The Midwife's Legacy, Page 2

  Jerome Schmidt took the seat, his knees awkward as he slanted forward. He frowned slightly but didn’t complain.

  “I have tea,” she said. “Would you like cream? It’s very fresh.”

  “No, nothing. I know I’m imposing.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I’ll have tea. You may as well, too.”

  “If you insist,” he said. His voice was deeper than her John’s had been, but not unpleasant.

  At least he had manners enough to admit his imposition. She took a closer look at him as she handed him the small cup. Slender as a poplar shoot. He probably couldn’t push a wagon stuck in the mud like her John could. A narrow face with a full lower lip, which she noticed he chewed, as though nervous. She decided to take the advantage.

  “I know why you’re here,” she said. “And he can’t have her. Arthur was distraught the night she was born, I know that. I’ve lived my entire life ruminating about what I might have done differently, and I always come up with the same answer: nothing. It was out of my hands. I did everything I could from the beginning of Serena’s term until the very moment of delivery. It was tragic, mournful, awful. But I could not have prevented it. God moved in that room.” She caught her breath, slowed. “He is her natural father and I waited, giving Arthur weeks, months, years, to come to his senses. I know there was grief. But now it’s too late. I’ll not put Polly through such a reversal that returning to a father she’s never known would mean. I’ll fight him in the court, I will. I’ll mortgage this farm, sell my cows, whatever it takes to keep that child with me.”

  She’d moved closer to the man and towered over him in his slanted chair. She took a deep breath, stepped back. Color had drained from his narrow face. The arched eyebrow made him look confused.

  “Am I to understand that you have the care of a child given to you at the time of her birth?”

  “Arthur didn’t tell you that detail?”

  “My good woman, I have no idea who this Arthur is. Nor this Polly. But am I to understand this all occurred as a result of your handling the infant’s delivery?”

  “I’m a midwife,” Adele told him. “But what happened wasn’t anyone’s fault.” She sat down, exhausted from remembering that night.

  “It’s your midwife status, your record of success—or failure—that interests me.”

  “You’re not here to take Polly away?”

  “I’m here for a midwife. Or, rather, for my sister, who needs one. She’s alone, recently widowed, and we are all that’s left of our family, the two of us and now her unborn child. I’ve insisted she move here from North Carolina, but she is still grieving the death of her husband. She wants to be sure she’ll have proper care. She prefers a midwife, though I advised her there was a doctor here.”

  “Doc Pederson. Very good man.”

  “Caroline doesn’t trust doctors. They didn’t save her husband after his accident. They bled him, which she felt made him weaker. You don’t do any bleeding, do you?”

  “Certainly not.” What a fool she’d made of herself rambling on about the worst midwife case she’d ever had, the worst and yet the one that had eventually given her the greatest joy. Adele’s tongue often wagged when it should have waned. “We’re not physicians but rather women trained to be with women in our God-given commission to bring life into being. I work with physicians,” she assured him. “I can give you references.”

  Mr. Schmidt frowned, adjusted himself on the chair.

  He won’t want my services now. And I’ll have to face him when I need my next farm loan, too. “I should have waited to see what you needed before burdening you with my personal concerns.”

  He cleared his throat, paused, and awkwardly moved his legs as he pitched forward on the slanted chair. “I asked around regarding competent midwives. Your name came up often. My sister is quite … high-strung. She’s forty years old, and this will be her first child.”

  “When is the baby due?”

  He paused. “I’m not sure if we should continue this conversation. If you have drama involved in your deliveries—”

  “I don’t. Polly’s mother’s death was a tragic loss. I was barely twenty. It’s the only death I’ve faced in all my years as a midwife. I like to be involved at the very beginning, helping prepare the mother and encouraging her confidence in being able to bring the infant safely into the world.”

  “The woman who died, had you been involved from the beginning?”

  Adele swallowed. “Yes. Serena was a good friend. I might have known of her pregnancy even before her husband did. I would have given my own life to save hers, but she … the doctor said it was the way of things.” Adele took a deep breath. “I’ve delivered dozens since. Polly has been my helper these last three years. The baby is due when?”

  “Winter,” he said. He tugged at his watch bob, and Adele couldn’t tell if he was anxious to leave because of another appointment or if her grandmother’s chair was taking its toll.

  “Whatever your sister wishes will be honored. It’s a mother’s choice, and when she knows she’s in control, the delivery goes much more smoothly.”

  “Oh, Caroline will definitely be in control.”

  “There are things that experience teaches,” Adele told him. “Hopefully your sister is willing to consider those occasions of imparted wisdom from others.”

  “What my sister is willing to consider is anyone’s guess.” He fidgeted then, and Adele was about to suggest he move to another chair when he stood, turned, and looked at where he’d been sitting. “I suspect you’ll be able to handle my sister, if this chair is any indication.” He grinned at her. “I assume it wasn’t inadvertently cut off in front?”

  Adele felt her face grow warm. “It was my grandmother’s chair.” She stood, too. “She found it … useful with certain visitors.”

  “I might confiscate the idea,” he told her. “It would limit some of the bores who take up my time at the bank.”

