26

By midmorning on Sunday, Martha decided the day could be considered calmer, but only if she compared it to total chaos.

The snowstorm continued, unabated, and threatened a record snowfall, in addition to forcing a cancelation of Sunday meeting for the first time in years. Ivy had also decided not to bake anything new since few people, if any, would be venturing outside today. With an abundance left from yesterday, however, the confectionery remained open, just in case someone got stranded.

It had taken Martha over forty-five minutes to battle her way to fetch Dr. McMillan to the confectionery and another forty-five minutes to return. At least she had been able to see Bird, who was nursing a rebroken wing the doctor hoped would heal correctly so the bird could fly free come spring.

Snowball, better known today as Beast, had escaped from Nancy’s room twice. Each time, the kitten had scampered straight to Fern’s room, slipped inside, and hidden under the bed, which inspired a series of sneezing spells that betrayed her presence.

Dr. McMillan was upstairs with Fern and Ivy putting a splint on Fern’s broken wrist while June Morgan, who had insisted on tagging along with Martha and the doctor, was with Victoria and Nancy discussing the departure for New York City, which obviously had to be postponed.

When Martha heard someone pounding on the back door and someone else knocking at the door connecting the kitchen to the shop, she threw up her hands and accepted the fact that this day was destined to be a total loss. She had spent the past hour racing up and down the steps to rescue Snowball and bring refreshments for their guests. She had no dinner started yet, and at this rate, there was not going to be anything for supper.

She answered the closest door, connecting the kitchen to the shop, first. When she opened the door, she was so surprised, she took a step back. “Aunt Hilda! What on earth are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out on a day like this!”

Arm in arm with her husband, Aunt Hilda looked like a snow woman. Even her eyebrows were coated with snow. “I’ve been waiting for days for Sunday to come so we could surprise everyone at meeting. Since that’s been canceled, I wasn’t going to let a little snow stop us. I wanted Mr. Seymour to meet Victoria, of course, and Fern and Ivy, too,” she insisted, still referring to her husband in a formal way, as had been the custom in her day.

Richard patted his wife’s arm. “Fortunately, we’re both strong and healthy. Only took us a little better than an hour.”

“Come in,” Martha said as the pounding at the back door became more insistent. “Find a peg for your coats and get warm and dry by the fire. Let me see who else is foolhardy enough to be traipsing through this storm. I’ll be right back.”

As she hurried through the kitchen and storage room to the back door, the pounding kept pace with her footsteps. About the only thing this day needed to make it perfect bedlam was for her to be summoned to duty. She said a rushed prayer of apology for being selfish and thinking of herself, instead of one of her patients, and cracked the door open.

Shivering against the cold, she kept most of her body behind the door. The moment she saw who was standing outside, she knew she had been wrong. The only thing this day needed to guarantee bedlam was the arrival of Reverend Welsh and the newest member of his flock, Russell Clifford.

“A good morning to you, Widow Cade,” the minister offered. For the first time Martha could recall, he was actually wearing a hat. “May we come in? It’s growing awfully bitter now with the wind.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I had someone knocking on two doors at once. Please. Come in.” She stepped back to allow them to enter. Like the Seymours, both men were literally coated with snow from head to toe.

Russell did not meet Martha’s gaze when she looked at him, but Reverend Welsh did. “Young Russell is anxious to see his wife. You did promise he could see her today.”

Martha nodded. “Take off your things. I’ll have to take them into the kitchen and drape them near the fire so they’ll dry.” She left them to remove their coats and rejoined Aunt Hilda and her husband.

Unfortunately, they knew nothing about the Cliffords and their situation, and Martha did not have time to explain. Perhaps it would be better to let her aunt form her own opinion of the young man before she knew all the facts. She was known to be an excellent judge of character, and Martha would welcome her aunt’s advice should trouble arise.

“It’s Reverend Welsh. He’s brought a new member of the congregation, Russell Clifford, to see his wife, Nancy. She’s my patient, and she’s resting upstairs,” Martha explained.

Aunt Hilda cocked a brow. She knew Martha, like her grandmother, always went to her patients’ homes to treat them and never took them in. Before Martha could provide any further details, however, the minister and his charge joined them. Martha made all the introductions and hung the men’s coats on the chair backs to dry while the minister focused all his attention on Richard Seymour.

“Since I’ve only been pastor for seven years, we haven’t met, but I’ve heard all about you.” He pressed his hands together as if in prayer. “What a joyous day! To see your faith rewarded, Mrs. Seymour, and to see you both together again after all those years, and now,” he added, clapping his hand on Russell’s back, “to have Russell reuniting with his wife, it’s truly a heavenly day, one filled with blessings, despite the abominable weather.”

While her husband engaged the minister in conversation, Aunt Hilda concentrated on Russell. Martha joined them, more than a little anxious about whether today would be filled with blessings or difficult lessons or some combination of each.

“I know exactly which farm is yours,” Aunt Hilda said. “Used to belong to a man named Winter. Ezekiel Winter. He came here right after Jacob Dillon had the lottery and sold off most of the lots in town. Winter never farmed the land, though. He bought it as an investment, but died a few years later. It got sold to another man. . . .”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, they were sparkling. “Jameson was his name. I knew I would be able to recall it. James Jameson. Farmed all by himself. Never married. When he died, oh, some fifteen years ago, that’s when the Brunhilde family bought it. They moved further west, I understand. You remember them, don’t you, Martha?”

