Healing Sarah (American Homespun Book 3) Read online

  Sarah took the cloth from him and worked at separating the yarn from Emma’s hair. Tim checked Mrs. Wilson’s feet. Frostbite. If she lived, he might end up having to amputate part of the foot. He moved the flannel-wrapped bed warmer closer.

  “Is there anything else I can do?” Sarah held the shawl away from the bed as it started to thaw.

  “Could you make some type of tea? We can try spooning some into her.”

  “Would you like some? Or some stew?”

  “Yes, please, and check that your sister really did lie down.”

  Sarah left the room with the wet clothing, shutting the door behind her.

  Tim checked to make sure the door was closed before falling to his knees. As a doctor, there was little more he could do at this point. He had seen miracles in his battlefield hospital, but he had also seen weeks in which there were none. Emma’s life rested in the Almighty’s hands now. Part of him was tempted to let Emma slip away if he had a choice. Her apparent frustration that her memory played tricks on her would only worsen. Surely she would not be any better after nearly freezing to death. Yet, for Sarah’s sake, he hoped Emma would live, mostly so the brothers wouldn’t blame her for the death. Words wouldn’t come for the prayer he wanted to utter. He didn’t know what to petition for, so he muttered the Lord’s prayer and hoped God would understand.

  Beyond the door, he heard voices. John was ranting again. Tim stood. If he couldn’t help Emma, maybe he could help Sarah.

  Twenty-one

  Ladle in hand, Sarah whirled to face John, who stood over her. “Please stop. I am not a child, nor am I a soothsayer. I took every precaution for your mother’s safety. Other than sleeping in her room last night, I don’t know how I could have prevented her leaving. You don’t understand the state she was in yesterday. I’ve never seen her so bad.”

  John crossed his arms and looked down on her. “It wasn’t enough.”

  “What would be enough? Locking her in her room? Tying her to her bed? Sending her to some asylum in Philadelphia?” The angry words tumbled out. No one had ever discussed sending Emma away, but ever since she had read they were building an asylum near Boston, Sarah wondered if it might be an option.

  “I told you my plan. If you had only listened months ago, we could have brought Ma home, and she would be right as rain.”

  “I don’t think so.” Both Sarah and John turned to face Tim. “There is very little research on the madness of the elderly, but in all, I find it escalates. Mrs. Wilson has had more frequent lapses. I witnessed several myself. Usually the person becomes violent. Miss Marden never confirmed it, but I am certain this is the case as evidenced by her bruised cheek. None of the doctors I’ve spoken with have ever seen a patient this age whose madness decreases. It always grows worse.”

  “But if Ma came back home, she would be better.”

  Tim shook his head. “Sarah has told me she is always worse after being at your place. Perhaps it is because the memories come more easily there. Upsetting memories. Last night, for example, she remembered the death of Sarah’s aunt and possibly one of your siblings. I’ve had her mistake me for Mark or Daniel more than once, and then she lives through finding out they are dead or missing at sea all over again as the memories come back. Do you understand what type of heartache that must cause your mother?”

  Or me? Sarah blinked back tears.

  Samuel had entered the room at some point. “John, I asked you to let this go for now. Blaming Sarah will not change things. Why don’t you go sit with Ma for a spell? I am sure Dr. Dawes needs a moment to eat the food Sarah is dishing up.”

  Sarah felt John’s glare as he went into the bedroom, but she didn’t look up to meet it.

  Samuel came around the table to Sarah’s side and addressed Tim. “Have you had a chance to look at Sarah’s feet? Her fingers are still red, and she is walking clumsily.”

  “I am not!” No way would Tim examine her feet.

  “How are your feet?”

  There was no good answer. “Cold?”

  “Sit down and let me see.” Tim gestured to the rocking chair.

  Sarah shook her head. “Samuel can look. He studied to be a doctor too. Maybe he should check your feet first.”

  Tim shook his head. “I am wearing a perfectly sturdy set of fur-lined boots made to keep the cold out.”

  Samuel and Tim held a silent conversation consisting of a couple of shrugs and a nod. Why did men do that?

