Rachel smiled back, dodged children and a tabby cat, and followed Salome. A girl about thirteen in a starched apron and black scholar’s kapp clapped her hands and called to her young siblings. “Come on, now. Leave Salome and Rachel to look after Mam.”
“Does she have the new baby in that bag?” a pigtailed cherub about six asked.
“Maybe,” the teen replied. “But maybe she’s not brought a baby at all but a bag of dried turnips.” The other kids giggled, and the big sister clapped her hands and shooed them out.
An old-fashioned white iron double bed had been set up in one corner of the parlor near the Papa Bear woodstove that stood in front of a sealed-off fireplace. Rachel thought she’d see the expectant mother in bed, but that was not the case. Irma, clad in an everyday housedress and apron, her hair covered with a blue scarf, stood on a low stool with a bottle of vinegar, vigorously scrubbing the panes of one of the parlor windows with a cloth.
“Irma Coblentz, get yourself down off that stool,” Salome scolded. “Do you want to fall and bring on the child before its time?”
The mother laughed heartily. “It’s coming soon, whether I clean these windows or not. And what with all the company I get once the boppli is here, I’d not have anyone think I keep a dirty house.”
Rachel glanced around the room. Painted a soft shade of green, the chamber was far from ill kept. The hearthstones were scrubbed clean, the paint in the room had been freshly applied, and the propane lamps and older kerosene lamps gleamed with nary a fingerprint to be seen. Someone had recently blackened the woodstove, the basket of wood was neat, and the braided rug was bright and welcoming. By the bed stood a white table, a stack of fresh towels, and likewise of sheets. The bed had been stripped to the mattress and covered with plastic sheeting. A kettle and a pot of water boiled on top of the woodstove, and a cradle waited nearby, tiny sheets and blankets new and soft.
“Are you hungry?” Irma asked as she climbed down from the stool. To Rachel, the big woman didn’t look near her time or even in distress. “My oldest baked an apfelstrudel and a hickory-nut kuchen. I can offer you coffee, tea, or hot cider. The cider’s wonderful this year. Our Spitzenburgs produced a bumper crop, God be praised.”
“Sit down, will you, Irma,” Salome instructed. “We’ll gladly take coffee and a sweet, but we’ll sort you out first. Rachel, open that satchel and hand me the blood pressure kit.”
The girl who’d opened the kitchen door for them came with a basin of soapy water and a towel. Rachel glanced at the midwife, then nodded, and proceeded to wash her hands and dry them before opening the case. Meanwhile, Salome followed suit, rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, and washed thoroughly. Irma took a seat on the edge of the bed and offered a meaty arm for the blood pressure cuff. But before Salome could take the reading, the woman’s mouth tightened, her eyes widened, and she groaned.
“They’re coming close together. I started with the backache about midnight, but I didn’t want to trouble you before—” She sucked in a deep breath.
Salome laid a hand on the woman’s midsection. Rachel didn’t need to be a midwife to see that Irma was in labor.
“I’ll need to take a look,” Salome said, catching the expectant mother’s ankles and easing her up onto the mattress.
“What can I do to help?” Rachel asked when Salome gave her a look that confirmed her suspicion.
“Get those instruments into that boiling water.” And then to Irma, “You were right. Good thing you called me when you did.”
“It was such a raw day I didn’t want to call you out for nothing,” Irma explained. “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to lay down. I think I need to walk a little.”
“You know how this works,” Salome told her patient, offering her hand to help the woman to her feet. “However you’re most comfortable.”
Two of the older girls remained in the room, and another woman, a middle-aged neighbor woman who Rachel recognized as Annie Raber, soon joined them. She was obviously a good friend of Irma’s because the two laughed and talked easily. Annie and one of the daughters walked several circuits of the room with Irma, and then everything speeded into high gear.
In a half hour, Salome handed Rachel a squirming baby boy, small but red-faced and screaming. Rachel wrapped the infant in a warm towel and carried him to the arms of an older sister. And then, to everyone’s surprise, Irma gasped and began to weep tears of joy as a second baby, every bit as lively as his brother, slid into the midwife’s capable hands.
“You’re certain there’s not a third one?” Annie demanded. “As fat as you are, Irma, you could be hiding three or four in there.”
Irma laughed good-naturedly. “No more so far as I can see. But there’s always next year.”
“I don’t know,” the midwife teased. “I can wait around to see.”
“Hush, the both of you,” Irma exclaimed. “Are they healthy? Are they breathing right?”
“As right as rain,” Salome pronounced. “And as alike as two peas in a pod. Identical twins, unless I miss my mark. And with as much hair between them as Shadrack has on his head.”
Irma laughed and began to hiccup.
Salome passed baby number two
