The Midwife's Choice Read Free Page A

time for grieving his loss, for forgiving, and for healing, both in body and soul. She cried with Nancy for all that could have been and prayed for healing for this couple—a healing that would bring them closer together, united as one, in faith and in love.

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    M artha was emotionally drained and physically spent by the time she had Nancy back in bed, washed, and gowned in a fresh nightdress. It was no simple accomplishment since Nancy refused to let go of her dead newborn for a single moment. All visible signs of the birthing had now been removed, and Martha’s work, for now, was done.
    An eerie silence engulfed the room with sadness, broken only by the rhythmic echo of a pick attacking frozen earth or the scraping of a shovel as Russell prepared a final resting place for his son.
    Martha sat at the foot of the bed. She studied the young mother as waning afternoon sunlight cast gentle shadows onto the bed. Even in sleep, her face was haunted by grief and the ordeal of childbirth. Her eyelids were still puffy and dried tears stained her cheeks. Her crooked hold on her silent baby was firm, and he lay, silent and still, in the crook of her neck.
    Martha moistened her lips and steepled her hands together. She was far from content that all would soon be well for Nancy,even though the tragic birth had proceeded quite normally. Still, she could not account for the variety of bruises she had discovered on Nancy’s body while applying the traditional wrappings and bathing the young woman after the birth.
    Some bruises, like those on her shins and abdomen, were clearly fresh and caused by the fall that triggered the premature birth of her son. Others, tinged with telltale yellow, were much older, like those on her upper arms and the one on the side of her neck.
    Adding the multiple bruises to the crooked fingers on Nancy’s hand made Russell’s comment at the confectionery about Nancy being clumsy appear to ring true. Most farm women suffered physical injuries from hours of long, hard work, but not nearly to the extent Nancy did. Was she just naturally clumsy and prone to injury as Russell suggested? Instead, was there a medical condition responsible for the abnormal extent of bruising Martha had detected? Perhaps Nancy suffered from an impairment in her vision. Or some kind of brain defect that affected her equilibrium, which would account for her apparent clumsiness?
    Martha could not be sure. As well versed as she might be in women’s ailments, pregnancy, and the birth process, she was not trained to diagnose or treat more serious conditions, something the young Dr. McMillan would be quick to point out.
    With years of experience, Martha pondered these questions, even as her heart began to race with yet another, more awful possibility. It was entirely possible Nancy was neither clumsy nor ill, but married to a man who was not the loving husband he presented himself to be. And the bruises could be evidence of his brutal treatment. If that were the case, there was no way Martha could leave Nancy here alone with him, especially after what had happened today.
    Before she could begin to think of a way to approach the subject with her patient, Nancy stirred and opened her eyes.She blinked several times, then tightened her deformed hand around her babe as fresh tears fell. “I . . . I was so sure this was just a bad dream. Just a horrible dream,” she whimpered.
    Martha reached out and rubbed one of the girl’s feet. “How I wish I could tell you it were true.”
    Nancy sniffled and wiped her face with the sleeve of her nightdress. Fear paled her complexion. “Where’s Russell?”
    â€œHe’s still outside. The ground is frozen hard, so it may take him some time. . . .”
    Nancy’s bottom lip began to quiver. “He must be so angry with me.”
    Martha cocked a brow and grabbed the very opening she needed to answer her concerns. “Does Russell get