The Midwife's Legacy (Romancing America), Page 4

  Caroline. Would she stay with him after the baby was born? If Adele might one day marry him—he knew that was thinking awfully far ahead—would she want to share a house with Caroline? If he proposed to Adele and she accepted, was he ready to leave the village and move to her farm, leaving his sister and her baby alone in the house? He’d have to hire a cook and housekeeper for Caroline. If he didn’t marry and Caroline remained, there’d be a houseful of women surrounding his time, and the cries of an infant to wake to. He’d have to get a maid to help. Caroline would be relentless in her demands.

  He watched squirrels chatter and sprint up an oak tree along the path to his house. What kind of mother would his sister be? It worried him, he realized. A successful birth was only the beginning. Only thinking of Adele’s intervention gave him ease. He’d have to seek her advice about what would happen after the baby arrived. He didn’t know when midwives finished their work, but he hoped it wasn’t on the night of the delivery.

  “It’s not time to push yet, Melinda,” Adele told the laboring woman.

  “My body is riding that familiar crest, and I’m not sure I can stay in the boat.”

  “Polly, why don’t you massage Melinda’s back.”

  “I haven’t had one like this before,” Melinda Waste panted. “All the others came before I was even ready. My water broke, and before my husband could find the towel, it seemed like I was—oh, oh, oh, oh.”

  “That’s right. Breathe just like that.”

  “I ain’t breathing ‘like that’ for a reason,” Melinda snapped. “It’s ‘cuz it hurts!”

  “I know it does. But in a short while, you’ll be pressing that baby to your breast and be the proudest mama around.” Adele checked the woman’s intimate parts, counted between the rise of her body and breath, squatted. “I see the baby’s head. Nice black hair.”

  “Let me sit up. No, let me walk. Oh, oh, oh, I have to push, Adele, I have to.”

  “Polly, take her hand.” With oiled fingers, Adele soothed the skin that formed a stretching halo around the infant’s head then broke into song. “Hark! the herald angels sing—”

  “Glory to the newborn king,” Polly chimed in, and then Adele heard Melinda singing, too, in gasping breaths that groaned out this new life inside of her. Adele stopped singing to concentrate fully on the little head, little shoulder, body, and soul, slippery as an eel, willing itself into life and this family.

  “It’s a boy! Bigger than a pork ham. I bet he weighs close to ten pounds.”

  “No wonder he took so much time.” Melinda cried now, tears of joy. “Charley!” She called for her husband. “You’ve got your boy at last.”

  Her husband rushed into the room, three little girls with wide eyes behind him. Charley bent to look at his son. “I knew he was coming when I heard you start to sing.”

  Adele turned her attention to Melinda. “Everything is fine. You did amazing work.” She wiped the woman’s forehead of perspiration and her cheeks of tears. “Polly, get a cold rag and we’ll ease that pain.”

  “What’s that?” Charley pointed to a patch of wrinkly skin on his son’s tiny wrist.

  “A sucking blister. He’s been practicing in the womb.”

  “Well, I’ll be …,” Charley said.

  The room was filled with the spirit of hopefulness, of joy, of the mystery of life, and the cycle of birthing repeating itself. Adele felt a part of a larger gathering, of all women who had brought a child into the world, who see the work of creation nurtured within their bodies then brought forth to hear the voices of angels.

  “May we speak a prayer of thanksgiving for you all?” Adele asked them.

  “Oh, please do,” Melinda said, and the little girls bowed their heads as Adele expressed gratitude for this new life, a safe journey, and God’s blessings on the family for the years ahead.

  November 5, 1858. Young Harold Waste has left behind the gentle waters and peaceful floating tethered to the life raft of placenta. He’s on his own now, but he has many hands to help him become the man God intends for him to be. A loving father and mother, sisters who will spoil him, a home of sturdy logs with wood piled to the rafters, a faith to sustain them. Polly hummed “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing” all the way home beneath a star-filled sky. Note to Polly when you read this: Always remember to ask the mother if you may pray for her at the beginning and at the end. It is like a psalm and a benediction, assuring all that God is the center of the circle of this new life.

