At her own insistence, June Morgan served Richard Seymour and Dr. McMillan their dinner in the kitchen while Martha and Ivy carried down some chairs from upstairs. They transformed one of the serving tables in the shop into a dining table and arranged yesterday’s baked goods in the center.
Nancy helped Victoria to set the table and pour tea, while Fern sat at the head of the table directing the work around her. When everything was nearly ready, she sent Nancy and Victoria into the side room to fetch a tin of crispy pretzels.
While the two younger women were gone, Fern slapped the tip of her spoon against the table and got everyone’s attention. “Listen good. I have something to say before Nancy comes back. We should keep the conversation easy while we’re eating. Afterward, we’ll make sure she agrees with us about leaving. Then we’ll ask her to go upstairs while we think of a plan. If she stays to listen and Russell gets to her somehow, she’ll tell him about it for sure, and we can’t have that. Agreed?”
All heads nodded.
Within moments, everyone was seated around the table. Conversation, at first, was a bit stilted, but once the baked goods were sliced and shared, the sound of gay laughter and the young women’s giggles chased away the clouds of tension and fear that had shadowed the day.
An hour later, Martha polished off the last bite of cherry pie left on her plate. She surveyed the remains in the center of the table. They had actually demolished an entire cherry pie and apple cobbler, half a tin of crispy pretzels, nearly eight sugared doughnuts (there was half of one left), and too many butter cookies to count. Oddly, the fruitcake had gone untouched.
She eased her chair back from the table for the second time. “I’m finished this time! Please don’t let me sample anything else.”
Victoria snatched the last half doughnut. “This is the best dinner I’ve ever had!” she pronounced before nibbling at her doughnut.
“Me too,” Nancy admitted. She took two butter cookies and laid them on her plate. “You said this was a tradition?”
Aunt Hilda nodded. “I declared it so.”
Chuckling, Martha dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “As the town matriarch, I suppose Aunt Hilda is entitled to all sorts of privileges. Like starting traditions.”
“That’s right,” Aunt Hilda added. “As of today, every big snowstorm calls for a sweet dinner at the confectionery. With the bad winters we’ve had over the years, I wonder why I didn’t think of this sooner.” She picked up her teacup and raised it to eye level with her arm extended. “A toast. To the good Lord for all His blessings, to the Lynns for all their sweets, and to each of us, for coming together as sisters in faith.”
Everyone, even Fern, managed to raise a teacup and they clinked them together to affirm Aunt Hilda’s toast.
When Nancy yawned, Fern caught Martha’s gaze and nodded ever so slightly.
“I think maybe you’ve had enough for one day, Nancy. This is only your second time downstairs. Why don’t you let Victoria take you back upstairs so you can nap while we clean up from dinner?” Martha prompted.
Nancy bowed her head for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes shimmered with tears. “I am a little tired. I . . . I want to thank you. All of you,” she added as she glanced around the table. “Thank you for helping me. I had hoped today would have turned out differently. For Russell and me.”
Aunt Hilda patted the girl’s arm. “Hope is a treasured gift. It’s not one we give up easily, is it?”
Nancy shook her head. “I know now I was only being foolish to think Russell would change. I know . . .” She paused to take a deep breath, visibly struggling to keep from crying. “I know I can’t go home again. I can’t be his wife anymore. I . . . I just don’t have anywhere else to go. As much as I want to stay here, I know he’ll cause trouble for everyone.”
Ivy stood up, walked around the table, and put her hands on Nancy’s shoulders. “That’s what we’re here for—to help you,” she promised. “We’ll make sure you get situated somewhere far away where you’ll be safe.”
Nancy sniffled and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye while Ivy went back to her seat. “I can’t ask you to do that. Russell will be very angry when he finds out you helped me. I should just . . . just run away. Then no one else—”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Fern demanded.
Aunt Hilda tilted up her chin. “Now you listen to me, young lady. We have lots of traditions here in Trinity. Some are for holidays and some are for snowstorms. As ladies of Trinity, we have some traditions that are all our own. You’re still new to Trinity, so you don’t know about all of them,” she said, casting a warning glance to all the others to remain silent.
“Traditions just for women?” Nancy asked.
“For one, we call a midwife when we’re sick, rather than a doctor,” Martha offered with a grin.
“We have sewing bees and apple bees,” Victoria added.
Ivy narrowed her gaze, then smiled when she offered her contribution. “We make wedding quilts when one of us gets married.”
“We become watchers and keep folks company when they’re getting ready to pass on to the next world,” Fern murmured.
Aunt Hilda nodded solemnly. “And we help other women out of difficulties. Always. We don’t boast about it, though. Most of the time, the menfolk don’t even know what we’ve done. We just see a need and address it.”
“That’s right,” the others said in unison.
Aunt Hilda smiled at Nancy, who still looked so fragile and vulnerable. “So you see, you simply must let us help you. It’s tradition. If there’s anything I’ve learned all these years, it’s to respect tradition.”
As her aunt continued to put the young woman at ease, Martha marveled at the compassion and understanding each of the others had brought to the table in Nancy’s time of need. Her aunt also reminded Martha that there truly was a sisterhood here in Trinity, perhaps everywhere that women gathered in communities, with an undeclared but very real bond between the women, which helped all of them to sustain each other and survive the troubles life often brought home to them.
