Kate Bridges - The Midwife's Secret

She stooped to pet Wolf’s head. “Very well.”

With powerful arms, Tom unhitched his horse. His shoulders filled the corners of his suede coat. He glanced at the stack of wood by the shack door. “I see you got someone to help you chop those branches we cut yesterday. That’s a neat little pile of firewood.”

When she didn’t meet his gaze, he glanced down at her, then at her fidgeting hands. Why hadn’t she put on gloves before she’d come outside? She hid her arms behind her back.

With a calculating eye, he took a long step forward and slid out her hands, holding them in his. His head dipped so close to hers, she could barely think of anything else. He stared at her blisters. “Don’t tell me you chopped the firewood on your own? By yourself?”

She gulped hard. “Who else is there?”

The question brought a twinge of compassion to his features.

After a moment of stumped silence, he nodded quietly, turned slowly, and began sorting through his tools. “We should be finished clearing the trees today. Tomorrow, I’ll bring the mules to dig the stumps.”

“When do you think your pa will be coming?”

“I asked him to come this morning. He lives just up the road and around the corner.”

Amanda glanced through the trees. A red wool coat and a white horse flashed through the leaves. “Is that him now?”

Tom swung around. “Pa?”

Wearing an old straw hat, a lumbering old man slid off his horse onto the road, but didn’t head down her path.

She could see the resemblance. But where Tom was a thick, solid oak tree, his father was a fragile bending willow. Still, the handsome resemblance of dark features, square chin, and sauntering gait was striking.

“Pa!” Tom shouted. His voice grew edgy and she wondered why. “Over here!”

Old Mr. Murdock petted the husky dog circling around his work boots. “Wolf? Is that you?”

Tom smiled in relief and with Amanda a few steps behind, bounded to his father. “Mornin’, Pa. Did you bring your divining rods?”

Mr. Murdock gazed at him with a blank expression.

Tom’s tender smile faded. A rush of color infused his neck. He lowered his voice, but the wind had stilled and Amanda could hear. Tom’s normally confident voice quivered as he bent to his father’s level. “It’s me. It’s Tom.”

“Tom who?”

Tom swallowed. “Your son. Remember? The oldest one. You’ve got Gabe and Quaid, too.”

Amanda’s heart spiraled. Father didn’t recognize son? He recognized the dog but not Tom? Oh…she slumped against the wagon boards and closed her eyes for a moment. She could barely watch the heartache in Tom’s face as he tried to explain his existence to his father.

Tom’s voice fell to a whisper. “Tom… I own the sawmill,” he explained, raw with emotion. “Remember? You taught me how to chop my first tree. We built this shack together three years ago, remember?”

Dazed, Mr. Murdock glanced to the shack and back, then to Amanda. Donald was strolling down the trail with Ellie and four children in tow, Willy with his scabbed-over blackfly bites, all approaching closer. Tom glanced frantically to them then back to his father, then back to them. He froze as Amanda watched.

Trying to spare Tom the anguish of Donald and Ellie’s witnessing the situation, Amanda sprang forward. “Mr. Murdock, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She shook Mr. Murdock’s hand, clasping her warmth over the wrinkles, desperately searching for words to help orient the man. “Tom told me you live up the road. That makes us neighbors. He said you’re good at finding water, and that’s great because I need a well dug, you see.”

Mr. Murdock gazed to the partially cleared area and something twinkled in his eyes. “Digging a well, that’s what I’ve come for. Tom,” he said with recognition, “come help me get the stuff off my horse. Sorry, I, uh, the dog…the dog caught me off guard.”

While the old man straightened, Tom’s watery eyes turned to Amanda. She pretended she hadn’t seen what had happened, but by the grateful look in Tom’s eyes, he knew the truth.

“Ellie, Donald, howdy,” Amanda said, giving Tom time to recover. She crouched to the children’s eye level. “Willy, how are those blackfly bites? Is the calamine helping? I’ve got some of my own to show you.”

As they exchanged pleasantries, Donald hollered to Mr. Murdock, “Mornin’, John!”

John Murdock waved back.

What must it be like to have a father who didn’t recognize you? Poor Tom. A parent’s decline was a big heartache to endure alone. Did he have any other family members who could help him through it?

Was his father suffering from early dementia? Tom’s brother Quaid was a doctor, and surely John Murdock was getting the best care possible.

While the others went to work, Amanda made the gentleman sit with her and have coffee. When he got up to do his work, he held his wooden sticks parallel to the ground and slowly walked the site, waiting for them to twitch when they passed over underground water. Amanda wasn’t sure how the set-up worked, but folks swore by it.

Grandma looked up from hauling branches, eyeing John Murdock with something on her mind. “You don’t happen to need a rag rug, do you? A pretty one for your cabin floor?”

Mr. Murdock put down his sticks. “I might. The floor’s awfully cold this time of year.”

“Well, I’ve got one for sale. Real cushiony. I made it myself from some of my prettiest scraps.”

The elderly man laughed, rich and warm, endearing him to Amanda. “Bring it out. Let’s see it.” He removed his straw hat, revealing a receding hairline, and squinted in the sunshine. “Just don’t make me lose my shirt on the price.”

Grandma chuckled. “Ten cents is what it costs.”

Amanda watched Tom noticing the exchange. Although he’d avoided glancing Amanda’s way while they worked, his rigid shoulders relaxed and the tenseness to his jaw dissolved. She wasn’t sure why he wasn’t looking her way, but it was just as well. She didn’t need any more complication in her life than she had already.

When the day was over, Ellie dropped by with the children to retrieve her husband. They offered to walk Mr. Murdock and his horse home. Grandma wanted to join them, eager to see how Mr. Murdock’s new rag rug would look in his house, so they all set out together.

Amanda gave Tom a curt nod. “Thank you for your hard work. Your father found two well locations for me to choose from, and I think we’re making good time.” She gazed up at the cloudy sky. “Hopefully, we won’t get any rain to slow us down.”

The red setting sun grazed the snowy mountain peaks, casting shadows on the rocky cliffs, and deepening the green timberline of pine trees.

The rays also shimmered off Tom’s dark hair. She thought he’d be quick to leave. But instead of harnessing his draft horse, he adjusted his leather gloves and picked up the ax.

“What are you doing?”

“You need someone to chop this wood.”

Stepping closer, she removed her apron. “Please don’t do that. You’ve worked hard all day.”

“So have you.”

“Please don’t make me say it.” Her voice lowered to a breeze. “I can’t afford to have you chop my wood.”

“There’s no charge.”

He was already chopping. With quiet dignity, she accepted his kind offer. She admired the gesture. Not many men had offered to do something like this for her. None at all, in the past eighteen months.

They worked side by side for an hour in the setting sun, she stacking wood, he pounding away. She grew warmer, feeling his proximity, every muscle that moved with every strike.

The air seemed hot and heavy. What was this thing between them? This ripe awareness that swelled and rolled, seeming as though it would burst?