  Finally it ended, and Samuel spoke. “Very well, but if I feel the need, I will ask for the doctor’s opinion. Remember, I failed at Harvard, and that was twenty years ago. I have not seen any frostbite since.” Samuel escorted her to the chair.

  Tim turned to the table while Sarah untied the garters and removed the borrowed socks. Samuel’s touch hurt near her ankles but not so much as he continued feeling the rest of her feet. He looked up from where he knelt and whispered. “Pumpkin, I think I need another opinion. I don’t like the feel of your left foot especially.”

  The childhood endearment sent a shiver down her spine. Samuel wouldn’t use it in front of the doctor unless he were truly concerned.

  Sarah chanced a glance at Tim. He was bent over the stew with his back to her. “Must he?” she whispered back.

  The man who had been more father than brother nodded and stood. “I’ll stay here.”

  Samuel stood and went to the table. The two men had a whispered conversation Sarah strained to hear, but she caught little. Both men rose and came to kneel at her side. Tim’s hands on her feet and calves did not feel much different from Samuel’s, but Sarah could still feel the heat rising in her face.

  “Tell me if this hurts.” Tim kneaded her foot.

  “Ouch, that pinches.”

  Tim stood. Another whispered conversation passed between the men. Samuel went out into the lean-to and returned with the washtub.

  Tim pulled the bench forward and sat. “Sarah, there is some frostbite, but I am not sure how bad it is. We are going to warm your feet by having you soak them in water. You need to tell us how bad the pain is and where. If it makes you more comfortable, I’ll ask Samuel to check on your progress as often as possible.”

  Samuel filled the washtub using some water from over the fire as well as out of the bucket. Tim tested it. “That’s it. Not too hot. Her feet need to warm gradually.”

  “They feel like they are burning.”

  Tim swirled the water with his hand. “No warmer than a hot bath.”

  The bedroom door opened. “Ma is shivering.”

  “That is a good sign.” Tim hurried into the bedroom.

  Samuel positioned the washtub. “Pull your skirts up a bit more so they don’t get wet.”

  “What if Tim comes back?”

  “I am sure he has seen more than a woman’s feet during his career.” He smiled. “Let me go see if I can find a board and some paper. You can draw while you wait, unless you’d rather work on the mending.”

  “I am not sure I could hold a needle or pencil. My fingers feel huge.”

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “Emma needed more help, and Lucy doesn’t seem to be doing well.”

  “This child has been more difficult on Lucy than even the twins. I hoped Ma could help when it came time, as well as you, but I have had my doubts about Ma these last few weeks.” Samuel tested the water again.

  “My feet feel like I am standing in a thorny bush.”

  “Then they are defrosting.”

  “Emma misses being a midwife most, I think. It is the one place she seems to remember everything. You should see her with Amity. But with the consensus being that I, as a spinster, can’t aid her …continuing to deliver babies isn’t feasible.”

  “Lucy has never complained about your help before.”

  “Yes, but both doctors forbade Emma to practice, and I can’t imagine they would allow me to help in anything short of dire need.”

  Samuel added another
cupful of the hot water. “Even Dr. Dawes?”

  “Especially him. Most likely he suffers from suspicious husbands because he is unwed. Can you imagine if I were to help him?”

  Samuel chuckled. “Old Reverend Woods would have had you married by sundown to prevent the gossip.”

  She cringed at the memory of the overly pious minster of her youth. “Not by sundown, but he would have had our intentions read, even if he had to hold a special meeting to announce them.” Sarah kicked to make the water splash. Samuel moved back, laughing.

  The bedroom door slammed.

  “What is your problem, laughing while Ma is dying?” John’s face reddened with anger.

  Samuel stood and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We are not being disrespectful. You know Ma would prefer we found something to laugh about.”

  Four-year-old Stella came down the stairs. “Papa? Mama says she needs you.”

  Samuel was across the room immediately, taking the stairs two at a time.

  Why hadn’t John returned with the warming pan? Tim stuck his head out the door to find Sarah and John in a staring contest. “Did you refill the warming pan? It is essential we keep her warm.”

