The Midwife

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.