The Midwife. Carolyn Davidson

wonder if I have been looking in the wrong places, Mrs. Gunderson.” His eyes met hers, and Leah was stunned by the calculation she sensed in their depths. He allowed his gaze to sweep over her length, pausing almost imperceptibly on her narrow waist and the flare of her bosom above it.

      “I think I need more than a housekeeper, Mrs. Gunderson,” he said quietly, his eyes once more touching her face with pale concentration. “I’m in town today to speak with you about a matter of interest to both of us.”

      Leah’s heart bumped, halted and quivered in her chest. Surely not, she thought. The man didn’t even like her, even though his hatred had waned over the past months. Surely he couldn’t be thinking of making her an offer?

      “Shall we go inside?” she asked, drawing in a breath lest her voice break and reveal her uncertainty. She stepped past his seated figure and opened her door, holding it ajar as he stood and carried the baby into the parlor.

      He watched while Leah carried her bundle into the kitchen, and her mind raced. Perhaps it would be better to speak with the man in the parlor, where the atmosphere was not so homey, where she might sit on the horsehair sofa and listen to his offer. For, sure as the world was turning, an offer was what she was about to hear. She’d be willing to bet her bank account on it.

      “Mrs. Gunderson. Leah.” He’d followed her into the kitchen, speaking her given name, as if what he was about to say was too personal to merit formality.

      “Yes?” Leah turned to face him, the table between them, her fingers working at the string that tied her purchases.

      His hand waved at her efforts. “Leave that alone for a moment and sit down. Please.” He drew a chair from the table, waited until she had obeyed his order and then sat down, facing her.

      Leah bit at her lip, nervous as she anticipated the words he was about to speak. If he should offer to hire her as housekeeper, she would refuse, for the gossip would not allow her a reputation worth having.

      Her eyes lifted to meet his gaze and she tilted her chin, as if she dared him to suggest such a thing. Again his eyes made a survey, this time touching the honey-colored braids she wore as a coronet atop her head, then focusing on the set of her jaw and the tight pursing of her lips, before he returned to meet her gaze.

      “I would like to ask you to marry me, Leah Gunderson.”

      His voice was solemn, his words slow and ponderous, as if he had thought long and hard before he made his offer. “I need someone to live at my place and care for my children. I want my daughter where she belongs, and my house shows neglect.”

      Well, that was about the most honest proposal a woman had ever received, Leah decided. He hadn’t minced any words, just spelled it out and let it lay.

      “I’m being offered a dirty house and two needy children. Am I right?” she asked quietly.

      He shrugged, his wide shoulders moving almost imperceptibly as he lifted an eyebrow in response. “Perhaps I’m also making a way for you to clear your conscience, Mrs. Gunderson.”

      “I bear no guilt, sir,” she said firmly, her mouth quivering as the pain of his words vibrated within her. She’d spent too many hours going over the events of that night to accept blame for the death of Hulda Lundstrom. “I did the best I could for your wife.”

      “No matter,” he said, dismissing her words. “If you will come to my farm and be Leah Lundstrom, I will give you a place to live for the rest of your life. I will treat you well and never lay a hand on you in anger.”

      “Well, that’s some offer,” she said smartly. “It’s not really what I had my heart set on, though.” Her voice mocked him, and she felt a pang of remorse as he dropped his gaze.

      “It’s all I can propose,” he said after a moment. His hand lifted and swept the circumference of the room. “It will be better than this.”

      “Once it gets cleaned up, perhaps.”

      “It shouldn’t take you any time at all, as strong and healthy as you are, ma’am. You will even find a supply of potatoes in my dugout, ready for your use.” His mouth twitched as he reminded her of her need.

      The sun from the window over her sink glinted on golden strands of hair as Garlan rose to his feet. It formed a nimbus around him, causing his hair to shine, as if the sun had taken up residence within each lock. Like a warrior from the olden days, he stood before her, long legs spread, wide shoulders and long arms husky with muscled strength.

      Only the dainty form of his daughter lent a note of disparity to the picture. Her round face peered from his shoulder as she twisted to view Leah, unwilling to allow her to disappear from sight. And perhaps it was that smiling visage that turned the tables in Garlan Lundstrom’s favor.

      “I thought you might ask me to be your housekeeper, Mr. Lundstrom,” Leah ventured. “I didn’t have in mind marriage at this late date. I will be thirty years old in a month.”

      He shook his head. “I don’t think that should be a barrier, Leah. Thirty is not so old these days. I am thirty-four myself.”

      “It’s different for a man,” she argued. “I’m too old to begin having children.”

      His eyes grew chilled, the pale blue orbs turning to ice. “I did not ask for that. I have two children. I have had a woman in my bed. I did not find it rewarding to bring her to the childbed and watch her die. I’ll not take that risk again.”

      So it was to be that way, Leah thought She would not know the touch of a man’s hands on her body in the act of loving. Her virgin flesh would know no ease from its aching need.

      “You have been married, Leah. Can you honestly say you desire that attachment again?” he asked quietly. “It has been my experience that women do not seek out a bedding, but only endure such a thing in order to have children.”

      She shook her head, not even aware of what she agreed or disagreed with. She’d never been wed, had only taken her mother’s maiden name and made it her own, so that she would not be despised as a maiden lady doing the work of a midwife. And now this man was telling her that she would not have the knowledge of his body atop her own, that he would not use her to create more children of his loins.

      “Let me think about it, Mr. Lundstrom,” she said, proud of the steady quality of her words.

      He turned to place Karen in her basket, his hands reluctant as he slipped them from her body. Then he faced Leah and offered her his hand, waiting till she met it with her own.

      His palm was broad, warm and strong. His fingers enclosed hers in a firm grip. Not a handshake as men exchanged, but rather a clasping of hands, as if they sealed a bargain between them. Leah felt her fingers soak up the warmth of his, felt the pulsing of his heartbeat as her middle finger touched his wrist. The heat of his flesh encompassed her palm, spreading to her forearm and up to her shoulder. It met the frantic beat of her heart, and she knew a moment’s panic as that organ seemed to swell within her breast.

      “I will call on you tomorrow, Leah,” he said, his words almost harsh in their intensity. She met his gaze as her hand slipped from his grasp, and she noted a flicker of emotion there. As surely as her name was Leah Gunderson, she knew that Garlan Lundstrom held something from her. He was not so forbidding suddenly, not so reserved.

      “Bring the potatoes then,” she said pertly, and was not surprised when the flicker became a flame and his eyes warmed for a moment.

      “Yes, I’ll do that.” His mouth was firm, his lips thinning as though he forbade them to speak further. He then turned from her and walked to the front door.

      “I will come for my answer tomorrow afternoon.” With a nod of his head, which caused a lock of golden hair to brush against his forehead, he was gone.

      Leah’s fingers itched to brush that errant lock back into place and she stifled the urge, clenching her hands at her waist as he turned back to look at her from the bottom of the porch steps.

      “He