  John grunted and moved to the fireplace.

  “Wish that there was more I could do other than suggest earnest prayer and—”

  Samuel and Lucy lumbered down the stairs, ending whatever Tim wanted to say.

  Sarah paled at her sister’s distraught face. It was all the confirmation Tim needed to know today was going to be much more eventful than it already had been.

  John turned with the full warming pan. His face also fell.

  Lucy spoke first. “Doctor, we would be obliged if you could stay for a while. This little one is not going to wait another three weeks, and, to be honest, something doesn’t feel quite right.”

  Clang! The warming pan fell to the floor, scattering the coals. John wavered as if he might faint.

  Sarah stood, the water in the basin at her feet sloshing about.

  Samuel helped Lucy to the other rocker and took control. “John, the baby won’t be here for several hours yet. Get those coals back in the pan before you burn down my house. Sarah sit back down. We are going to need you, so you’d better get those feet defrosted now.”

  To Tim’s amazement, John and Sarah complied immediately. He turned to Lucy. After eight children, she would have a good idea of when this one would arrive. He didn’t need to ask.

  “I think two to three hours. Samuel, if you can take the little ones to Maryanna, Louisa can help Sarah and the doctor. John, unless you feel you need to be at your mother’s side, you may as well go home. I would like to have Lettie here. When the boys get back from town, they can do the chores. In fact, John, it would be better if you would take the children to Maryanna’s.” Lucy stopped as a contraction moved over her.

  Tim suppressed a smile. Lucy was one of those women who took charge during a birthing. So much easier than the ones who whimpered in fear.

  John crossed his arms. “You know Samuel is no good with childbirth.”

  “No, but he will be good with Emma. Now get the warming pan in where it needs to be. Timmy, check Sarah. I need her help, but not until her feet are out of danger.” Tim didn’t laugh at the use of his childhood nickname. A birthing mother could call him anything she pleased.

  Sarah didn’t balk when Tim lifted one foot out of the water. Her eyebrows and lips pinched together as he tested her cold flesh. “Does that hurt?”

  “Of course it does,” said Sarah through gritted teeth.

  Tim tested the other foot with better results. He added more hot water to the tub. “They are thawing out nicely. There is no reason why Sarah won’t be ready to assist in the delivery.” He did not add that although most of her foot seemed to be recovering, the smallest two toes on her left foot were not. He prayed he was wrong, but an amputation could wait until another doctor could perform it.

  Twenty-two

  When Lucy started pacing back and forth, Sarah knew it wouldn’t be long. Tim had given her permission to get out of the water as long as she kept her feet warm. Lucy had produced three sets of stockings. Emma’s condition had neither markedly improved in the past two hours nor deteriorated. After some debate, they carried Emma to the narrow bed from what had once been Sarah’s room, having moved the table so the bed could be placed near the fire. Sarah changed the linens and prepared Lucy and Samuel’s room for the arrival of her newest niece or nephew, then offered her arm to Lucy and began to pace the room with her. With the exception of Maryanna, Sarah had helped with the delivery of all Lucy’s children, even if it had only been entertaining the children.

  As they made the turn, her sister’s grip tightened unbearably. Lucy breathed heavily. After a minute, Lucy whispered one word.

  “Bed.”

  Sarah could only remember Lucy trying a birthing stool once and declaring she did not like that position. Sarah helped her sister remove her over robe and climb into her bed, then went through the mental checklist Emma had taught her to go through.

  Tim knocked on the door. “May I come in?”

  Sarah nodded. Talking about what happened during a birthing with a man, even the father of the baby, was embarrassing, but discussing it with Tim? Much worse. How could Lucy not be mortified? Tim walked over to Lucy, bent over her, and spoke quietly with her.

  He stood and turned toward Sarah as the next contraction took Lucy’s body. “She is close, but she is worried. She has agreed to let me examine her. Hold the lantern, please.”

  “The cord should not be there.” Tim’s eyes met Sarah’s. “Your hands are smaller than mine. Did Emma ever teach you how to move it?”

  Sarah couldn’t speak, so she nodded and rolled up her sleeves.

