The Midwife. Carolyn Davidson

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.”

       Chapter Two

      Gar Lundstrom’s face was pale and twisted with anguish, his eyes sunk deep from lack of sleep. His fists hung at his sides, and he swayed in place. As if he gathered energy from some unknown source, he lifted both hands beseechingly, then twisted them together as he glared at the woman who faced him.

      “Why?” The single word seared the air, and Leah felt its lash, bracing herself against the scorn of the man before her.

      “I’m not a doctor, Mr. Lundstrom. I’m a woman who knows a little about healing.” Leah drew a deep breath, unable to absolve herself, even in her own mind, let alone free herself from the taint of guilt cast upon her by Gar Lundstrom.

      “Have you ever delivered a child before, Mrs. Gunderson? Or was this the first time you’ve butchered a woman?” His voice rasped the accusation, his shoulders hunching as if he bore a great burden.

      Leah was reluctant to answer, and yet she knew she must defend herself against the blame he cast on her. “I did not ask to come here, Mr. Lundstrom.” She drew in a deep breath, as if to calm herself in the face of his accusations. “Yes, I have delivered other babies. But none whose mother presented such problems as your wife.”

      “She survived three times being brought to childbed before this. What could have caused…” He waved his hand as he groped for words to express the horror so vividly written on his face.

      Leah shook her head wearily. “She was a small woman, delivering a breech baby.” She raised her head and glared at him, determined not to let him brand her as careless. “I tried to turn the child, but it was not possible. You were here. You saw the bleeding. The birth was more than she could stand this time, Mr. Lundstrom.”

      Between them, Hulda lay beneath a clean sheet, her face serene in death. She was a slender bit of a woman, who, to Leah’s mind, should not have been subjected to such an ordeal. An ordeal that had killed her.

      Leah closed her eyes, as if she would erase the vision before her, as if death could be evaded so easily. “You’d better go into town and let the undertaker know, Mr. Lundstrom. See if there is anyone who can nurse the child for you.”

      From the depths of a small cradle in the far corner of the bedroom, a thin, fretful wail caught Leah’s attention. “She sounds hungry now,” she said quietly, then turned to answer the infant’s cry.

      Gar’s glance followed Leah as she went to the child. “I will take my boy and make arrangements for my wife. There is milk in the washroom from this morning.”

      Leah looked from the window onto a freshly fallen snow. Sometime during the long night, several inches had created a pristine landscape. Now, beneath the newly risen sun, it glistened and shimmered, offering a clean slate on which to begin this day.

      The fourteenth day of January. The birthdate of Hulda Lundstrom’s daughter.

      Leah picked up the child, cuddling the slight form against her breast, rocking back and forth to soothe her cries. “There, there…” she whispered, breathing in the newborn scent that never failed to touch a chord deep within her.

      “What will you call her?” she asked, sensing Gar’s lingering presence behind her.

      “Hulda could not decide between Linnea or Karen.”

      “Karen is a good, strong name,” Leah said. “She can always take another name when she makes her first communion.”

      Gar nodded and Leah watched as the tiny babe pursed her lips and made a suckling movement. “So soon they learn,” she murmured.

      Gar stood by the door, his head bent, his whole body seeming to have shrunk during the long, stressful hours of the night. “I’ll go to the church and speak to the pastor first. He is more likely to be up than the doctor.”

      “Where is your boy?” Leah asked. She’d heard the soft murmuring of their voices, then the muted crying of a child in the kitchen only minutes past. “Is he all right?”

      Gar cast her a scornful look. “His mother is dead. He will never be ‘all right’ again.” Turning abruptly, he left the bedroom. Leah followed slowly, unwilling to embarrass the grieving child by coming upon him without warning.