Healing Sarah (American Homespun Book 3) Read online

  Sarah chose the smallest one from the pile, but it was almost half as big as the new father. Sarah checked once again to be sure the blood was not bothering her brother-in-law. “I need to go back in. Will you be all right until I can come back and wash them?”

  Samuel nodded.

  Sarah hurried back to her sister’s bedside. Tim was rinsing his hands in the wash basin. “I assume Emma taught you the massage techniques?”

  Sarah nodded, then whispered, “Emma passed a few minutes ago.”

  A curt nod indicated he’d heard her. “I’m sorry, Sarah. If you can take care of your sister, I will go look at those baby girls.”

  “I didn’t wash them.” Sarah pointed to the pitcher, large wooden bowl, and toweling she’d set up on the dressing table near the window.

  “I’ll take care of that. Come get me if there is anything amiss. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Tim grabbed the toweling and empty bowl along with his bag and left the room.

  Sarah sat next to Lucy. “Another set of twins.”

  Lucy gave her a weak smile. “For a moment I thought I saw Emma standing in here helping with the second baby, but … she passed, didn’t she?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Then maybe she was here.”

  “How are they breathing?” Tim gently pulled back the blanket to look at the babies.

  “It may sound odd, but the older one is breathing better since her sister joined her.”

  “Then they aren’t going to like me separating them to wash them.”

  Samuel looked up. “I thought you asked Sarah to do that.”

  “She is helping Lucy. Your mother taught her well. It is too bad she was not accepted as a midwife due to being unwed. She knew exactly what to do when the first one tried to come a bit too fast.”

  Samuel traced a semicircular bruise on the first daughter’s head. “You used forceps.” There was no question in his voice.

  “I felt it was best given the difficulty.” Tim didn’t know what Samuel had learned years ago when he’d studied to become a doctor, and he didn’t want to overwhelm the new father with details he didn’t need to know.

  “I am glad you were here, then. Hand me a cloth, and I will clean them as much as I can, then you can count all their fingers and toes and we can take them in to my wife. I am surprised she is not calling for them.”

  The men worked in silence for several minutes. Sarah came out of the bedroom and crossed to the fireplace. “Lucy is shivering.”

  “May I go in?” Samuel asked Sarah rather than the doctor.

  “There is still blood. I have not finished cleaning.”

  Samuel handed the babies to the doctor. “I don’t think it will bother me today.”

  “Then I have no objection. Dr. Dawes?” Sarah asked.

  Tim nodded. Samuel grabbed another warmed blanket and followed Sarah into the room.

  Tim needed to check on Lucy, but he was holding both infants.

  “I’ll hold them.” Louisa said from the rocker her father had just vacated. Tim had forgotten she was here.

  “Keep them warm and close together.” Tim checked the infants’ breathing before hurrying into the bedroom.

  Samuel sat at the head of the bed, whispering to his wife and brushing her hair. Tim felt like an intruder as he checked Lucy’s pulse. Sarah cleared the afterbirth and cleaned up most of the blood. Lucy’s shivering diminished, and her color remained good. When they finished, Sarah brought the babies in, and she and Tim left the new parents alone.

  Louisa ran upstairs holding her handkerchief to her mouth as soon as Sarah and Tim exited the room.

  A lamp sat in the center of the table. Tim lit it. “I’ve never seen a husband brush his wife’s hair.”

  “Samuel’s father used to brush Emma’s hair. It’s one of the things I do––did—to calm her at night. What am I going to do without her?” Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes before Tim could follow through on his instincts to do it himself. “I love her so much. She has been—”

  This time a sob racked Sarah’s body. Tim pulled her into his arms and let her cry. A hundred thoughts crossed his mind about what he could say. Most of them would be less than helpful—pointing out that if Mrs. Wilson had lived, she would not ever be the same or that he would most likely have had to amputate frozen fingers and feet. So he just held her until the tears subsided.

  Tim’s relief at not needing to perform an amputation on Emma brought a new worry to his mind. “How are your feet?”

  Sarah shifted her weight but didn’t answer.