  Tim spoke to Lucy in a calm, low voice. Sarah faced the difficult choice of which way to move the cord. The wrong way could strangle the baby. As soon as the next contraction passed, Sarah worked as fast as she could. Emma’s voice echoed in her head as she labored against nature to move the baby back and release the cord. The next contraction came while her fingers were still around the side of the baby’s head. How could such a small baby survive such squeezing? As soon as it ended, Sarah completed her job.

  Tim slipped Lucy’s hands around the rope tied to the headboard. “Try not to push until I say.” He changed places with Sarah and took a wicked-looking instrument from his bag. He shook his head at Sarah.

  Sarah kept her mouth closed. Forceps. She had only ever heard of them. She couldn’t watch, even if it would be the fastest way to get the baby out.

  Tim gave her no such option. “Hold your sister’s leg. That little one needs to come out now. We don’t know if the cord is wrapped around—” He left the sentence hanging as the next contraction built. “Push now!”

  Lucy’s scream filled the air. Sarah struggled to keep herself from joining in as Tim clamped the instrument around the babe’s head and pulled.

  The cord was wrapped under the child’s arm and across its chest. Sarah gasped. She had moved the cord in the wrong direction! In one motion, Tim cut it, freeing its strangle hold, and told Lucy she could push with the next contraction. As soon as the baby was out, he worked quickly, rubbing the child’s back until it mewed a tiny sound. “There you go, little one. Get some more air in you.”

  He turned the baby over, and the quietest cry escaped.

  Lucy reached for Sarah. “Is he—?”

  “She,” corrected Tim as a lusty cry filled the room.

  Sarah released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The forceps had saved her niece. If they had waited for Lucy to push the baby out naturally, the cord could have strangled her, all because Sarah had guessed wrong when she’d moved the cord.

  Tim turned to her. “This little angel isn’t as big as I would like. I need you to keep her warm while we finish. We can wash her later.”

  Lucy reached for the baby, but Tim shook his hea
d. “Not yet. You can’t keep her warm enough while you finish.”

  Sarah walked to the place where the sun came through the window. Not that it was much warmer there, but holding the baby tightly wrapped in soft flannel seemed to work. The baby hiccupped.

  A knock came at the door. Sarah opened it to Samuel’s pale face.

  She scooted him out. “Sit before you faint.”

  Samuel crumpled into a chair. “Ma’s gone.”

  Lucy breathed in sharply, then looked down at the little bundle in her arms.

  Samuel held out his hands.

  “I haven’t washed her yet.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “There is blood.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Sarah transferred the baby to Samuel’s arms. “Keep her warm. She is too small.”

  Samuel nodded, then unbuttoned his shirt and slipped the baby inside. He looked at Sarah, his gaze steady but his voice wavering. “Ma said this works with mothers. Maybe it works with fathers, too.”

  Sarah studied him for a moment. He appeared steady enough. He wasn’t as excited as he had been when the other children were born, but with Emma … She sighed. Nothing would change that. It was better to focus on the baby and Lucy. “Do you feel faint?”

  Samuel shook his head, his eyes on the tiny child on his chest.

  “I’ll let Tim—I mean Dr. Dawes—know.” Sarah returned to the bedroom but stopped in the doorway.

  Tim held another bundle in his arms. “Another girl. Go put her with her sister.”

  The baby whimpered as they transferred her. “She is smaller, isn’t she?”

  Tim nodded. “Hurry back.”

  Sarah was out the door before she realized she hadn’t shared the news of Emma’s passing.

  Samuel rocked slowly in the rocker, whispering to the baby on his chest. He looked up when Sarah approached. He blinked, and his eyes grew wide.

  “Do you have room for another one? Ti—Dr. Dawes said to put them together.”

  Samuel uncovered the first little girl, who seemed to be sleeping. “Twins? Help me set her here.”

  Sarah partially unwrapped the tiny baby and positioned her next to her sister. The older one moved her arm as if trying to draw her younger sister to her. Samuel scooted them closer, then covered them with the flannel. “Can you get me a warmed blanket from the chair by the fire?”