Loaded down with her bag of simples and her birthing stool, Martha trudged through the knee-high snow covering East Main Street as best she could and wished she had a place to stable Grace closer to the confectionery on the other side of the street.
Only four days after the snowstorm hit, the business side of town had undergone quite a transformation. Wagon traffic, including the mail wagon that normally arrived each Tuesday, had packed down the snow in the center of West Main Street so the roadway was now passable. The planked sidewalk had been cleared, creating a mountain range of snow lining the roadway below. Folks were gathered in small groups, either enjoying a break from their errands or simply a chance to see neighbors and friends after being stuck inside their homes for days.
The covered bridge was only a few yards away from her now and offered not only a respite from the wind, but surer footing. She had scarcely stepped inside when she heard footsteps thumping behind her.
“Widow Cade! Wait! I’ll walk with you.”
Martha turned toward the familiar voice and waited for Dr. McMillan to catch up to her.
“Mrs. Andrews isn’t feeling very well, so I offered to go to the confectionery to purchase the bread today so she could rest a bit,” he explained as he got closer. “It’s nothing serious,” he added when Martha lifted a brow. He took her birthing stool. “Here. Let me help you. I take it you’re just returning from a call?”
She smiled. “Genevieve Harper. Twin girls! Beautiful babes,” she responded and shifted her hold on her bag before they started off together.
“All are well?” he asked.
“The new mother is a little overwhelmed, but Widow Snyder is staying with her. The babes are doing very cleverly, although one is notably smaller than her sister,” she responded.
“That’s fairly common, I believe,” he suggested.
Martha shrugged her shoulders. “After all these years, I’ve learned not to judge anything as common. As soon as I do, I’m proven wrong.” As much as she might enjoy discussing the birth of twins with him, she was more anxious to speak to him about what Russell Clifford had been doing since she ordered him out of his wife’s room. She also remembered the doctor asking to speak to her about a personal matter, but she had been called out to the Harpers and had never had a chance to talk with him.
When they reached the confectionery, the young doctor followed her into the foyer. The rooms on either side both held several patrons and offered no privacy. “You mentioned the other day you had something to discuss. I have time now; then perhaps you can tell me what’s been happening with Mr. Clifford while I’ve been gone. We can use the sitting room upstairs,” she suggested, careful to keep her voice low.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“Follow me.” She opened the door to the front staircase that led up to the sitting room. Once upstairs, she left him in the sitting room while she took her things to her room and stored away her cape as well. With all the bedroom doors closed, she could not tell if anyone else was upstairs, but all was quiet and she assumed they were alone.
When she returned to the sitting room, she found him standing with his coat still on and his hat in his hands. “This must be a short discussion you’ve got planned.” When his brows knitted together, she pointed to his coat.
“Oh. Actually, I . . . I didn’t think it would take very long at all, but . . .” He let out a sigh. “This is harder than I thought it would be. You’re right. Maybe I should take this off.”
After he removed his gloves and coat, he handed everything to Martha. She laid them on a chair. “Shall we sit down?”
He nodded and took a seat across from the settee, where she sat down and waited for him to begin, with no small measure of anticipation pounding in her heart.
He sat very stiffly with his hands gripping the chair’s arms and took a deep breath. “As you’ll recall, we didn’t start off on a very positive note when we first met.”
“True,” she admitted. At their very first meeting, the night she returned from searching in vain for Victoria, she and the doctor had both been summoned to the same delivery—one Martha ultimately handled. “You were quite arrogant, as I remember,” she teased.
His chubby cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. “Yes, well, I recall a certain level of disdain on your part as well.”
She chuckled. He was being kind. They had squared off as bitter combatants, each vying for the same patient, each a symbolic representative of outspoken proponents who took sides, either for doctors or midwives, in the raging debate over who better served a teeming woman. “You recall correctly.”
“Since then, we’ve seemed to reach some sort of . . . truce. I’m indebted to you for your help, especially with the sketches and essays you’ve prepared.”
She cocked a brow. “I was under the impression we had developed a friendship, as well as mutual respect,” she ventured.
“Yes, well . . . that, too.” He dropped his gaze for a moment, and his fingers drummed the ends of the chair’s arms.
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you can’t be that awful,” she prompted. “Spill it out. We’ll discuss it.”
He took another deep breath. “I owe you a great deal for helping me, on a personal as well as a professional level, and for doing so confidentially. Even though you didn’t accept my offer of a place to stay or a room you could use as an office after the tavern burned down—”
“What is it you’re trying to say?”
“I’ve made an offer on your brother’s property, and he’s accepted. Through Micah Landis. He’s handling the land transfer for Mr. Fleming—”
“What?” Martha’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest. Her mind froze, and she struggled to understand what he meant. “What are you talking about?”
