Midwife of the Blue Ridge by Christine Blevins Page B

Maggie. You’re up next.”
    H
    The auction had been under way for some time when Seth Mar-
    tin pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He counted only
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    Blevins
    five women left standing in the queue of twenty waiting their
    turn up the steps.
    They all seemed strong, clean, and well fed. These immigrants
    had weathered their crossing well compared to the sad lot he’d
    sailed in with sixteen years before. His heart sank when the fi rst
    two contracts he bid upon went for more than the sum he had to
    spend. These
    were quality laborers, and as such they fetched
    quality prices.
    Seth had sold four kegs of his best dram whiskey and one
    stubborn mule to earn the twenty-three pound notes clenched in
    his fi st. Not enough . . . not near enough.
    “Margaret
    Duncan—twenty-two years of age,” the rotund
    auctioneer announced as the next young woman mounted the
    steps to the quarterdeck. Seth’s heart sank farther. He didn’t
    stand a chance of winning the bid on this girl—she was too
    pretty by far.
    Her hair was plaited in one glossy black braid coiled at the
    base of her neck. Her faded yellow blouse accentuated the tone of
    her olive skin, coated with a sheen of perspiration, and the tight-
    laced bodice she wore emphasized the dip and curve of a very
    womanly fi gure.
    “. . . unmarried and childless, this girl is suited for service . . .”
    “Yep! She can service me anytime!”
    A pimple- faced young man drew a loud guffaw from the
    mostly masculine crowd with his play on words. The girl on the
    stair colored red and looked near tears. Seth pitied the lass, rec-
    ollecting the helplessness he felt the day he had stood on the
    block.
    “As I was saying,” the auctioneer continued, “this girl is well
    suited for domestic service and has been taught additional skills
    that would benefi t any estate—”
    “I bet I can teach her a few skills!”
    The crowd howled. Seth observed the girl struggle to maintain
    her composure, but hands flew to hips and angry eyes fl ashed.
    Midwife of the Blue Ridge 49
    Much to the crowd’s delight, she stepped forward and addressed
    the rude young man.
    “Ho there! Laddie! Aye, you . . .” She pointed. “You wi’ the
    face like a tinker’s spotty arse. Here’s a sound bit of advice—best
    make friends wi’ yer fist”—the girl punctuated her verbal assault
    with an explicit hand gesture—“for it’s bound to be yer one true
    love.” The crowd roared its approval and the heckler slunk
    away.
    Seth liked this girl.
    “Please . . . your attention, please!” The auctioneer banged
    the gavel. “Captain Carlyle himself attests to this young woman’s
    extensive knowledge of medicines and remedies. Though young,
    she’s served many years as apprentice midwife . . .”
    Seth could not believe his ears. Providence had to have sent
    this lass in answer to his desperate prayers.
    “. . . and so we seek an opening bid of eight pounds . . . do I
    hear eight pounds? Aha, yes—I have eight pounds from the vis-
    count. And nine? Do I hear nine? Nine pounds? Yes, there’s
    nine . . . do I hear . . . I have ten from the viscount. Thank you,
    sir. Do I hear eleven?”
    “TWENTY-THREE POUNDS!” Seth shouted out.
    The crowd stuttered into silence.
    “SOLD!” The gavel slammed down. “Sold for- twenty-three-
    pounds- to-the- small-man-with-the-big-gun!” The red-faced auc-
    tioneer shoved Maggie aside and scurried down the stairs, loudly
    proclaiming a dire need to “answer nature’s call.” The stunned
    crowd began to stir.
    “What?”
    “She’s sold?”
    “That can’t be . . .”
    “Well, when nature calls . . .” Someone laughed.
    “Go on and get her, son.” A man slapped Seth on the back.
    “Looks like that pretty gal’s yourn.”
    When Seth saw some of the other bidders grumbling about the
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    Blevins
    turn of events, he did not waste any more time pondering his
    good fortune. He marched over and tossed the fistful of notes