“I do.” She smiled at Russell, who seemed surprised, if not also bored, by her aunt’s knowledge. “Aunt Hilda has lived here longer than anyone. We never have to worry about forgetting the past. Not as long as we have her with us.”

He nodded, glanced overhead, and looked directly at Martha. “I’d like to see Nancy now,” he murmured.

“I’ll go up and tell her you’re here, but I’m sure she’ll need some time to get ready. With the storm, we really didn’t expect you to come. Aunt Hilda, why don’t you keep Mr. Clifford company? I won’t be long.”

Aunt Hilda took the young man’s arm. “I must tell you all about the Brunhilde family. . . .”

While her aunt took charge, Martha slipped up the stairs. She met Dr. McMillan in the hallway.

He smiled nervously. “I was just coming down to see you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Is anything wrong?”

“No. Miss Lynn is resting very comfortably now. I wanted to speak to you about another matter. It’s more of a personal nature,” he said. He looked a bit pale and perspiration lined his upper lip.

As much as she wanted to accommodate him, she really did not have the time right now, not with Russell Clifford downstairs demanding to see his wife. Briefly, she described all who had arrived. “Can it wait? I need to tell Nancy her husband has come to see her so Victoria can help her to get ready, then I have to get back downstairs.”

“Of course.” He stiffened. “With what’s going on with the Cliffords, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay. Just in case that man decides to try to take advantage of the fact that none of you have a male protector and force his wife or any of you to do something against your wills.”

Although she doubted Dr. McMillan could prove intimidating to the likes of Russell Clifford, who was much taller and far stronger, she did appreciate the young doctor’s support. “Thank you. That might be wise. In the meantime, why don’t you go back and tell Fern and Ivy that Reverend Welsh and Mr. Clifford are here and that you’re staying to help. If she can, maybe Fern could get herself situated in the sitting room awhile so Aunt Hilda can bring up her husband and introduce him to everyone.”

“Consider it done. What about Reverend Welsh? Will he be accompanying Mr. Clifford when he sees his wife?”

She sighed. “See if you can convince him to stay with everyone in the sitting room. I’ll send Victoria to join you, too. This is not a reunion I’d like her to see.”

“And June?”

“I’ll ask her to stay with me and Nancy while Mr. Clifford is there. I think it will make Fern feel better, too, if she knows I have someone with me.” It might make Fern feel better, but she had a feeling Russell Clifford would not be happy having his reunion monitored by two women, especially women he could not intimidate or control.

The doctor put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. “We can talk together about my concerns another time. You’re a fine lady. I’m sure this will all turn out well today.”

“Let’s pray you’re right,” she murmured, and they each went off to set the Clifford reunion into motion.

The reunion was only moments away.

Martha was so nervous her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and her throat was tight. She did have second thoughts about having only women monitor the reunion, but it was too late to change her mind. She made sure the room was well lit, if only to make sure Russell got a good clear look at what he had done to his wife.

Martha glanced around the room one last time. In the far corner, Snowball was curled fast asleep in her basket. Wearing a pale yellow gown, Nancy sat in a chair, which had been placed at the foot of the two beds. She had her right hand resting in her lap, with the folds of her borrowed gown covering her crooked fingers. An empty chair, some four feet away facing Nancy, was reserved for her husband. Her bruised face looked like a mask a ghoul might wear to frighten mortals, a thought that reminded Martha of Samuel and the serpent tattoo on his cheek. Her eyes, however, were shining bright with anxiety as well as hope.

To Nancy’s left, June Morgan, looking as elegant and proper as ever, sat at the end of the bed and held Nancy’s hand. Victoria sat at the end of the other bed, providing Nancy with support on both sides. Martha had relented and allowed Victoria to remain, as much to placate Nancy as to recognize her daughter’s valuable contributions to the injured woman’s progress.

Martha accepted a smile of encouragement from June, sent one to Nancy, and opened the door, confident her figure would block Russell’s view of his wife until the door opened wider. To her relief, Russell stood alone waiting to be granted entry. Apparently Reverend Welsh had taken Dr. McMillan’s suggestion not to attend.

When Russell glanced past Martha, his eyes lit with surprise.

“Mrs. Morgan is a friend. I’ve asked her to stay with us. My daughter, Victoria, is also present, at Nancy’s request.”

His eyes flashed with disappointment. “I suppose if Nancy . . . That’s fine.”

Martha stepped aside and opened the door completely. He took one look at his wife, paled, and rushed past Martha. He fell to his knees at his wife’s feet and laid his head on her lap. “Forgive me,” he pleaded. “Please forgive me.”

Unmoved and unsympathetic to anything beyond Nancy’s welfare, Martha closed the door, turned, and leaned back against it to observe the scene. What happened over the course of the next half hour or so would have an impact on everyone here. She braced herself as Nancy wept and stroked her husband’s brow.

From the looks on June’s and Victoria’s faces, Martha had the distinct impression Russell would have a difficult time convincing either of them he deserved anything less than solitary confinement in prison for a few years for what he had done to his wife.

Emotions were bound to seesaw during this encounter on all sides, and she needed to remain objective and clear minded. She was also prepared to intervene, if necessary, but for the moment, she stood back.

When he finally rose and stood before his wife, Martha got a few steps closer so she could see both Nancy’s and Russell’s faces and drew in a deep breath. To her surprise, Nancy was gazing up at her husband with such love and tenderness, there was little doubt she was weakening.

“Lord, we need your help. We really need your help,” Martha whispered, and waited for Clifford to begin the conversation she was certain he had rehearsed for days.