  Chapter 7

  PRESSING THE CASE

  May I court you?” Jerome Schmidt surprised her as she donned her shawl and bonnet. They’d had a midday meal, and even Doc Pederson had stayed for sauerkraut sandwiches, making Caroline laugh her tinkling tones. Adele and Jerome were alone in the foyer of his home.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I enjoy your company,” Jerome said. “And because you’re kind, of sound mind, and beautiful.”

  Adele laughed. “I’m not so sure about the sound mind part. Or the beautiful part, either.”

  Adele’s husband—God rest his soul—had never called her beautiful. He often used words like “sturdy,” “good-boned,” and once even “comely” to describe her form. His word of choice—“handsome”—caused her the most distress. It was a word meant to describe a horse or a finely apportioned man, but a handsome woman? Who would find attraction in that? Jerome was kind and gracious, but he always greeted her with either “Mrs. Marley” or “How’s the little midwife today?” The latter with a jocular tone, as though he diminished the work she did. Little midwife, indeed. But now he wanted to court her? The words were not romantic, and she realized she wished they were.

  She also knew she liked his company, and there was no reason not to agree to his request. And so they’d taken a number of walkabouts together, past Mirror Pond where geese gathered, flying south. He drove out to join her and Polly on Sunday afternoons to attend the evening services. Caroline was always invited, but she preferred to be “at home” as she called it, saying Southern women wouldn’t be seen in public in her “condition.” Adele tried to tell her that she didn’t have an illness. Her pregnancy could be concealed beneath her hoops so no one even need know, and the exercise would be good for her. But Caroline declined.

  After Christmas, there’d be no circuit rider until spring, and Adele realized she’d miss both the pastor’s messages and Jerome’s presence on Sundays. He had an easy banter about most subjects, but he had opinions, oh yes, he did. Adele could see his sister in his thoughts at times, that certainty and demand, and both could carry on quite fascinating arguments. Those times Adele left their house feeling grateful she didn’t have to live with the two of them, both as certain as rocks are hard.

  And yet when she rode her mule into her yard a few days before Thanksgiving and saw that he was there, reading a gazette on the porch, the paper expanded between gloved hands and just the top of his fur hat visible, she sat a little straighter on the mule.

  “Is everything all right, Mamadele?” Polly said. The girl rode beside her on her own mule.

  “What? Of course everything’s fine. This corset just pokes a bit after a three-mile ride.”

  “Doesn’t it do the same thing when we’re in the wagon? You never jerk up straight then.”

  Adele looked at her and saw the tease in her eyes.

  “Yes. No. Never mind,” Adele said, annoyed at being flustered by the man’s presence and having Polly catch her in it. “You take these mules to the barn. Soon as you’re finished, come change and we’ll get started milking. At least there’s only one to milk now.”

  A soft snow fell as Polly led the mules away.

  “Has Caroline gone into labor?” Adele motioned for them to go inside.

  “No, nothing like that, but it seemed time to discuss yet another stage in Caroline’s condition with you. Might you have one of your hard rolls with peach jam to ease a man’s stomach as we talk?”

  “Here I thought it was my sweet
disposition that brought you out in the cold.”

  “Oh it is, it is,” he said. “Hard rolls and peach jam are just added value.”

  “Spoken like a banker.” She took the bread from the oven where she stored it, gave him a jug of jam. “I have cows to tend to, and then we’d be pleased if you stayed for supper.”

  “I’d be a fool to say no to that.” He grinned. Adele hoped it wasn’t just the food that made him look delighted. She headed up the stairs to change her clothes, aware of his presence on the first floor of her house. She wondered if he scanned the room, seeing what he could about who she was by what she surrounded herself with. She came back downstairs about the time that Polly entered. The girl said hello then climbed the stairs to change her clothes, too.

