a difficult labor. I think you need to go back to town and find the doctor. If she has lost several babies already, we need to use every precaution this time.”
The wash water was deposited on the dressing table with care, lest it slosh over the edges. The tall man straightened to his full height, turning to face the bed.
“He won’t come.” There was a finality to his words that sent a chill down Leah’s spine.
“He told her the last time that she would not be able to deliver a live child, that her organs were damaged from the other times. He said he would not be responsible for encouraging her in her foolish efforts.”
“Foolish efforts.” Leah repeated the words without emotion, though her heart was pounding within her, and her anger rose even higher.
“I want to give my husband another child. Is that so bad?” Hulda’s eyes filled with tears as she turned her head to look at Leah. And even as she spoke, she stiffened, groaning as another contraction knotted her belly. Her hands spread wide over the mound, and her head tipped back against the pillow as the pain ravaged her.
Leah stepped to the side of the bed and sat next to the woman who labored now in silence before her audience. “Wring out a cloth in the warm water,” Leah said, glancing only momentarily at Gar, who watched from across the room.
He took a clean flannel square from atop a pile and wrung it out in the basin, then brought it to the bed. “Let me do this while you wash,” he said quietly.
Leah rose, giving way to him, and walked across the room, rolling up her sleeves as she went. Immutable sadness enveloped her as she scrubbed at her hands with the carbolic soap she carried in her bag. The chances of a live birth seemed small, given Hulda Lundstrom’s history. And yet, Leah must do all she could to birth a live child for this small, needy woman.
“Pull back the sheet,” she told Gar, returning to the bed. “Then put a clean sheet or blanket beneath her.”
“I don’t…” Hulda gasped for a breath, her face contorting as she allowed a groan to escape her lips. “Leave, Gar. Go…I don’t…”
“He can leave when he’s done as I asked,” Leah told her softly. “Let him lift you, Hulda. I want you to have clean bedding beneath you.”
A nod signified Hulda’s agreement, and Gar did as Leah had requested. His big hands were gentle as he slid them beneath his wife’s limbs to spread a clean, folded sheet under her lower body. He stood erect and looked at Leah, awaiting further instructions, and she was struck by the hopelessness in his eyes.
No longer the possessor of the dark, arrogant glare of a strong man, he cast her only a pleading, anxious look that begged mercy at her hands. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me.”
Leah nodded and took his place on the side of the bed. “Pull up your gown, Hulda,” she said quietly. “I want to feel the child.”
Hulda’s fingers twisted in the white flannel cloth, and she tugged it high over her stomach, exposing the swollen mound that contained her child. As Leah watched, it rippled, the muscles still strong as the womb fought to expel its contents. She placed her hand against the hard surface, closing her eyes as she felt for the body parts within.
Nothing nudged her hand, no trace of movement, only the pulsing rhythm of the pain that would not cease until the child was delivered.
“Has the baby moved since you began laboring?” she asked once the spasm had passed.
Hulda shook her head, her eyes closed. “For a bit, then not so much.” A sob escaped, and she spoke between gritted teeth. “This time he must live. I cannot do this again.”
For the first time, a cry passed through the lips of the woman who suffered, and Leah called out for Gar, pulling Hulda’s gown down over her writhing belly.
“Look in my bag and find the containers of dried roots. I need the ones marked baneberry and wild yam. Brew one piece of each, please, and make a cup of strong tea with it,” she ordered, not ever looking up as he awaited her orders near the doorway. “It will ease her pain.”
Gar hastened to do as she asked, and Leah heard the rattle of a kettle in the kitchen. In less than ten minutes, he was back.
“Here.” He placed the cup on the bedside table and hovered for a moment. “There is more when this is gone. Can I do anything else?”
Her tone was sharp as Leah glanced up at him, rebuffing his offer. “You’ve done enough already.”
His eyes narrowed as he caught her meaning and he retreated, shoulders stiff, as if he would deflect any further insult. The door closed behind him, and Leah picked up the cup and stirred the brew.
She filled the spoon, blowing a bit on its contents, then lifted it to. Hulda’s lips. “Here, open your mouth for me, Hulda,” she said quietly.
Hulda obeyed, allowing the warm liquid to enter her mouth, and swallowed. Leah repeated the movements until the tea was half-gone. Then she swirled it in the cup, deeming it cool enough to drink.
“I want you to lift up, just a bit, and drink this down,” she said, careful that the woman did not choke on the liquid as she drank.
There was no cessation of the labor, but as the tea began to work its magic, Leah whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. She lifted Hulda’s gown again, easing her hands beneath, spreading them wide on the distended belly as another contraction made itself known. Then, as it reached its peak, Leah bent to watch for the sight of a baby’s head, hoping fervently that the hours of labor had begun to reap some results.
There was no sign of imminent birth, only a steady leaking of bloody fluid. The skin beneath her hand was stretched and taut as Hulda’s body tried to complete this process.
It was not going well. Leah shook her head. She needed to know what was going on inside, there where the mouth of the womb held its prisoner. It must be done, she thought grimly, readying her hand with a coating of oil. She slid it within the straining woman’s body and sought the opening of Hulda’s womb. There, instead of the rounded head she prayed to come in contact with, she found twin globes—the buttocks of a baby. Too large to be born in this manner, the child was slowly tearing his mother asunder.
Leah withdrew her hand and sighed. “Is he dead?” Hulda whispered in a faint, hopeless voice. She had begun to perspire from every pore, it seemed, drenching her nightgown and the bed beneath her.
“No, he’s alive,” Leah said quietly. “It’s a breech birth, Hulda. Our only chance is for me to turn the baby around.”
“Then do what you must,” the woman said, each word punctuated by a moan. “If I cannot give Garlan another son, I don’t want to live.”
“Your life is worth more to your husband than another child,” Leah whispered fiercely.
Hulda shook her head in a hopeless gesture. “Nay, not so. But if I give him another live child, another son, perhaps he will love me.”
Leah’s eyes filled with useless tears, and she brushed at them with her forearm. “You will not die,” she vowed. “You will not.”
