Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [68]
“I see.” Tabitha blinked back tears, seeing too much, understanding as much of the pain of that kind of loss as could any woman who hadn’t borne a child. “Couldn’t you sponsor a woman to be trained?”
“Yes, ma’am, I could.” The hardness of Phoebe’s voice remained. “But only I can judge whether or not I’m competent.” She relaxed and smiled. “But I’ve taken you unawares. You don’t need to answer me now.”
Tabitha could have answered. Her midwifery was a skill she intended to pass along to her daughter. Never had the women of her family passed the trade to someone outside the family. They hadn’t needed to. They had always borne at least one daughter by the time they were seventeen or eighteen.
Until she came along.
“I’ll give it thought,” she said.
“Please do.” The anguish in the other woman’s eyes wrenched at Tabitha’s heart.
Phoebe Lee understood loss too.
Tabitha didn’t feel like finding an excuse to go to Mayor Kendall’s in search of Dominick after that. Instead, she crossed the alley and entered the graveyard, where three generations of Eckleses and her maternal grandmother had been buried. Simple stones marked each grave. Tabitha dropped to her knees between Momma’s and Grandmomma’s headstones, where she’d planted a rosebush.
Beyond the low wall, the village sounds of children and dogs, hammering and rumbling wagons, seemed distant. Around her, magnolia trees scented the air, and the dogwoods, now in full leaf, lent cool shade. Bees hummed from flower to flower. Life amidst death.
“How did you two have such faith through all you suffered?” She traced the date of her mother’s death—June 3, 1807. Momma had smiled when she died. So had Grandmomma. They’d gone in peace, with a comfort she had failed to bring them in life.
“And I’m still failing you. Family tradition may die with me. Raleigh was my last hope over two years ago. I don’t know how to change that now.”
She caught movement from the corner of her eye and turned her head.
Dominick stood on the far side of the wall a dozen yards away. Sunlight gleamed on his dark hair, bringing out highlights of bronze and cinnabar, gilding his cheekbones as though he were some golden statue. The sight of him made her heart leap, but he was no hope for the future. He was a flirtation for now, a means to an end.
She rose and crossed the grass to meet him. “I thought about coming to see you.”
“But changed your mind?” He glanced at the tombstones. “I thought I was a better interlocutor than that.”
“You are.” She laughed and her sadness dropped away. “I want to apologize for Raleigh’s behavior yesterday.”
“It’s not your place to apologize for him. He doesn’t like me.” He ghosted his fingertips across her cheek. “With good reason, I think.”
Every muscle in her body tightened, yet it didn’t feel awful, as it should have. “You’re rather sure of yourself, Mr. Cherrett,” she managed with dignity.
“Yes, my mermaid, I am. Shall I walk you home?”
“Do you have another rendezvous with a British ship?”
“A sloop, my dear. Ships—”
“Have three masts,” she finished with him, laughing. “In all seriousness,” she added, “that was foolish of you to go aboard that sloop. There are grumblings about you, you know.”
“I know.” He too turned sober as he offered his arm. “We make an excellent pair. Raleigh Trower is telling people I’m involved with abducting sailors and fishermen from this shore, and Harlan Wilkins is telling people you’re incompetent. Has it damaged your patients’ trust in you?”
“Not thus far.” Tabitha curled her fingers over the tensile strength of his forearm. She caught the eye of a few people crossing the square, all of whom glanced at Dominick and arched their brows in question or shook their heads in disapproval. She supposed she should release her hold on him; it looked too intimate.
But she didn’t.
“I’ll be more discreet in the future,” Dominick said. “Though I admit discretion is not one of my strong points. When I was a boy, I once admitted that I liked to read. My classmates threw me into the mill pond, and I got a thrashing for getting my clothes wet.”
“That