  “I’m happy to have assisted your banking operations.” She curtsied and smiled.

  “Indeed,” Mr. Schmidt said. He stared at her longer than necessary she thought, a small smile creeping onto his rather handsome face. He chewed that lip again. “I’ll send you notice when my sister arrives, and you may come and meet her, see if you’re willing to take her on.”

  They discussed her fee, and Adele ushered him out. She stood on the porch, her hand shading the afternoon sun as he mounted his horse. He tipped his hat and rode down the lane, sitting the horse quite well. Mr. Schmidt had taken her slanted chair well, too. It was a good sign that he could adapt and might even have a sense of humor. Well, why should she care about that? He was a client’s brother; nothing more. But she did like the arch of his eyebrows and the curl of his mouth as he sat on that chair and realized why he was sliding toward her.

  Chapter 3

  MEMORY PUSHING TO WISDOM

  Sixteen-year-old Polly Schultz dismounted the old mule, letting the reins drop where she stood, her bare feet pushing up dust, her bonnet dangling down her back, threatening to tangle with her now-loosened chocolate-brown braid. Polly reminded Adele of a deer: light on her feet, fine-boned, and well, beautiful. “Who was that?”

  “A gentleman seeking a midwife for his sister.”

  “He’s handsome.”

  “Not that you could see much of him as you rattled on past him.” Adele motioned with her hand. “Pick up those reins, and put Beulah away before she runs off.”

  “She hasn’t done that in months, Mamadele.” Polly used the affectionate name Adele’s husband had suggested when Polly first began to talk. It was different than what her friends would eventually call their mothers, yet somehow alike. Polly knew of her mother and her father and that tragic night.

  “Mules, like people, can forget good habits if they’re not reinforced. That speaks of midwifery, too, you know. There are good practices, consistently attended to, that make all the difference when the birthing comes.”

  “I though
t you said each birth is unique,” Polly countered. She picked up the reins and held them loosely while the mule ripped at grass.

  “Each is. But it’s the usual practices that make one able to honor that uniqueness while sticking to things that are likely to ensure a good delivery.”

  Maybe that was why there’d been that terrible night with Serena. Adele simply hadn’t had the years of experience she needed to know what to do. Adele and John were newly married, with no children of their own. The doctor said it might have been a blood-clotting problem or an aneurysm and that it wasn’t Adele’s fault. Still, forgiveness wisped away like morning fog on the pond, to return only when conditions were right.

  “Mamadele?”

  “What? I’m sorry. My mind went visiting. Your planting looks chirk. We should have peas and carrots and beets in no time.”

  “I’d rather do almost anything than plant seeds, Mamadele.”

  “How fortunate for you, then. You’ll be weeding from now on.”

  Polly groaned.

  “Pull that bonnet up. Your face will be as brown as a bean, and what will people say?” Adele shooed her toward the barn while the girl tugged on the calico bonnet. “After you’ve put Beulah up, I’ll tell you what I know about this new client. It will be a challenge, I think; one that’ll take both our good heads to handle.”

  The midwife would do, Jerome decided. He sat at his desk at the bank, the pale light of the lantern washing across his papers. He chuckled about the slanted chair. She was inventive. She’d need that to handle Caroline. His sister was a demanding woman who insisted on doing things her way. But he knew she suffered now or she wouldn’t have agreed to come. He’d had his own losses and felt they’d help each other even if it inconvenienced him for a time.

  Jerome finished notes made on a recent loan application. The owner of the flour mill along Mirror Pond wanted to buy a new grist stone. He was inclined to grant the loan with stipulations. A good banker always had stipulations. The village of Mondovi was growing. Still, he was reluctant to invest in the town himself, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d left Milwaukee, unable to stay in the same city as the woman who had spurned him. She’d found a more “substantial man,” she’d told him. The words still stung, echoing as they did the words of his father, charging he’d never amount to much.

  Jerome took his timepiece from his vest pocket and looked it over. He ought to rid himself of it. A broken engagement should carry no baggage, especially not baggage associated with time. Maybe he hadn’t given the relationship with Clarissa enough time before he proposed, but he’d so wanted a wife and family to share his future.

  He stood. There was no sense in thinking about past agonies. His sister would be here within the month, and he’d be able to tell her he’d found a suitable midwife for her. His thoughts returned to Mrs. Marley and how she’d challenged him for not giving her ample time to prepare for a visit. Her blue eyes had sparkled with upset when she opened the door, her protectiveness for her daughter granting her substance. She bore wide shoulders and a high forehead; comely, too, she was, her hair the color of fading yellow roses, wisping around delicate ears.

  He’d make another ride out to her farm within the month, he decided. She did have a loan with the bank, after all. A woman running her farm alone wasn’t always the best risk. He needed to reassure himself about her abilities to manage his sister, too. Should he make it a surprise visit? No. He sat back down and wrote a note. He’d give her time. He could tell she was a woman who didn’t like surprises, and if he’d learned one thing from his soured engagement with Clarissa, it was to figure out what a woman didn’t like—and avoid it.