He paled. “I told him you’d be upset, which is why I insisted on telling you first, before any papers were signed.”
“Papers? What papers?” Her mind still refused to function. “What property? James doesn’t have any property here in Trinity other than the land for the tavern.”
“Precisely. The land for the tavern. That’s what I’m talking about.”
Images of her room at the tavern, with healing herbs strung from the overhead rafters to dry, blurred with images of the kitchen where she and Lydia had worked side by side, and collided with the harsh reality that come spring, there would be no tavern and no room for her. “I—I didn’t know James had finally decided to sell the land,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry. Truly sorry. I never would have discussed this with you if I thought you didn’t know. According to Micah, Mr. Fleming wrote to you weeks ago to tell you he had decided to sell the property. You never got your brother’s letter?”
“No,” she murmured. The doctor’s distress was so genuine and his discomfort so real, Martha did not doubt his words or his intentions. “I never got James’s letter, but that’s not your fault. It’s not James’s, either. It’s just that you caught me by surprise.”
He sighed. “I feel awful.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It’s only because I respect you so much, as a . . . as a healer and as a friend . . . I just wanted to talk to you about this before I signed the papers. I know the property has been in your family for several generations. If you find it objectionable for me to buy the property, then . . . then I won’t. There are several other parcels of land that would be nearly as suitable for investment. June looked at them with me when we went for a sleigh ride. Victoria was with us, although she had no inkling of my true mission that day. I wanted to be prepared. In case you objected,” he added.
Though stunned by the very real prospect of being without a home for good, Martha had a sudden thought burst through the fog that clouded her brain. Micah Landis was Thomas’s son-in-law. Did Thomas know about James selling the land? Is that why Thomas proposed again? Because he knew she would be forced to accept the Lynns’ charity indefinitely? Why hadn’t he mentioned anything about James selling the land that day at the cabin on the lake? Was it because he knew how upset she would be, or because he simply did not know about the sale at all?
Too many questions, about Thomas, about her future, begged for answers she did not have, but there was no reason for Dr. McMillan to feel uncomfortable. In fact, she was quite impressed that he had thought to consult her first. “If James is selling the land, then someone will be buying it. It’s not my place to approve or object, but I appreciate your telling me about this yourself,” she began. “I’d like to hear all about your plans, but I’m also anxious to hear about Mr. Clifford.”
Dr. McMillan folded his arms across his wide paunch. “My plans are still very tentative, but I can tell you I hope to have a partner. I’m afraid nothing is settled yet, so I can’t divulge his name to you. Naturally, our plans are to rebuild the tavern. We’ll hire someone to operate the tavern and split whatever profits are left. It’s one way to supplement my income while my practice is young and show my commitment to the town and the people here as well.”
He paused. His hands clenched into fists. His gaze hardened. “As for Mr. Clifford, I’m afraid there’s trouble brewing, especially for Mrs. Clifford.”
Martha edged forward in her seat and tried to keep her heartbeat from racing so fast she would get dizzy. “What kind of trouble?”
“Apparently, neither Sheriff Myer nor Mayor Dillon were able to sway that brute’s determination to take his wife back home with him. Reverend Welsh still holds out hope for the couple, but even he agrees they need time apart until Russell can get his temper in check. That’s probably why Russell moved out of the Welshes’.”
“Where is he now? Mr. Clifford, I mean.”
“Word’s spread about what happened to his wife, and he’s been spotted all over town. By more than just a few folks. I wouldn’t have thought he’d find any kind of welcome with anyone, but he must have. If his wife leaves the confectionery, he follows her. If she doesn’t, he goes into the shop and buys something, just to let her know he’s close by.”
“He thrives on intimidation,” she snapped. Like the doctor, she suspected no one in town would harbor Russell Clifford now that they knew what he had done. As unlikely as it might appear at first glance, the possibility that Russell had found Samuel’s cabin, claimed squatter’s rights, and was temporarily nesting there felt logical the longer she thought about it.
And the vulture was probably just waiting for the right moment to swoop in and snatch up his wife.
Martha was more than a little concerned about Nancy, and she knew Fern and Ivy were, too. Why did they allow Nancy to go outside at all, especially in this weather? Her bruises were bound to invite questions, which obviously must account for word spreading so quickly. Without knowing the plan that had been hatched to help Nancy to escape, however, Martha withheld judgment.
“I’m afraid something has to be done. And soon,” the doctor advised.
She could not have agreed more. She only prayed her friends would act before Russell Clifford did.
Dr. McMillan promptly took his leave by the front staircase. Martha followed him down and locked the staircase door from the inside, then went back upstairs and used the back steps to go looking for Fern and Ivy to make sure they were going to do something soon.
Very soon.