to have her baby under my care.”
Ginny Jessup is the most recent woman from away to come to the Bay, having married Laird Jessup last summer after he brought her across the Bay of Fundy from New Brunswick. She’s much younger than Laird (not much older than me, I’d guess), and his second wife in five years. He lost his first wife when she ran off to Halifax with a picture frame salesman. Of course, Aunt Fran blamed it on the fact that Laird’s first wife had also come from away. “You’d think he’d have learned his lesson the first time. If he’d just waited a bit longer, he might have taken Dora’s hand. The man’s got good land and such nice cattle. Can’t ask for much more than that.” Not that I would ever have married him, but Ginny’s a better match by far. She speaks so soft you barely know she’s there, and it’s clear she’d just about throw herself in front of a wagon if she thought it would please her husband, always following after him, whispering yeses.
The Widow Bigelow reached over and put her hand around Miss B.’s clenched fists. “That’s wonderful news, especially for you, Marie.” She grinned at Mrs. Thomas. “I’ve been trying for the longest while to convince our dear Miss Babineau that it was high time she gave up nursing all those mothers and let the rest of us take care of her.”
Miss B. pulled her hands away from the Widow Bigelow. “We been through this before, Simone. I ain’t done ’til the good Lord shows me the way home.” She held the coins out to Dr. Thomas. “And I told you, I don’t take no money.”
Aunt Fran interrupted. “The White Rose Society would be happy to put the money in a Mother’s Fund, as you once suggested, Doctor. The women of the Bay can choose for themselves as to how they want to have their babies.” Dr. Thomas handed Aunt Fran the money, and she put it in her purse, pulling the strings tight. “After seeing the maternity home for myself, I’d say it makes good sense.” She gave Miss B. a sympathetic look. “After all, we won’t have our dear Miss B. forever.”
Miss B. scolded Aunt Fran. “Don’t look at me like I was already dead and gone, Fran Jeffers. I gots help when I need it. I got Dora now, and she does just fine.”
I smiled at Miss B. “Dr. Thomas, the maternity home is nice enough and all, but I do wonder about the safety in getting there. Going down North Mountain in the winter can be difficult.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that, Miss Rare. Perhaps you would be willing to act as an escort for Mrs. Jessup when the time comes. You could see what goes on, even lend a hand, reassure Miss Babineau. I’d compensate you for your troubles, of course.”
Miss B. answered for me. “We’ll have to see about that.” Archer Bigelow was in the kitchen when I went to put another pot of tea on the stove for Mrs. Thomas. He sat there, legs lazy and wide, with one arm draped over the back of the chair. I could feel the dark of his eyes staring at my back, creeping up my spine.
Grace Hutner and the rest of the card-party girls bicker over who’ll sit next to Archer at church, at pie socials, at Temperance picnics down to Lady’s Cove. It’s not lost on me that he’s handsome, and not like a boy, but as a man who’s nearly thirty. Even his work clothes cling to him like they want something, his pants folded tight in his boots, his thick wool vest buttoned neat. He stood and steadied my waist as I climbed on top of a stool to reach a bag of sugar in the cabinet. He wrapped his arms around me as I came back down, lingering long enough for me to smell pipe tobacco and pomade, ginger beer and shaving soap. I felt the warmth of his breath as he whispered in my ear, “You’re lovely.”
Before I could respond, Archer’s brother, Hart, stomped through the doorway, leaving loose trails of snow on the kitchen floor. “Beware old Archie there, Dorrie, he’s some careless with his affections.” My face blushed with
Ginny Jessup is the most recent woman from away to come to the Bay, having married Laird Jessup last summer after he brought her across the Bay of Fundy from New Brunswick. She’s much younger than Laird (not much older than me, I’d guess), and his second wife in five years. He lost his first wife when she ran off to Halifax with a picture frame salesman. Of course, Aunt Fran blamed it on the fact that Laird’s first wife had also come from away. “You’d think he’d have learned his lesson the first time. If he’d just waited a bit longer, he might have taken Dora’s hand. The man’s got good land and such nice cattle. Can’t ask for much more than that.” Not that I would ever have married him, but Ginny’s a better match by far. She speaks so soft you barely know she’s there, and it’s clear she’d just about throw herself in front of a wagon if she thought it would please her husband, always following after him, whispering yeses.
The Widow Bigelow reached over and put her hand around Miss B.’s clenched fists. “That’s wonderful news, especially for you, Marie.” She grinned at Mrs. Thomas. “I’ve been trying for the longest while to convince our dear Miss Babineau that it was high time she gave up nursing all those mothers and let the rest of us take care of her.”
Miss B. pulled her hands away from the Widow Bigelow. “We been through this before, Simone. I ain’t done ’til the good Lord shows me the way home.” She held the coins out to Dr. Thomas. “And I told you, I don’t take no money.”
Aunt Fran interrupted. “The White Rose Society would be happy to put the money in a Mother’s Fund, as you once suggested, Doctor. The women of the Bay can choose for themselves as to how they want to have their babies.” Dr. Thomas handed Aunt Fran the money, and she put it in her purse, pulling the strings tight. “After seeing the maternity home for myself, I’d say it makes good sense.” She gave Miss B. a sympathetic look. “After all, we won’t have our dear Miss B. forever.”
Miss B. scolded Aunt Fran. “Don’t look at me like I was already dead and gone, Fran Jeffers. I gots help when I need it. I got Dora now, and she does just fine.”
I smiled at Miss B. “Dr. Thomas, the maternity home is nice enough and all, but I do wonder about the safety in getting there. Going down North Mountain in the winter can be difficult.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that, Miss Rare. Perhaps you would be willing to act as an escort for Mrs. Jessup when the time comes. You could see what goes on, even lend a hand, reassure Miss Babineau. I’d compensate you for your troubles, of course.”
Miss B. answered for me. “We’ll have to see about that.” Archer Bigelow was in the kitchen when I went to put another pot of tea on the stove for Mrs. Thomas. He sat there, legs lazy and wide, with one arm draped over the back of the chair. I could feel the dark of his eyes staring at my back, creeping up my spine.
Grace Hutner and the rest of the card-party girls bicker over who’ll sit next to Archer at church, at pie socials, at Temperance picnics down to Lady’s Cove. It’s not lost on me that he’s handsome, and not like a boy, but as a man who’s nearly thirty. Even his work clothes cling to him like they want something, his pants folded tight in his boots, his thick wool vest buttoned neat. He stood and steadied my waist as I climbed on top of a stool to reach a bag of sugar in the cabinet. He wrapped his arms around me as I came back down, lingering long enough for me to smell pipe tobacco and pomade, ginger beer and shaving soap. I felt the warmth of his breath as he whispered in my ear, “You’re lovely.”
Before I could respond, Archer’s brother, Hart, stomped through the doorway, leaving loose trails of snow on the kitchen floor. “Beware old Archie there, Dorrie, he’s some careless with his affections.” My face blushed with
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