The Midwife

“Milk from the cows, but it must be heated to almost boiling first. Then Ruth said to cool it. I got nipples at the store and bottles to use.”

“Ruth cannot do this twenty-four hours a day?” Leah asked, wondering privately how the woman could have given up this precious package so easily.

“No.” Gar shook his head. “She has a sister who needs her, and she never knows when she must go there. There has been sickness in the family, and now the sister is going to have a child.”

“It would mean being available night and day. Babies require a lot of care, Mr. Lundstrom. I would need fresh milk daily for her.”

“I will bring you a cow.” His words fell like stones against her wall of objections.

“I don’t know how to milk a cow,” Leah snapped, moving the baby to her shoulder and bouncing her lightly.

His look of exasperation touched her face and moved to the child she held. “Then I will teach you.”

“For how long?” she asked, unwilling to look away although uneasy beneath the burning scrutiny of his gaze, fearing the return of the tears she had fought to subdue.

“For as long as it takes you to learn,” he said impatiently.

Her teeth clenched and she sighed with an equal amount of aggravation. “You know what I mean. How long do you expect me to keep her?”

“As long as need be.”

And wasn’t that a dandy way to leave open her term of responsibility for a newborn child? Leah inhaled sharply and lifted her chin. “I’ve never had a child. How do you know I will provide for her well?”

His eyes traveled her length as if he gauged her ability, and his words were firm and final. “I know.”

“But why me?”

“You owe me.” He leaned forward, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bared, and for a moment Leah caught the broadside of a fury she could not fathom. “I know what guilt I must bear,” he said. “As for you, perhaps you can ease your conscience and earn a respite from whatever blame you feel.”

Had she not wondered earlier what she could do? And now, for all his male arrogance and stubborn Swedish pride, he had given her a chance to help. Her arms were full with the soft movements of a newborn, and her heart was touched by anticipation of the joy inherent in tending the child.

“All right, I will keep her. For six months. Perhaps by then you can find a woman to live in your home and care for both children. In six months you will be past the sowing of crops and the first cutting of hay.”

Gar stood beside her and she focused on his boots, heavy and work worn, laced up the front, with his trousers tucked in them. They shuffled on the floor, as if he sought words to speak.

“Well?” The warmth of the child Leah held was welcome against her cool flesh, as were the infant’s small, awkward movements. The pattern of its breathing soaked into her almost as if it were her own.

“Yes, for six months,” he agreed. “I will pay you two dollars a week, and I will bring the cow and some more clothes for the baby tomorrow.”

She came near to refusing his offer, her mouth opening as she watched him take two coins from his small leather purse, placing them on the table before the window. It was too much. Two dollars was more than she had expected. And yet, the thought of buying what foodstuffs she pleased and perhaps putting a small sum away every week was tantalizing.

“I have a basket with some of her things in it, out in the wagon. Enough to get by with for a day or so. Ruth is washing up her diapers today and I will bring them back with me.”

He stepped through the door, across the porch and down the path to his wagon. His arms hugged a basket when he returned and he placed it on the floor near the door.

“I think we are agreed, then?” he asked.

She nodded and he focused on the baby she held, one hand reaching to touch the downy head. With his long index finger he brushed the fine, pale hair.

And then he was gone.

* * *

Leah had slept fitfully, aware of the living presence next to her, then wakened at some small noise. Beside her, warm in her cocoon of pillows, the child she had taken into her home made her presence known. She fussed, whimpering for only a few seconds as she turned her head from side to side. As if she sought the warmth of a mother’s breast, she nuzzled against her own hand, then, with a howl of displeasure, she announced her hunger.

Leah watched the baby in the moonlight streaming through her window, smiling as she recognized the healthy cry of need, a need she could supply in minutes.

She rose from the bed, donning her robe and slippers, then gathered the baby girl into her arms. For a few seconds the cries abated, and the child gazed up at her with wide eyes.

In the kitchen, she heated the bottle she had prepared, placing it in a warm pan of water and moving the pan to the hottest part of the stove. It was snowing again, flakes spitting past the window. But in the kitchen it was warm, and Leah dragged her rocking chair closer to the stove.

The baby fussed as her blankets were opened in order to change the wet diaper, and Leah clucked her tongue and whispered soft endearments as she worked. “There, there, wee one. We’ll soon have you warm and dry. There, there, little bird.”

The cries rapidly grew in intensity and only the fitting of the rubber nipple in the baby’s mouth brought about peace and quiet. Leah rocked back and forth in the chair, her arms and hands busy with the feeding and the burping and the comforting. The presence of the child warmed her, erased the horrid dream from her mind, bringing her peace.

This child, whose destiny was forever changed from what it might have been. Leah felt a sadness for the woman who had been buried just days ago, who now lay beneath the snow-covered ground while her babe was cared for by another.

She felt a moment’s guilt that she should reap the reward of pleasure in the tending of this infant, that, from another’s pain, she should find such comfort in the middle of the night. Yet, she knew a sense of satisfaction that her arms held this precious being and provided it nourishment.

And almost, she felt like a mother.

Chapter Three (#ulink_50535022-955a-5a9e-9b8c-0a58e6d29448)

Kirby Falls, MinnesotaMay 1892

“Miss Leah!” Against her screen door, a nose pushed the wire as eager eyes gazed into the parlor. On the porch, Kristofer Lundstrom waited impatiently for Leah’s response, his hand on the spool handle, only good manners keeping him from stepping inside.

“Come in, Kristofer,” she called, her feet moving quickly across the kitchen floor. He was late today. School had been dismissed for almost a half hour already and Leah had been listening for his voice for nearly twenty minutes.

She could set her clock by the boy. His feet clattered up her steps and across the small porch every afternoon, his intentions clear. Always there was the traditional greeting, a nod of his head as he spoke Leah’s name. And then his eyes searched for the small form of his sister, seeking her out as if she drew him like a lodestone.

Even at six years of age, he was the picture of his father, his hair golden in the sunlight, his eyes a pale blue beneath dark brows. He was tall for six, straight and sturdy, somehow seeming stronger now that he must stand alone, without the hovering presence of his mother.

Leah touched his head with her fingertips, ruffling the hair just a bit. “Did you stay after school, Kris?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I saw Pa at the store and he had me to wait for a few minutes while he bought something for Karen.”

Leah looked down at the package the boy carried. “For the baby? What is it?” She reached for the paper-wrapped parcel and Kris placed it in her hands.

“He thought you might need to make her something for summer. You know, not such heavy stuff like she wears now.”

Leah’s fingers were quick as she untied the string and sought the contents of the package. A piece of lightweight cotton, batiste, she suspected, met her gaze. It was covered in a delicate print of pink flowers, with pale green leaves forming a vine upon which the blooms and buds trailed.

“Oh, so pretty,” she whispered, already envisioning the dress she would create from it. Tiny puffed sleeves and a high bodice, with a long skirt that would cover bare baby toes in the warm summer days.

“Tell your father I’ll make it up before Sunday, so he can see it,” she said with a smile.

From the kitchen, the baby squealed her opinion of being neglected even for so short a time, and Kristofer headed toward her door, intent on seeing his sister. Leah heard his murmurs of welcome, her smile widening as the baby greeted her visitor with cooing sounds signifying her pleasure.