Silver Heart (Historical Western Romance) (Longren Family series #1) by Amelia Rose Page B
Authors: Amelia Rose
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new neighbors, to walk on my intended husband's arm.
Mr. Barnett stopped us shortly before their own gate. The children clustered wide eyed in the yard, looking as if they expected an Indian uprising or for coyotes to run down out of the hills and set upon them, rather than for the arrival of a little sister or brother. There were an indeterminate amount of them, all blond as their parents, with big eyes and dirty faces. For all that she had such a number of children, I was willing to bet Mrs. Barnett had already been laboring for most of a day and had not been up to attending the children for days before that. Mr. Barnett was rumored to spend quite a bit of time (and funds) at the hotels or, more likely, their saloons. Probably they'd hoped not to have need of my skills or the doctor's.
"Where is Dr. Horton?" I asked.
"Haven't been able to find him." He was already at the door, but I stopped, and opened my basket. The children watched me suspiciously until I pulled out wrapped hard candies and passed them around. Times like these it never hurt to bribe the older children to keep out from underfoot at the same time reassuring them they weren't forgotten.
From inside, I heard Mrs. Barnett call. "Henry!"
Time to go. "Will you come in?" I asked him.
He nodded though it looked more like he meant No . "For a little while."
I smiled. It was easier when the husbands knew they couldn't stay the course. They were always heavier and much more awkward to move than their wives.
He stepped to the bedroom door with me, made a sort of general hello gesture to his wife, said gruffly, "I've brought the midwife," and vanished so quickly, only familiarity would convince Mrs. Barnett that had been her husband.
I smiled after him and started into the room to find her sweating and tired but smiling also. "He's better off out there with them," she said.
"I've no doubt. When did the pains start?"
As I had supposed, they had started at dawn. She had labored for most of the day, convinced the child was coming, until she began to falter and still no baby.
And there was nothing now but to see to Mrs. Barnett and her child, to distract her from anything I needed to do, which was to touch and look and move her about, to locate the child's head, which was where it belonged, and convince her to let me make her a cup of tea to "ease the passage".
Surely there are such things but mine was no more than tea. My mother had taught me from the beginning that the woman herself was the best and worst coach, could do the most for herself and make her own path hardest. The tea was tea. The idea behind the tea was important. And if that didn't work, I had midwifery skills to fall back upon, but far better to let nature take its course.
I gave her the tea and sat next to her on what looked to be a milking stool. We talked about how long the family had been in Gold Hill, and how many other children she had, and how Mr. Barnett's job at the bakery was going and that I had not, in fact, known that was where he worked and did she recommend their bread? Oh, she did, indeed, though there was another baker in Virginia City, which she dared to say might be a bit better, and then too why spend money to buy bread when she had a recipe she'd be happy to share with me and – and – Miss Lucas, I think the baby is coming.
It was, and it did, and within an hour of my arrival, I called Mr. Barnett to visit his wife and new son, then stayed long enough to insure her health and
Mr. Barnett stopped us shortly before their own gate. The children clustered wide eyed in the yard, looking as if they expected an Indian uprising or for coyotes to run down out of the hills and set upon them, rather than for the arrival of a little sister or brother. There were an indeterminate amount of them, all blond as their parents, with big eyes and dirty faces. For all that she had such a number of children, I was willing to bet Mrs. Barnett had already been laboring for most of a day and had not been up to attending the children for days before that. Mr. Barnett was rumored to spend quite a bit of time (and funds) at the hotels or, more likely, their saloons. Probably they'd hoped not to have need of my skills or the doctor's.
"Where is Dr. Horton?" I asked.
"Haven't been able to find him." He was already at the door, but I stopped, and opened my basket. The children watched me suspiciously until I pulled out wrapped hard candies and passed them around. Times like these it never hurt to bribe the older children to keep out from underfoot at the same time reassuring them they weren't forgotten.
From inside, I heard Mrs. Barnett call. "Henry!"
Time to go. "Will you come in?" I asked him.
He nodded though it looked more like he meant No . "For a little while."
I smiled. It was easier when the husbands knew they couldn't stay the course. They were always heavier and much more awkward to move than their wives.
He stepped to the bedroom door with me, made a sort of general hello gesture to his wife, said gruffly, "I've brought the midwife," and vanished so quickly, only familiarity would convince Mrs. Barnett that had been her husband.
I smiled after him and started into the room to find her sweating and tired but smiling also. "He's better off out there with them," she said.
"I've no doubt. When did the pains start?"
As I had supposed, they had started at dawn. She had labored for most of the day, convinced the child was coming, until she began to falter and still no baby.
And there was nothing now but to see to Mrs. Barnett and her child, to distract her from anything I needed to do, which was to touch and look and move her about, to locate the child's head, which was where it belonged, and convince her to let me make her a cup of tea to "ease the passage".
Surely there are such things but mine was no more than tea. My mother had taught me from the beginning that the woman herself was the best and worst coach, could do the most for herself and make her own path hardest. The tea was tea. The idea behind the tea was important. And if that didn't work, I had midwifery skills to fall back upon, but far better to let nature take its course.
I gave her the tea and sat next to her on what looked to be a milking stool. We talked about how long the family had been in Gold Hill, and how many other children she had, and how Mr. Barnett's job at the bakery was going and that I had not, in fact, known that was where he worked and did she recommend their bread? Oh, she did, indeed, though there was another baker in Virginia City, which she dared to say might be a bit better, and then too why spend money to buy bread when she had a recipe she'd be happy to share with me and – and – Miss Lucas, I think the baby is coming.
It was, and it did, and within an hour of my arrival, I called Mr. Barnett to visit his wife and new son, then stayed long enough to insure her health and
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