“Who cares as long as our ploy works?”
The blatant corruption in that statement snapped something inside Darius. He came around the desk, no longer willing to hide his distaste, and stood eye to eye with his boss. “I care. I’m not going to spread false rumors about someone just for your company’s financial gain.”
Walcott’s nostrils flared. “If you value your job, you will.” He lowered his voice to a deadly serious level. “I hear you’re marrying Meredith Cheeseman in a few weeks. Do you think your bride will be eager to wed an unemployed nobody? Do you imagine Horace Cheeseman would allow it?”
Darius went still, the fight draining from him as the truth of his boss’s statement hit home. Mr. Cheeseman would never allow his daughter to marry Darius if he had no job. His position at Walcott Industries was one of the main reasons Mr. Cheeseman was agreeing to this match. “No, I don’t suppose he would.”
“Then if you want to keep your job and your bride, you know what you have to do.” Walcott yanked the door open. “And I suggest you do it soon.”
16
The sound of moaning brought Olivia halfway out of sleep, her heart thudding. Was one of the prison inmates sick? Or had Dr. Guest subjected another poor soul to her torments? If so, Olivia could only be glad it wasn’t her. This time.
She shifted in the bed, becoming aware of the lavender-scented pillowcase beneath her head. She wasn’t in prison. She was safe at Ruth’s. Slowly, her heart rate began to return to normal and her muscles relaxed. She must have been dreaming of the reformatory again.
Another loud moan sounded.
Olivia shot up from the mattress and grabbed her robe. This was not a dream. One of the girls could be in labor. She needed to determine who it was and see if the midwife was needed.
In the dark hallway, Olivia encountered Ruth tying the belt on her robe, her gray hair in a long braid over her shoulder.
“I think it’s coming from Darla’s room.” Ruth pointed to the door.
With no name for the stranger, they’d decided to call the battered woman Darla. They both waited outside for some indication to enter. At another, louder moan, Ruth knocked on the door. “Are you all right, dear? Can we come in?”
No answer.
Ruth shook her head and slowly eased the door open. “It’s Mrs. Bennington. Are you ill?” She snapped on a lamp.
Under the covers, the woman rocked back and forth, clutching her belly.
Ruth hurried to her side. “Are you having contractions?”
Darla’s eyes shot open, terror leaping out. She grabbed Ruth’s arm. “Don’t . . . let . . . him . . . have . . . my . . . baby.” Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp.
Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’ll call Mrs. Dinglemire.”
Ruth turned, her expression grim. “Better call Dr. Henshaw as well. I don’t think this will be an easy birth.”
Ruth’s prediction came true with unfortunate accuracy.
Mrs. Dinglemire did one brief examination of the woman and shook her head, silently allowing Dr. Henshaw, who’d arrived at almost the same time, to take over.
“It’s in God’s hands now,” Mrs. Dinglemire said as she descended the stairs.
Olivia went to pay the woman, but she waved her off.
“I can’t accept it. I couldn’t do anything for that poor woman.”
“But you came in the middle of the night,” Olivia protested. “We need to pay you for your time.”
A sad smile appeared, and Mrs. Dinglemire patted her arm. “Never you mind, dear. I was about to head out on another call anyway. I promised to go there once this situation had been resolved. My services will be of much better use there.” She glanced back toward the stairs. “You should go back up in case the doctor needs your help. I can see myself out.”
Olivia did as the woman suggested, waiting with Ruth outside the bedroom door while the doctor worked on Darla. A few minutes later, he emerged, looking haggard already.
“Should I call for an ambulance?” Olivia asked.
“There’s no time. This baby is coming now. I’ll need clean sheets, towels, boiling water, sterilized scissors, and some string. And I’ll need one of you to help me with her. We have to rouse her enough so she can push. It’s too late at this point for surgery.”
A cold chill slid down Olivia’s back. “I’ll help you.”
“Are you sure?” Dr. Henshaw gave her a skeptical look.
She stiffened her spine. “Other than one kind nurse, I didn’t have anyone with me when I was in labor. I’d like to be there for her.”
Ruth nodded. “I’ll get the supplies.”
Olivia followed the doctor into the room, which was already overly warm and ripe with body odor. He’d draped the bedsheet over the lower part of Darla’s body, exposing her large belly. Purple and blue bruises marred the pale skin on one side.
Dr. Henshaw’s jaw muscle ticked. “I hope the baby’s all right. For now, the heartbeat is within normal range.”
Suddenly, the skin over Darla’s stomach grew taut, and a moan came from the weakened woman.
“Go sit with her.” Dr. Henshaw moved to the foot of the bed. “Hold her hand. Talk to her and try to get her to wake up more.” He pulled a chair over to sit on.
Olivia’s legs shook as she went to the head of the bed and shoved the pillows behind Darla to keep her propped up.
Beads of sweat dotted the woman’s forehead as she thrashed back and forth. Once the contraction ended, she went limp.
“Come on, honey. You need to help your baby. You can do this.” With a corner of the bedsheet, Olivia wiped Darla’s face, murmuring encouragement.
Ruth arrived with an armful of items. She set them on the dresser, then went back out, returning moments later with two pots. She set one on the nightstand. “This one is