Lately, more often than not, Martha had overlooked the other women and tried to find solutions alone, mistakes she now regretted. Maybe if she had consulted with other women, they might have come up with different options to help Samuel and Will, and they might still be here in Trinity. Maybe, if Martha had not acted like the only one who could solve someone’s problems or if she asked for others’ opinions, she might have had more time to spend with Victoria.
Or Thomas.
She heard the echo of his proposal and her arguments against accepting it, but this time, she saw other possibilities. Some made her heart race just a little faster.
She flinched. “What?”
Aunt Hilda scowled at her. “I asked if you’d like to take Nancy upstairs now for her nap.”
Martha felt her cheeks warm. “I’m sorry. I must have been woolgathering. I thought Victoria was going to take Nancy upstairs.”
“Actually, I’d prefer to stay here,” Victoria said firmly.
Confused, Martha searched the faces around the table, but found no supporters for herself.
“Another tradition, unfortunately, is a legal one,” Fern said quietly. “Whatever arrangements we make for Nancy must be kept secret, especially from the menfolk. Even though the law dismisses us by not letting us vote or serve as jurors or even testify in court most of the time, there is one exception.”
Martha swallowed hard. “For midwives.”
“Your status as a midwife gives your words the credibility we don’t have,” Aunt Hilda reminded her. “They probably won’t think it important to question us much, but Nancy has been your patient. If she suddenly disappears and Russell gets the sheriff involved, you’ll be the first one he’ll want to see and talk to.”
“Then there’s Reverend Welsh to consider, too,” Ivy added.
Their arguments made sense, but Martha did not take being excluded from the planning session easily. Her feelings were hurt. Unjustifiably, perhaps, but it was probably a necessary lesson in humility for Martha that was long overdue. “You’re right,” she admitted.
When Martha rose from her seat, Nancy followed suit and glanced around the table. “I don’t know how to thank you all for being so kind.”
Aunt Hilda winked at her. “Why, you’ll have to continue the tradition. That’s how. Sooner or later, others will need help wherever you go. Helping them is how you’ll thank us.”
As Martha escorted the young woman toward the kitchen to get to the back staircase, Fern called her back. “Use the front stairs. It’s faster. Besides, no sense giving the menfolk any idea what’s going on in here.”
Martha retraced her steps and led Nancy through the room to the foyer area and the door that kept the front staircase closed off from the public. She stepped aside to let Nancy go first and followed her up the steps. “I can take a look at Snowball for you, if you’d like,” she offered.
“I think she’s fine, but maybe that’s a good idea. She landed so hard, I was afraid she might . . . anyway, after what happened today, I renamed her. I think Lucky suits her better, don’t you?”
“Another name?” Chuckling, Martha shook her head. “Cats and kittens have nine lives. Lucky still has eight left.”
Nancy giggled. “Not after getting into Miss Fern’s room twice today. She used up two right there.”
“Then six.” Martha stopped at the top landing, held Nancy back, and peered into the sitting room and down the length of the hall. No one appeared to be upstairs, and they continued to Nancy’s room, where they found Lucky sleeping on Nancy’s pillow.
Martha checked the kitten, pronounced her fit, and tucked them both into bed for a nap. “You probably won’t be able to take Lucky with you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
With the kitten nestled into the crook of her neck, Nancy stroked the kitten’s head. “I know. Victoria thinks Mrs. Morgan might let her take Lucky to New York.”
“Maybe she will,” Martha responded, already trying to think of someone here in Trinity who might be willing to take the kitten. She pulled the window curtain aside a little bit, peeked outside, and let the curtain drop back into place with a sigh.
Nancy yawned. “Is it still snowing?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Good. That means Victoria won’t be leaving tomorrow.”
Martha cocked a brow. “Yes, it does. In fact, I’d be surprised if they’ll be able to leave much before the end of the week.” She looked out the window again. Since it faced south, she did not have a view of Main Street, but she could see a corner of the covered bridge. The gully surrounding Dillon’s Stream was nearly filled with snow.
In all likelihood, there would not be any wagon traffic for days, if not weeks. Sleighs, of course, would have a better chance, as long as the horses pulling them were as sturdy and surefooted as Grace. Individual riders, however, would be foolish to venture out on any kind of journey. She prayed, this time unselfishly, that any babes about to enter this world would wait until the weather cleared—for the safety of the fathers who would be risking life and limb to fetch the midwife.
A knock at the door interrupted her prayer. When she answered the door, she found June Morgan standing in the hallway. Clearly distressed, she was wringing her hands.
Martha slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, fearful Russell might have already returned to try to claim his wife.
“There’s a man downstairs asking for you. Devon Harper. He says his wife is about ready to deliver.”
Martha’s heart dropped down to her knees and back up again. Apparently, her prayer had been offered too late. “Tell him I’ll be right down. I need to get my things.”
“But the storm! You can’t possibly—”
“Their farm is just outside of town. It isn’t far. I’ve been out in worse.” She tried to ease June’s worry. “Sometimes I think these babes have a sense of humor after all.”
June’s eyes widened. “I’m afraid I fail to see any humor in your venturing out into a storm.”
“If you could see what I look like by the time I get there, you’d laugh, just like those babes probably do. I need to change into my split skirt, too, so if you could see that Mr. Harper gets something warm to drink while he’s waiting, I’d appreciate it.”
The admiration in June’s gaze made Martha uncomfortable, especially after she realized how self-centered she had become lately. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t do, if you were the midwife,” she said and went to her room to get ready for one very cold, very wet, very treacherous ride—one that would be forgotten the moment she held a precious newborn in her arms.