The Reluctant Midwife by Patricia Harman Page A

task.
    â€œSuch a tragedy. And you, dear, you must come to dinner.” I ignore the invitation and get on with my mission.
    â€œWell, Mrs. Stenger . . .”
    â€œ Lucille ,” she commands. “Call me Lucille.”
    â€œLucille, I know many people are worse off than the doctor and me. I’ve seen the soup lines, but I have to find work. Do you knowof anything ? Any work at all? It doesn’t have to be nursing. Housework or cleaning, or clerking in a store? Anything?”
    Mrs. Stenger doesn’t answer at first. She walks back behind the counter and starts putting a new shipment of Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound on the mostly bare shelves.
    â€œI’m sorry, dear. I’ll keep a lookout, but times are tough and men must have work first . . . for their families. I’m not sure this was the best place to come back to. Surely, it would have been better to stay in Virginia. Doesn’t the doctor or you have family?”
    I don’t know how to answer this, so I just say, “No.”
    It’s too shameful to admit here in West Virginia, where kin always takes care of kin, that Blum’s own brother kicked him out. And it’s too sad to admit that I too am alone.
Rich Girl, Poor Girl
    For the next hour, with Blum in the car, I swallow my pride and walk up and down Main, visiting every establishment.
    How did this come to be? Rebecca Myers, a college graduate, wandering the streets of a small mountain town, unemployed, almost destitute. I quickly review my downward spiral. State funding for my Women and Infants’ Clinic cut . . . Moved to Charlottesville when offered a job as Dr. Blum’s office nurse . . . Priscilla Blum’s life cut short by her tragic crash into the James River . . . Dr. Blum withdraws into silence and neither of us works for over a year . . . All savings gone . . . Eviction imminent . . . Escape in the night . . . Return to Liberty. Now here I am . . . impoverished, alone, walking the streets, looking for work, any work at all .
    Not quite any work! Get a grip, Becky .
    Pulling myself together, I continue my search and poke my head in Sheriff Hardman’s office at the courthouse. He comes around from behind his desk and shakes his head.
    Since I last saw him, his hair has thinned and the scar on his chin, from a knife fight long ago, is more prominent, but he’s still a big man, someone you wouldn’t want to mess with.
    â€œI don’t need cash money. I’d work for food.” God, this is hard! I feel like I’m begging .
    â€œI’m sorry, Miss Myers. I’ll let you know if I hear of anything. Can I walk you out to your car?” At the side of the Pontiac, he looks in at the doctor and taps on the window. Isaac doesn’t blink, doesn’t even turn his head. The sheriff taps harder and studies the side of Blum’s stony face. “Damn shame,” he comments, then tips his hat and turns away.
    Only two last places to go and my fruitless day will be over. I need to get gas and some kerosene, then a few supplies at the grocery, where I’ll check on Lilly Bittman, the young pregnant woman whom Patience is worried about.
    I stop first at the Texaco station where Loonie Tinkshell, the owner, comes out wearing khaki coveralls and a cap like a military man. He salutes like one too and wipes a long strand of his hair off his forehead leaving a line of grease. “Hi, Miss Becky. Dr. Blum.” Loonie is not really loony; people just call him that. His Christian name is Louis.
    â€œCar trouble?”
    â€œNo, we just need a fill-up and some kerosene, but can you check the oil?” I notice the prices on a handmade cardboard sign: 10 CENTS A GALLON FOR GAS. 5 CENTS FOR KEROSENE. CASH MONEY! NO CREDIT!
    A few minutes later, I pull out my ten-dollar bill to pay for the gas and feel ridiculous. Loonie looks at the paper money, looks at me, and then without saying anything walks into the station to