Free The Midwife's Apprentice by Karen Cushman Page A

although a bit pink and wrinkled from her long soak. And pretty? Mayhap even that, for she had all her teeth and all her limbs, a face unmarked by pox or witchcraft, and perhaps, now, more of happiness and hope than of sadness in those big eyes that even the midwife had remarked on.
    She washed her clothes, pulled them on still wet and drippy, and ran for the kitchen to dry a bit before the fire.
    Too soon it was time to bid Edward good-bye. “Be assured I will not be far from here, and I promise to come back for Christmas and Easter and your saint’s day. And to see when that front tooth grows in again.” Edward grinned. He had enjoyed the day, done a man’s job, and been carried home on the shoulders of a giant of a shepherd called Hal. He was satisfied with his place at the manor, the devotion of the cook, and the friendship of Alyce. He suddenly felt not so small.
    Alyce gave him a hug and a smack and felt that tickling in her throat and stinging in her eyes that meant she might cry again, now she knew how to do it. She went down the path from the manor, stopping every few steps to turn and wave until finally the path curved and Edward was lost from sight and all she could see was the way ahead.

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16. The Baby
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    O ne warm evening came a stillness as if the whole world were holding its breath. Thunderstorm, thought Alyce, as she hurried to fasten the wooden shutters over the windows before the skies opened.
    Just then a party of riders rode into the inn yard—a prosperous-looking man wearing too much jewelry, a stout lady in some obvious discomfort, and their attendants, a man and woman sullen and none too bright looking. The man lifted the stout lady down and they hurried into the inn, leaving the boy Tam to put the horses away and see them dry and fed for the night.
    Because they appeared important, Jennet herself bustled over to see to their needs.
    “Supper, sir? Cold beef and the best bread in the county? A jug of ale or some Rhenish wine?”
    “We want no food,” said the prosperous-looking man.
    “How then can I serve you?”
    “In no way, madam, unless you be a priest, a magician, or a man of medicine. My wife is being devoured by a stomach worm.”
    The woman moaned a little and then let out a great cry that nearly drowned out the thunder crashing about them. Jennet crossed herself as the man swept platters and mugs off the big table and helped his wife lie down.
    Snatching a mug of ale from John Dark, Jennet brought it to the wailing woman. She watched a moment and then laid her rosy hand on the woman’s swollen belly. “In truth, sir, I think she is about to give you a child.”
    The man looked at Jennet with displeasure and dislike. “Get away with you, fool! My wife has been barren since the day of our marriage and breeds nothing but discontent. She has in truth grown stout of late, but that be herring pie and almond puddings. Having a child? Impossible!”
    Jennet watched a few moments more. “Not only possible, sir, but soon.”
    The entire company looked then at the woman on the table, who was struggling to sit up and was pushing so hard her red face looked near to bursting.
    “Impossible,” said the man again, a little less confidently this time. “What should be done?”
    The woman let out a bellow like a bull and John Dark hurried outside, preferring the rain to this.
    “There is a midwife in the village some walk down that road. I will point your man the way,” said Jennet.
    So for a time the inn resounded with the rumble of the thunder, the cries of the laboring mother, and the useless clucking of the woman’s husband.
    Finally the manservant reappeared, as wet as water could make him. “I found the midwife’s cottage where you told me,” he said. “The midwife was not there and no fire is lit and it looks like some other child is making his way into the world tonight with the midwife to assist him. This one must make his own way.”
    All was noise and confusion as