  Chapter 4

  CAROLINE’S COMMAND PERFORMANCE

  Adele had forgotten her bonnet and the sun beat on her face. The banker’s visit flummoxed her, despite the week of preparation he’d given. He said he visited as part of her loan relationship with the bank, and he clearly evaluated the work she and Polly did. “I hire others to help with plowing and harvest,” she assured him. “Most of the loan goes for labor.” Polly walked behind them as robins chirped and hopped in the fields.

  “One has to be a good judge of character to hire well, you being a widow and having a young girl around.”

  “Are you questioning my judgment?” She turned to look at him.

  “Just a comment on managing risk. I wonder if you’ve thought about buying more land to pasture more cows, expand your herd.”

  “I’d have to go into greater debt for that. I’ve been cautious.”

  “Yes, yes, caution is important. But so is venturing into something that might have greater return. One can’t cross the continent to new adventures without leaving the security of home.”

  “I’m not the adventurous type,” Adele said. Then, “Is there some problem with my loan?”

  “Making periodic visits is something I thought the bank should do, not wait until the annual payoff. Head off any problems that way.”

  “So you’re visiting all the people with whom the bank has loans.”

  “Eventually.”

  “Do you anticipate problems with mine?”

  “It might be good if I continued to check. A good businessman—or -woman—needs a fine lawyer, a skilled bookkeeper, and a future-thinking banker to be successful.”

  “I do my own bookkeeping. I’ve never had need of a lawyer, and until now, I didn’t think I’d see my banker more than once a year.”

  “Times change.”

  Adele tripped then, stumbling on a rock. He quickly reached for her elbow to keep her from falling, and the warmth of his hand spread through her arm, causing alarm. It had been a long time since she’d felt such warmth.

  “Now, see, you might have fallen if I hadn’t been here.” He continued to hold her elbow.

  “I wouldn’t be walking around the field if you weren’t here. I’d be working in it. I’m just a little clumsy is all.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “You’re as agile as a deer.”

  She thought of herself more like a bear, rounder than need be for someone not hibernating in winter. A deer was a lithe animal, and … beautiful, like Polly. John had never called her beautiful or agile or compared her to anyone but his mother, whom he adored. He’d called Adele “handsome,” a word she associated with men.

  Jerome smiled at her when he said the words, and she felt the heat of his fingers even after she’d regained her physical balance and he’d stepped appropriately away.

  “I hope you won’t mind my monitoring the bank’s interests. It’s my calling, after all, to assist orphans and widows with their needs. A woman alone doesn’t make the best decisions, it’s been my experience.”

  Adele bristled. “I’ve kept this farm going on my own for three years. And as a midwife, I’ve made dozens of decisions on behalf of a mother and child. That’s my calling.”

  “What women do for each other. A natural thing. Hardly a calling.”

  “You’re mistaken.” She stopped, hands on her hips. “If you lack confidence in my skills, perhaps you should simply have Doc Pederson attend the birth.”

  “No, no. My sister wants a midwife, that’s certain. Please. I’ve upset you, and I didn’t intend that.” He wasn’t looking at her with a banker’s eyes now.

  Adele wished she’d worn that bonnet to hide the confused stirrings caused by a man who demeaned her work, yet looked at her with pleading eyes.

  Mrs. Waste attended the church service. She expected her fourth child in October. “I love those experienced mothers,” Adele said as she and Polly walked home from the circuit rider’s monthly visit at the nearby school. As they walked, Adele noted that summer was in full bloom. “They bring their own methods to the lying-in and aren’t as frightened as new mothers. We midwives can learn from them.”

  “More for your journal.” Polly tugged on her shawl then looked back, waved a final good-bye to someone.

  They finished the evening milking together. Adele looked forward
to winter, when most of the cows dried up and had to be fed but not milked, when she and Polly could curl a little deeper beneath the feather comforter and wait for the sun to come up before stepping out onto the cold floor, dressing then heading outside to place the harvests of summer in the barn mangers. In spring and summer, the work was twice as much, tending to new calves and getting their mothers back into the routine of milking once the weaning (and bawling of mothers and their calves) was accomplished; cutting and putting up grass hay for winter; planting the garden, harvesting, picking berries; pulling porcupine quills from a calf’s nose; whatever it took to tend the farm consumed summer. In between there would be babies to deliver, giving them both challenge and exquisite joy. She still followed up with the Bentz family, whose baby, Luke, was now a year old. That delivery had been a long, hard one, but both child and mother were doing fine.

  “Could we have more lilac scent when we make soap next?” Polly asked as she washed her face before bed.

  “Of course.” It was the first time the girl had asked for something related to her grooming. Is she thinking about boys?

  “Did you see someone special at church today?” Adele finished a stitch as she let the hem down on one of Polly’s dresses in the waning evening light.

  “Sam.” She was always direct, a quality Adele admired. “He’s smart in his schoolwork and not afraid to show it like some of the boys. I want to marry a smart boy.”

  “You’ll need a smart one to keep up with you.”

  Polly dried her face, undid her braid. Before long Adele would gift her with the pearl cluster hair clip that Serena had given Adele as a birthday present one year. Adele had never worn it after Serena died, saving it for Polly to have on the day she married.