The Midwife's Secret

Two nights later Graham Robarts burst into the sawmill, startling Tom.

“What the heck are you doin’ workin’ so late?” asked Graham. “It’s after ten o’clock.” Short and blond, dressed in a fringed deerskin coat, he cast long shadows on the wall as he passed by the scattered kerosene lamps. Although a constable in the North West Mounted Police, he came dressed in civilian clothes as Tom had requested. It would arouse fewer questions.

Squatting beside the kitchen cupboard he was building, Tom tapped the cornice moulding into place. “If I get these cupboards finished by the end of this week instead of next, I’ll almost be able to make payroll.”

“Are these for the big hotel?”

“Yeah.” Finer furniture had been ordered from Quebec and Europe for the hotel’s public spaces—reproductions of English masters—but Tom was contracted for the everyday furniture for the kitchens, cleaning areas and staff quarters.

“Can’t you get your men to help you?”

Tom towered over his friend. “That would compound my problem. I’d have to pay them extra for their time. If I work alone, I can speed the payments coming in.”

“You can’t work both mornin’ and night. And when’s the last time you ate anything?”

Tom blinked his tired eyes. “If I don’t make payroll, my men will lose their jobs. Eleven out of fourteen have wives and children to support. You know Donald O’Hara? On top of his eight, he just told me he’s got another one on the way.”

The friendly wrinkles at Graham’s eyes faded with concern. He was a good man, Tom thought, a childhood friend who’d grown up with him back east, halfway across the continent in the big city of Toronto. Where Tom and his father had practiced carpentry, Graham and his were in the police force.

“All right,” said Tom. “Give me the bad news. What did you find out about that Ryan woman?”

“It’s clear to me that the deed is binding.”

The words caused Tom’s body to sink. He picked up a piece of sanding paper and began rubbing. Deep in his heart, he knew that already. He’d known it two days ago when he’d checked the land registry, and then again when he’d reread the article of signing privileges in his partnership agreement with Finnigan.

“I’ll do everything I can to find Finnigan,” Graham vowed.

Clenching his jaw, Tom dug the sandpaper deeper into the wood. “The sawmill was nearly paid off. Tourists about to arrive, Banff about to expand. Lots of business for everyone.” And me, about to get married to a woman I loved.

“Let me open an official file, Tom. Press the charges. We’ll get Finnigan.”

Tom sighed. Opening an official file meant opening his wounds to the world.

When he shrugged, Graham removed his jacket, picked up a rag cloth and tin of linseed oil, then began varnishing one of a dozen clock shelves. “How’s Clarissa? How’s she takin’ this?”

Tom scowled. “She’s not around. She left.”

Graham squinted. “Aw, hell, I’m sorry.”

Yeah, so was Tom. He thought Clarissa Ashford would be his wife. Originally from Ottawa, she’d moved with her folks to Calgary when they’d opened their jewelry store. When they’d visited Banff last summer, she bumped into Tom at Ruby’s Dining and Boarding House, and extended her visit. She was a woman who laughed readily, enjoyed an intelligent conversation and was eager to start a family. Tom’s family. Maybe a son or two Tom could pass the sawmill down to, or a daughter Tom could teach how to ride, or how to appreciate a fine piece of furniture. Hell, had he lost that dream, too?

Clarissa had accused him of working too hard, of ignoring her. She thought he spent too much time worrying about his brothers and father, and not enough about them. He ran a hand through his sleek hair and wondered. Was she right?

If he didn’t change his ways, she’d threatened, she’d leave and head back to Calgary. At first she said she wanted to help Tom and Finnigan expand their business. And how many times had she told them, with that teasing smile of hers, she couldn’t decide which one of them was smarter….

Hold on a minute. Tom’s gut squeezed. She wouldn’t have… She couldn’t have been part of Finnigan’s leaving.

Tom’s palms began to slide with sweat. “If you open an official file, how confidential can you keep it?”

“Just between me and the sergeant, if that’s what you want.” Graham studied his friend. “Why don’t you ask for Quaid’s help?”

“My brother would just hit the roof. You know how everyone panics in my family. Soon as there’s a possibility of something going wrong, they panic. They panicked about Pa, didn’t they?”