  He stepped back, holding Sarah by the shoulders. “Sit down and let me look at them.”

  For a moment he thought she would argue. But like him, she must be too tired to protest.

  He set the lamp next to him on the bench. “Are they still painful?”

  “Mostly my toes and left ankle. I am glad you insisted I change my stockings earlier or I fear they would be worse. I was angry we weren’t searching instead, but it wouldn’t have mattered, would it?”

  “I am glad you listened. I spoke harshly this morning. And, no, finding her even a half hour earlier most likely would not have saved her.”

  “Was it only this morning?”

  Tim wasn’t sure. He had been on his way home to sleep when Sarah had asked for help. A wave of tiredness washed over him. He released her left foot and picked up the other one. “Your toes are going to blister. Keep them wrapped, and see if you can borrow some bigger shoes.”

  “That shouldn’t be hard. Everyone has bigger shoes than I do.”

  “Not so. Just yesterday I set the leg of a seven-year-old boy, and I am almost positive his feet were smaller than yours.”

  “I think I am too tired to care that you are teasing me about my size.”

  Tim brought her foot up so he could inspect the bottom.

  “Will you need to amputate my toe?”

  Tim shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Only time will tell. It may only be partially bruised. I can’t say.”

  “Emma did step on my foot last night.”

  “Step or stomp?”

  Sarah pulled her foot back. “Does it matter?”

  Tim turned to give her some privacy as she put her stockings back on, then walked over to the bed where Emma’s body lay. Samuel had covered his mother’s head with the blanket. Tim realized he had never confirmed the death. He lifted the blanket, then replaced it. Going to where his bag still sat on the table, he reached in and took out his book and pencil. “The girls were born at 5:47 and 6:08. Do you know when Emma died?”

  “Samuel knocked on the door not long after the first baby came.”

  “I am going to write that Emma passed at the same time, then.”

  Samuel exited the bedroom. “They are all sleeping.”

  A frown crinkled Tim’s brow. “Sarah, will you bring the babies in here? I am afraid they will be too cold, even with Lucy.”

  Sarah took two flannel squares warming on the back of a chair with her.

  Lucy stirred as Sarah lifted the larger girl from her arms first. “What?”

  “Don’t worry. I am going to put them near the fire. They are so tiny they need to be extra warm.”

  Lucy nodded. Sarah wrapped the second baby and returned to the great room, where Tim and Samuel sat at the table and Louisa ladled stew into bowls.

  “Should I give some to Mama?” Louisa’s eyes were rimmed with red.

  Samuel took the offered bowl. “If she wants it. If not, try to get her to drink some of the peppermint tea or cider, if there is any left from the fall.”

  “I think it is all gone, but I can make apple-peel tea.” Louisa opened the cupboard and pulled down a crock.

  Sarah turned to the men. “Doctor, did you still need to look at the babies?”

  “No, I am just worried about their size. Let me help you get them into the cradle.” Tim took one baby and partially unwrapped her before laying her in the cradle, causing her t
o protest. He did the same with the other, placing her as close to her sister as possible. Both infants calmed, and he covered them.

  Samuel watched in awe. “Benjamin and Bessie never did that.”

  “Do you know if John and Joe did?” asked Sarah.

  Samuel shook his head. “I don’t remember. I could ask—” He looked at the bed at Emma’s still form. For a moment Sarah thought he might break down, but he squared his shoulders. “I guess I can’t. I think we need a plan.”

  The front door opened, and Lettie came in. She looked at the cradle and then to the bed where her grandmother lay and burst into tears. Samuel went to her and wrapped his daughter in his arms.

  Plans would wait.

  Twenty-three

  Instead of immediately heading back to town on the horse he’d been provided, Tim chose to stay for a few more hours. If the babies made it through the night, they had a good chance of survival. He wasn’t as experienced as Mrs. Wilson, but he felt he owed it to her to make sure her tiny granddaughters had his attention.