  Adele tied her kerchief around her head and donned John’s warm barn coat. She felt comforted in it. “We shouldn’t be too long,” she said as she sat to pull on rubber boots.

  “May I help?”

  Surprised, Adele looked up. “Well, yes, that could be arranged, but you’re not dressed for the occasion. I could offer you a pair of my husband’s pants, but they’d come high above your ankles.” The thought made her smile. “And I’m not sure if his boots will fit you.”

  “I’ve brought my own change of clothes,” he said. “I thought I might meet up with you about chore time. Of course, you’re most always at work, aren’t you? It’s part of what I admire about you, that sense of purpose and determination. May I call you Adele?” He looked straight at her when he said it.

  Adele blinked, stopped pulling on her rubber boots. Sometimes he seemed to read her mind about things she hadn’t ever shared with him. He made her name sound melodious. And his compliment about her commitment to her work warmed her perhaps more than his use of her name.

  “Why, yes. I mean, maybe; few do. I—”

  “Perhaps Miss Adele would lend a little formality to the occasion.”

  “And what occasion would that be?” Adele stood.

  “The first time you’ve let me milk one of your cows,” he said, moving closer to her. She could feel her face grow warm, her mouth turn dry. He plucked an errant piece of hay stuck on her kerchief. “That is, the occasion when you actually allow me to participate in your work. I believe such work is your greatest love.”

  “Polly is my greatest love. Then midwifery.”

  He was so close to her now that she could see the follicles of his beard like tiny pinpricks against his chin. Her heart pounded in her ears—or was that his heart she could hear? “I do like the work I do. Don’t you? I mean, work is—”

  He bent down to kiss her, and the warmth of his lips spread like sweet honey against hers, swirling emotion down her arms, her legs, tingling her toes. He stepped back and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Miss Adele,” he whispered, “how beautiful you are.” He touched her cheeks with both hands, smooth hands. “So beautiful,” he repeated.

  She wanted to let herself unfold like a flower onto his chest, but she was aware of Polly upstairs and of the cows waiting to be milked and fed, how warm the room had become, and how astonished she was to have been called beautiful while her hair was mashed by a hay-streaked kerchief, and she stood in rubber boots beneath an old dress and John’s tattered coat.

  “Work is … What were you saying about my name?”

  “I wondered if I might call you Adele.”

  She cleared her throat. She needed to regain control. “I think your calling me Miss Adele while we’re in the company of others will be just fine. But …” She didn’t know how to say what she felt. “But you can call me that … other, anytime we’re alone.”

  “Which I’m hoping will be often,” he told her.

  They heard Polly clumping down the stairs, and Jerome excused himself to get his boots and coat. Polly joined them, and the three walked to the barn swinging buckets they picked up from the porch. Adele was certain Polly would ask why her face had turned crimson, but she didn’t. The three went on about their work. Jerome was a good learner, Adele decided, and when they finished milking, he helped put the evening feed in the cows’ mangers. It was nice to have a man to do some of the heavy lifting. She watched his arms, strong though lean in appearance. It took half the time to finish up and head into the house for supper. Adele smiled. She couldn’t be more grateful, and Thanksgiving was just around the corner.

  “There is one more thing we need to discuss before I go, Miss Adele,” Jerome said. He liked looking at her and would be as proper as Adele wished with what he called her. Polly sat at the table and sketched in the lamplight. She had talent, though Jerome suspected that needlework would be a more practical avenue for a girl to pursue.

  “And what would that be?” Adele asked. She put away the dishes Polly had washed that sat drying by the sink.

  “It’s Caroline. Her time will be soon, and I think it valuable for you to consider staying with us at the house.”

  “Of course I’ll stay,” Adele told him. “Once she goes into labor, I’ll be there day and night, as soon as you come to get me to let me know it’s her time.”

