The Midwife's Choice by Delia Parr

sleigh, and his hands lingered overlong at her waist. “If I write, will you promise to write back?”
    She nodded. “Of course.”
    He took one of her hands and kissed the back. “Good. And you’ll take good care of Eleanor and the babe?”
    â€œYou know I will. I . . . I should get inside. I need to talk with Victoria,” she said, grateful to have had the opportunity to continue their discussion about her daughter on the way home, if only to divert any further talk about his proposal.
    â€œYou’re making the right decision,” he offered.
    She swallowed hard and gently removed her hand. “I hope so. Godspeed, Thomas. Be safe and well in your journey.”
    â€œI’ll be home to visit my new grandchild. Perhaps you’ll have changed your mind by then, and—”
    â€œNo,” she countered, refusing to let him leave with false hopes, if only to make their next meeting easier for both of them.
    He smiled. “We’ll see. I’m a patient man. A lot can happen between now and then.”
    She took her leave without commenting. She was almost too afraid to think about the prospect of any more change. She had had enough in the past seven months to last a lifetime. She stomped the snow from her feet and entered the storage room. Moist heat and tantalizing aromas from the chicken stew simmering in the kitchen were a welcome that lightened her steps.
    When she entered the kitchen, she found Fern and Ivy sitting at the table with their backs to her. Victoria sat on the other side facing Martha, an empty place setting beside her.
    Victoria met her mother’s gaze and smiled a bit awkwardly. She patted the back of the chair next to her. “Mother! We’ve just started supper. Sit down and have something hot,” she suggested. She rose and poured hot cider into a mug, which she set in front of Martha’s place.
    Fern and Ivy each turned around. Fern frowned. Ivy grinned. Martha took her seat.
    â€œHow’s Thomas?” Ivy asked. “Lovely day for a sleigh ride.”
    â€œHe’s well. Pass the honey, will you, Fern?”
    She added a hearty dollop to her cider the moment she had the jug of honey in her hands.
    Victoria chuckled. “You’re the only one I’ve ever seen do that.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAdd honey to your cider.”
    Martha paused, glanced down at her cider, and shrugged her shoulders. “This batch was a little tart,” she commented. She carefully sipped the cider and let it warm her throat.
    Victoria chuckled again. “ Every batch is tart. At least every batch you ever tasted.”
    Martha huffed.
    â€œWe all have our little foibles,” Ivy suggested as she spreada thin layer of butter on top of several chunks of chicken. She swatted Fern’s hand when she tried to take the butter away. “My sister should mind her own plate, or I’ll simply have to insist we make another batch of apple taffy using that recipe she was so set on trying last fall.”
    Fern pulled her hand back and pursed her lips.
    Victoria looked from one sister to the other, clearly puzzled.
    Martha took a long sip of cider before she explained what had happened. Fern had a penchant for trying new recipes and doctoring up old ones, which invariably led to disaster more often than not. On this particular occasion, her attempts to try a new taffy recipe with apple flavoring had failed miserably. Instead of soft, pliable taffy, they had bowls and bowls of a concoction that hardened like a rock nearly faster than they could roll it out and cut it into small squares. At Martha’s suggestion, the sisters had presented the results as Lynn’s Lozenges, along with a direct warning that anyone who tried to chew them would likely break a tooth.
    By the time Martha finished recounting the episode, they were all laughing. “There is a moral to the story,” she added.
    â€œNever give up,”