  Samuel Wilson was a master of handling crises. Tim watched as he calmed one daughter, then the other, giving them both helpful tasks. Several times he consulted with Sarah in whispered conversations. From her expression, she didn’t always agree with him, but in the end they both seemed happy.

  Tim helped Samuel move Emma’s body into the parlor.

  “I need to go talk to John, but I think we will send the body back to Ma’s little house. It will be more convenient for the funeral, and I don’t want everyone coming here with the new babies.” Samuel shut the door to keep the room cooler.

  The girls had the narrow bed stripped by the time they returned. Samuel carried the tick outside before having Tim help him remove the bed frame from the room.

  After another whispered conversation with Sarah, Samuel left the house. Sarah joined Tim at the fireplace with Lettie in tow.

  “Lucy wants to try feeding them again.” Sarah lifted the largest baby from the cradle and carried her to Lucy, then came back and took the smaller one, carefully wrapping it in a warmed cloth before she went into the bedroom.

  A quarter hour later, Samuel returned with the rest of his children, including Maryanna and her husband, who carried Seth. The two-year-old studied the room in bewilderment. James gulped a couple of deep breathes, Benjamin and Betsy looked as they may have been crying, and Stella clung to Maryanna’s hand. Philip hovered over his new bride.

  Benjamin ran over to the cradle. “Where are they?”

  “They are in with your mother,” said Tim.

  Samuel went to the bedroom door. “Wait here, children.”

  Louisa produced a wash basin. “Grandma would have insisted you wash up before seeing the babies.”

  Maryanna supervised the hanging of coats and took charge of the little ones.

  Tim watched, mesmerized. With only two siblings and servants to care for most things, he had never seen a family working together like this. The oldest Wilson boy, James, who couldn’t have been more than eleven, took one look at the wood box and filled it without being asked. The only person who didn’t seem to know what to do was Maryanna’s husband.

  Samuel came out of the room with Lettie, and the children gathered around him. “Mama says she will show you the girls in a half hour or so. Sarah will let you know when it is time. Boys, if you’ll take care of the chores, I am going to ride to Uncle John’s. He doesn’t know Grandma died.” He turned to Maryanna’s husband. “Philip, can you ride to Carrie’s and find a messenger to ride to Thomas Jr.’s?” Samuel pulled some money from his pocket. “Hopefully that will cover the cost. Don’t go yourself.”

  Phillip nodded.

  Samuel looked across the room. “Dr. Dawes, do you need a horse now too?”

  “I would like to keep an eye on those babies for at least a few more hours—if you don’t mind me staying.”

  Relief filled Samuel’s face. “I would be much obliged. Things are bound to be a bit topsy-turvy around here, and I feel better knowing you are watching out for my girls.” Samuel’s gaze drifted to the closed bedroom door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Tim retreated to the corner, where he felt he wasn’t in anyone’s way, and watched. What would it be like to be the father of a family like this?

  Sarah caught her eyes drooping as she waited for Lucy to feed the baby in her arms. Shaking her head, Sarah tried to clear the cobwebs. “Do you know what you want to name them?”

  “Samuel still isn’t sure. He wants to talk with John, Carrie, and Thomas Jr., but I really want to name the second one Emma. He may not believe me, but it really did feel like she was here, telling me to breathe calmly, before Dr. Dawes realized that I was having twins. I thought it was my imagination, but knowing Emma just passed, I wonder. I can’t believe she is gone. I want to cry, but I look at my babies and want to laugh. So, I can’t do either. I want to name the other one Anna, but it may be too close to Maryanna, and I want to ask her.”

  Sarah understood. She herself had been able to cry, but holding her niece cut the sadness in half. “Emma and Anna, I like that. I doubt Maryanna will mind. What if someone objects to Emma?”

  “I had been thinking of the name Jerusha. But I was so sure this would be a boy the way they kicked me. This pregnancy is so different than the one I had with Benjamin and Bessie. I never guessed. I just thought it felt different because I am so old.” Lucy turned her attention to the baby at her breast.

