The Midwife's Revolt by Jodi Daynard Read Free Book Online

Grape Island. We must go on horseback to the launch at Hough’s Neck.”
    “Grape Island? What on earth is she doing there?”
    Grape Island had been the scene of a recent skirmish in which one of our boys had been killed.
    “She received word that her husband was there and wished to see him, but when she arrived, he had already joined his regiment.”
    “It’s a long way off.” I sighed. “And it grows dark.”
    I looked about me. The sun had descended in the sky; it nearly touched the sea. The water looked black, foreboding. I had never liked boats. I liked nothing about the irregular rocking feeling, or the wind, or the salt on my clothes. No crisis would have induced me to go with this boy, save a woman alone and in travail. Neither had I any great desire to witness a woman and her babe just then. My own grief was too close, too pressing. I feared breaking down. But if I neglected to save this woman, how long might I be welcome in this town? Long enough to pack my things and join the Boylstons.
    “All right,” I finally said.
    He helped me onto his horse, and together we set off to Hough’s Neck, where a little boat, hardly more than a dinghy, awaited us. The wind was strong; my hair was swept out of its pins. The beach was empty save for a pair of young lovers who’d escaped the eyes of their relations. They pressed against each other, oblivious to the wind. When they heard us, the man disengaged himself; they then strode hand in hand down the beach in the other direction.
    The boy got down first, then helped me off his horse. He steadied the boat, which rocked to and fro in the water. I set my sack in first, then lifted my skirts and stepped in. The boy took a running push and jumped in after me, soaking his poorly shod feet. Off we went through rough waves toward Grape Island. I thought I might faint, and I did something I don’t often do: I prayed.
    The boy, small though he was, was a skillful rower. We arrived only slightly the worse for wear about forty minutes later. By then it was dark, and the boy had brought no torches, so we had to grope our way toward a shack in the moonlight. We heard faint moans. Within, we found Mrs. Brown and a Negro servant-girl alone in the gloom.
    “Is there no fire?” I called to the girl.
    “I’ve had no time to tend it, ma’am,” she said, tears in her voice. “Her illness came on so sudden.”
    “Well, then, go now. Take—”
    “Peter,” the boy offered, for in my distraction I had entirely forgotten to ask him his name.
    “Yes, well, go. Fetch wood. Anything dry will do.”
    They left the shack in haste. I heard the wind scream as they opened the door. The island felt abandoned. During the skirmish between our troops, a munitions building had been set afire, and one could still pick up blackened bits of wood. Now we were all alone with naught but screaming wind and crashing waves. What desolate music to accompany a birth!
    I approached my patient. Her waters had broken and her sickness was full upon her. She lay on a bed of straw by a cold fire. No anxious husband paced the hall; no women sat chatting.
    I bent down and took Mrs. Brown’s hand. “It shall be brighter in here presently,” I said.
    “I care little about the ambience,” she replied.
    I merely smiled at her foul mood. I was inured to foul moods in laboring women.
    “Well, you may not, but I do. I can hardly be expected to work in the dark.”
    The door banged open, and Peter entered with an armful of branches. When the fire was going again, I handed the girl a pouch of snakeweed and bade her make some tea of it. My mother had learned about the herb from an Indian woman of her acquaintance.
    Turning back to the mother, I asked gently, “How long have you been having pains?”
    “Near three hours, but they have not been regular. They don’t feel right to me. I don’t suppose you’ll be much use, light or no. They say you’re a witch. I’m like to die here with my babe.”
    Here another