The Midwife's Choice by Delia Parr Page B

that.”
    â€œYou did. And now that I’ve had some time to think everything over, I want you to know I accept my share of responsibility for your running away. I haven’t always been home for you, and when I was, I was either too tired or too busy helping Aunt Lydia to notice how unhappy you’d become. The good Lord knows how different it could have been if your father hadn’t passed on, but even if he’d lived, I probably wouldn’t have faced even the remotest possibility you weren’t going to follow me into my calling like I followed your great-grandmother Poore.”
    She paused and took another deep breath. “Family tradition is important, a link to both the past and the future that binds us all together. I was so certain you’d embrace our family tradition, and it was tradition, rather than your needs, that blinded me. But you’re not the first to want to take another path,” she admitted.
    Confusion darkened Victoria’s gaze.
    â€œYou know my parents died when I was very young. My grandparents raised me,” Martha explained. “I was taught that my mother embraced the calling to be a midwife, and I wanted desperately for you to embrace it, too. It was only after you’d left, when I was so hurt and so distraught, that Aunt Hilda set me straight.”
    Victoria leaned toward Martha.
    â€œContrary to what my grandmother had told me, and I, in turn, told you, my mother had no gift for healing or growing herbs or tending to teeming women and their babes. She was very talented with the needle, though. To hear Aunt Hilda tell it, my mother made the finest quilts this side of heaven.”
    â€œThose were her quilts we had on our beds, weren’t they?” Victoria asked.
    Martha nodded. “We lost them in the fire. We lost so much that night. If you’d been here working in the tavern, I might have lost you, too,” she whispered.
    Victoria laid one hand on top of Martha’s.
    Martha turned her hand and entwined their fingers together. “All I wanted, all I ever prayed for while you were gone, was to have you back home with me. I still want that. Desperately. And I had so hoped you’d want that, too.”
    Victoria’s eyes flashed with disappointment. She bowed her head.
    â€œI’m not so unusual,” Martha argued. “All mothers have dreams for their daughters. We watch them grow up and pray they’ll find good men to love them. That they’ll have healthy children and teach them to be faithful to the Word. That they’ll embrace the very traditions that bind us all together as families and as neighbors, so the rhythm of life, like the seasons, continues here in Trinity. Where I hope you’ll one day have those dreams, too.”
    Victoria’s shoulders sagged. Martha put her arm around her daughter. When she stiffened, Martha felt the girl’s resistance and the difficulty she had in accepting Martha’s words.
    Martha continued, speaking quickly for fear the girl would close her mind and her heart to what Martha had to say. “I’ve had moments of great worry and sorrow while you were gone, but I’ve also experienced great joy. I’ve had time to reflect on our life together, and I’ve learned many lessons. Traditions are important. To all of us. But no matter how important tradition is to me, I can’t put that tradition before my own child. I must learn to trust you and to trust your instincts, to allow you to make your own mistakes.
    â€œYou’re a talented, bright young woman. You’ve proven yourself to be responsible to me and to the Morgans. I must let youdevelop your gifts and follow your own dreams and pray, pray so very hard that your dreams will one day lead you back home to Trinity and to me.”
    Victoria eased from her mother’s embrace. When she looked up at her mother, tears welled. “But I thought . . . you’re . . .