  A longing filled Sarah. If only she had a baby of her own she could hold in her arms. But that dream had died with Mark in some tent as he’d lost his battle with dysentery. He didn’t even have the chance to fight the British. If only they had gotten married, at least she would be a widow. Somehow that sounded more appealing than a spinster.

  “Switch me.” Lucy held up the bundled baby. “I can’t wait until they are a little bigger and I can nurse them both at the same time.”

  Sarah nuzzled the child she held under her chin. “Is that easier?”

  “No, but it is faster.”

  “How long would you like me to stay?”

  Lucy studied the babe in her arms for a moment before looking up. “I think I’ll ask Maryanna to stay. Where she and Phillip are living at his parents’ home, it won’t be that big of a change. And she needs to learn a few of the things you or Emma always took care of. Besides, you will be needed to dress Emma, and then there is Amity.”

  Sarah had forgotten about Amity. She didn’t usually come on Saturday, so there was no worry she would find the house empty. With Emma gone, would she trust the rest of them when her time came?

  “Where shall we have Emma’s funeral?”

  “Samuel thinks her little house is best because of the weather and the proximity to the church. John will want it at his place. So we will see.”

  Sarah didn’t need to wait to know. Thomas Jr. would side with Samuel, so it would be at her house. But it wasn’t her house. The baby burped, and Sarah put her thoughts about the future out of her mind for now.

  In any other circumstance, Tim would love the position he found himself in, gliding over the icy road in the Wilson’s old sleigh, with a beautiful woman at his side under a starry sky. But on a June night with a body in the back seat and Sarah sitting ramrod straight a good foot away from him, the moment was far from enjoyable. If Sarah moved any farther, she would fall out the side. Tim had wondered for several days if she wasn’t trying to put distance between them. He had his answer.

  She hadn’t been happy when Samuel had returned from John’s with his parents’ old sleigh. Tim hadn’t understood the jokes about Mr. and Mrs. Wilson’s love of the sleigh or how if Emma had a choice she would choose it to be her last conveyance, but it wasn’t until John left grumbling about the dangers of sleighs and snowdrifts that Sarah lost her smile and begged Samuel to let her stay the night. Her requests to take Louisa, James, and even Benjamin or Bessie home with her were also met with rejection.
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br />   And then she’d stopped talking.

  But only to him. She wouldn’t look at him or allow him to carry her to the sleigh when they left, though neither he nor Samuel wanted her feet in the snow again. And so Samuel had done it, though Tim wished it could have been him.

  He had asked Samuel what was wrong, but the whispered answer made no sense. “My parents were married in that sleigh.” Tim studied the sleigh as he drove. It was at least fifty years old but in excellent repair. But people didn’t get married in sleighs, and what did that have to do with Sarah ignoring him?

  Here and there lights shined out of a few windows as they entered town, but most people were tucked safely in their beds.

  As expected, Mrs. Wilson’s house was dark. He hurried around the sleigh and lifted Sarah out, carrying her to the porch before she could protest. He set her down inside the front door. Wordlessly, Sarah lit a lamp and carried it into the parlor, then set it on the table.

  “I need—”

  She looked at him for the first time in nearly an hour. Tears stained her cheeks. She had been crying on the way back. Had he known, he would have comforted her.

  “You need to leave. Go find someone to help with Emma, Dr. Dawes. You can’t be here with me.” She turned her back to him and started to push one of the chairs closer to the wall—to prepare the room for the funeral, he surmised.

  Tim laid his hand on her shoulder.

  She shrugged it off. “Please, leave me.”

  If he turned her, he knew there would be more tears. But she didn’t want him. Someone knocked on the door, and Sarah hurried to answer it. Tim finished moving the chair.

  Reverend Palmer stepped into the room. “Samuel Wilson sent me a message about his mother. Is the funeral to be from this house?”

  Sarah answered. “Yes, Samuel will bring the coffin in before church. Can you help the doctor with … if you would put her in her room, then …” Sarah took in a deep breath. “Then I can prepare the body.”

  “Mrs. Palmer will be over to help you as soon as I let her know you are back. I noticed the light in the window just as we were going to bed.”