When they’d decided to move West three years ago to start the sawmill, Pa was as energetic and quick-minded as a twenty-year-old. But very soon, he began the forgetting spells, and it was Tom who’d taken over the business, who looked out for Pa. The rest of the family wanted him to live with someone—a nurse or guardian—while they completed their studies, but Tom insisted on Pa’s freedom. Pa wasn’t an invalid.

Even so, Tom didn’t blame his family. They were scared. They loved their father and wanted the best for him. But it all washed to the same thing. Tom’s family and his men all depended on Tom. Yesterday he’d carefully raked through the bills, looking for ones he could hold off paying. Gabe’s Toronto law tuition could wait until the end of August. For Quaid’s medical instruments, Tom would try for a credit note from the bank. As for Pa’s horses…well, shoot.

“What are you going to do about Miss Ryan?” asked Graham.

“I’ll go back and talk to her.” He prickled with the thought of having to go back to beg for work. “If she hires me, I’ll insist on a down payment. That’ll make the rest of payroll for the week.”

“What can I do?”

“Use your leads to find Finnigan.” Tom glanced up from screwing hinges. He had to be careful how he worded his next request, for there were some things he couldn’t share with Graham. “Find out if Clarissa’s all right, back with her folks. Then check on Amanda Ryan’s background. I’ve got this feeling…Mrs. Ryan’s hiding something.”

“They’re blackfly bites, and all over his arms. No wonder Willy’s scratching,” Amanda said, helping the four-year-old boy off the worn, wooden chair. “Ellie, rub this calamine lotion on it twice a day, and bring your boy back in two days.”

Morning sunshine poured through the shack’s open door, around the six children, the damp, dirt floor, the tiny alcove of Amanda’s narrow bed, then Grandma’s in the other corner. The rain had left three days ago. The crisp mountain air smelled of budding trees.

Ellie O’Hara squinted at the homemade canning jar full of calamine. Her curly red hair streamed down her shoulders. She patted her four-month-pregnant belly in a loving, absent way that reminded Amanda how she’d once done that herself. Amanda swallowed and glanced away, but was very happy to help.

She’d taken a quick liking to her neighbor, who’d moved from Ireland ten years ago but still spoke with her beautiful brogue. “Aye, I was worried it might be measles.”

“Thank goodness it’s not, not in your condition. You’ve got to take care of yourself, too. Please go to the apothecary’s and get those grains of iron. That’s why you’ve been tired lately. Ask your older boys—Pierce, especially—to lift the heavy things. The smaller children will help you, too, won’t you?”

A chorus of yeses and laughter filled the cabin. Amanda swooped them all outdoors, a mix of pigtails, freckles and scruffy woolen clothing.

“Hello!” A man’s voice boomed through the tall spruces, startling everyone.

She quaked with apprehension when she saw Tom Murdock, sitting high in the saddle of his chestnut mare. He tipped his cowboy hat. When his questioning eyes sought Amanda’s, she tingled with warning. Placing a hand on little Katie’s shoulders, Amanda adjusted her kerchief over her long loose hair, then tugged her apron. Why did he always make her feel self-conscious of what she was wearing? And why was he here? To return her deed, she hoped, and not to argue further.

Ellie, with her petite figure and narrow face, stepped toward him. “Mr. Murdock, how lovely to see you this mornin’.”

“Ma’am,” he replied, sliding out of his saddle.

His gaze searched the shack, glossing over the new curtain on the only window, the freshly scrubbed but weathered pine planks, and no doubt noticing the missing winter mud, and the missing cobwebs dangling from the half-rotten shingles.

“I’d like to thank you, Mr. Murdock,” said Ellie in her brogue, “for givin’ the extra work to Donald. Especially now.”

Amanda recalled her husband worked at the sawmill.

“You’re most welcome. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you.” Ellie flushed at his attentive gaze. “Come along, children, it’s time to gather eggs.” She stepped close to Amanda and whispered, “Are you sure six eggs is enough payment?”

“That’ll be fine,” Amanda said softly. “I haven’t eaten eggs for almost two weeks and I miss them.”

Ellie broke into a bright smile. Amanda was tempted to beg her to stay, to protect Amanda from being alone with Tom, but she knew she was being ridiculous. She battled with her fears and prayed Grandma would soon return from her ride.