“It’s not me,” Rachel protested weakly. “I’m here to talk about a patient of yours. Mary Rose Fisher? I believe you cared for her during her pregnancy and delivery.”
Salome nodded. “I did. That’s no secret. She is a natural. Her labor went on for several days, but she faced it bravely, and she is blessed with a beautiful infant, healthy and strong.”
“It’s not the baby I need to know about,” Rachel continued. “It’s Mary Rose. I’m sure you know this; I know how our community talks.” She shook her head, still flustered. “I’m attempting to help her brother Moses. He’s confessed to shooting Mary Rose’s husband, but I don’t believe he’s telling the truth. I’ve been talking to a lot of people trying to get to what really happened.”
The dog rose and came to lie beside Salome on the colorful rag rug, resting a hairy canine chin on her shoe. Absently, the midwife leaned down to pat the dog on the head. “I don’t know anything about Daniel’s death, Rachel,” she said. “I was sitting with Cyrus Verkler all that day and night. He hasn’t long for this world, poor man. His heart has long worn out. Only his spirit keeps him alive. He hates to leave his wife. She’s not in the best of health, either, but fortunately, she has her daughters to lean on.”
“What I was wondering was if . . . you treat people for more than childbirth, right?”
“I’m not a licensed medical professional,” Salome said as if she had memorized the statement. “I use nothing but the old remedies that have come down to us for generations. Common sense, my girl. Garden herbs, honey, willow bark, witch hazel, aloe, and ginseng. You’d be surprised how many ailments can be eased with patience and ginseng tea or salve. I’m no doctor and I don’t deal in love potions or hexes. I do no more than pass on the wisdom I learned at the knee of my mother.”
“But . . . what about injuries?” Rachel pressed. “Didn’t you set a broken arm for my Uncle Aaron when he was a boy? He speaks of it often. Says you gave him a maple sugar sweet to take away the pain of moving the bone into place. Surely you must have taken care of more serious injuries. Sewn up cuts? Cleaned infections?”
“Little of that now. Most folks are away to the clinic and rightly so. But when your uncle was a lad, there were few doctors of any worth within driving distance and none of the cell phones that the young take for granted. A mother comes to me with a weeping child with a twisted arm, what was I to do but try to help as best I could? They’d send me to jail for that today, I suppose. Even my catching of babies is frowned upon by the Englishers, although I suspect that I’ve brought more into the world than most of those fancy hospital doctors. And few mothers have I ever lost. Some babes, I’ll admit, but that is always in God’s hands. Fifty years and two I’ve been helping mothers. I’d have to be a fool not to have learned a thing or two about my craft.”
Rachel shook her head. “You misunderstand. I’m not here to judge you. And I don’t doubt that you know more about delivering healthy babies and helping mothers than I could imagine, but it’s Mary Rose in particular I need to ask about. Have you ever treated her for an injury?”
“An injury?” Salome rose and went to the kettle. She stirred the contents with the spoon and pushed the swinging iron arm back over the fire. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with your questions. My patients don’t expect that I will gossip over their conditions. A midwife . . . even a granny woman, must keep personal things private.”
Rachel answered the first question, ignoring the rest. “I’m asking about bruises, broken bones, lacerations . . . anything that would cause you to suspect someone hurt her.”
Salome concentrated on the fire, stooping to add another log and adjusting the iron arm so that the kettle was not suspended over the hottest section.
“Please,” Rachel said. “This is important. Did you treat Mary Rose Fisher for any injury that might have come from an altercation with someone? With her husband?”
“Now you are prying into matters that belong between husband and wife,” Salome answered tartly. “I’m not saying I ever saw such a thing. I’m not saying I didn’t. What woman would come to me if she thought that her private matters such as that were to be talked about by someone she trusted? You ask too much, Rachel. Why would you ask me such a thing?”
“I told you,” she replied earnestly. “I’m trying to find out who had reason to kill Daniel. If he was abusive to Mary Rose, then . . .”
Salome turned to Rachel. “You’re suspecting her of shooting her husband? That sweet child who never exchanged a cross word with anyone? You need to look further and rethink your questions. I believe you have good intentions, but Daniel is dead. What he may have done or may not have done on this earth is out of our hands. It is God alone who will judge him now and either reward him or cast him down into the pit.”
Rachel stood up. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Salome. I only came to you out of desperation. I need to find Daniel’s killer, and I need to find him or her soon before a judge sentences Moses to prison for the rest of his life for a crime he didn’t commit.