  “Yes. Well, that’s the problem. I think you should consider staying beginning in December. In case there are storms and I can’t come to get you. Planning ahead,” he said. “As you did by writing to that college to get information about certain foods that might help Caroline. It seems like planning to be there in advance of labor would be wise.”

  “I can’t be away from the farm that long,” Adele said. “I have other clients, too. Besides, I still have a cow that isn’t dry so needs milking, and the others to feed.”

  “I could do it, Mamadele.”

  “I can’t leave you alone here, Polly. I’ll need you to help. No, we’ll feed heavy, give them extra, and then we’ll go when Mr. Schmidt comes to get us.”

  “Maybe I could stay here and tend to the cows,” he offered, “or you could bring the milk cow along. We have a small barn behind the house.”

  “And the feed?”

  “Yes. Well, it might be best if I came here and milked and fed.”

  “If you can come to milk them, then you can get through storms to reach me and let me know Caroline’s in labor and take us back with you when it’s time.”

  “The baby could come sooner than mid-December. Caroline’s not good with dates or timing.”

  “What does Caroline say about my staying for a longer time?”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants.” Jerome pulled at his vest, straightened in his chair. “So I’ve made the decision for her. A man often has to do that.” He could hear the frustration in his own voice.

  “Such decisions aren’t always the wisest.” Adele began skimming the milk for the cream and putting it into the butter churn. Soon the rhythm of the plunger filled the room. He wondered if he should offer some new argument, but he couldn’t think of one. He just wanted Adele to come sooner and not only for Caroline. He looked forward to the time with Adele in his own home. It would give him time to ask her the question he’d been harboring for weeks now, without the distraction of Polly or the farm.

  “I’ll talk with Caroline.” Adele wiped her hands on her apron. “A midwife always listens to the mother-to-be and not the uncle-to-be, no matter how well intentioned.”

  He should have remembered that being the proper midwife trumped even the farm. He was in competition with that part of her life, and he wasn’t certain he could come out on top.

  Chapter 8

  CONCENTRATE ON MIDWIFERY

  Caroline leaned in toward Adele and whispered, “I don’t think Jerome does well in a crisis, and I’m not at all certain he will be up to doing what is necessary unless someone wise is here to tell him what to do. He hasn’t kept a maid, so please, come and stay as soon as you can. The laundry is in piles.”

  Adele had enough of her own laundry to tend to without doing Caroline’s and Jerome’s, too. That wasn’t the activity she’d hired on for. Cooking, yes, and keeping the lying-in area spot
less, those were part of her duties, but Jerome would have to find someone else to wash sheets.

  “My work is to be available for your delivery, to assure your success in bringing this infant into your family. Laundry isn’t on the list of things a midwife does.”

  “Not even if it would make me feel more secure?” Caroline lay on a fainting couch covered in a rose brocade, the evidence of her pregnancy mounding up like a half-moon rising over the treetops.

  “I want you to feel safe, Caroline, so if not having the laundry done becomes an issue, we’ll discuss it. But I’ll ask your brother to persist in finding you domestic help.” Then she thought to ask, “Who does it now?”

  “Jerome. He’s quite handy that way, but of course it’s unseemly for a man to be doing such woman’s work.”

  Adele rather liked the idea that Jerome was willing to do woman’s work when needed. It added a pleasant dimension to him.

  “I think he avoids hiring another maid just to save money. But my husband left me well-off.”

  “Not a bad reason,” Adele said, wondering why Caroline whispered. “Maybe he just doesn’t want any more females gathering in his house.”

  “Oh, my brother loves the company of women,” Caroline said. “He so enjoys your visits. A man needs a good filler at the end of his day, don’t you think?”

  Adele stepped over the affront and hoped this new baby would be a boy so Jerome would have a comrade-in-arms. Caroline had put on quite a bit of weight in her pregnancy, and the lower position of the baby suggested to Adele that it just might be a boy. Caroline didn’t seem to have a preference. She just wanted a healthy baby she could “love forever.”