The Midwife's Choice by Delia Parr Page B

disturbing you.”
    An uncommonly short man with a wide girth, he must have been out in the cold for some time to have gotten so chilled. His plump cheeks were chafed from the wind and cold, and his nose was the color of ripe summer cherries. He bore a few scars on his face from scratching at the chicken pox, a recent, embarrassing malady, although he had resented Martha’s nursing more.
    At least at first.
    â€œCome in. Come in. You sound half frozen and you look even worse. Come in, but get that snow off your boots, first. I’ll get you some hot tea to warm you up. I think we still have some oatmeal cookies around.” She stepped aside to let him enter.
    â€œNothing to eat. Just something hot, then we need to talk,” he responded. He stomped his boots to knock off the snow, then came inside.
    Concern quickened her heartbeat. He had come to her before with concerns about his patients, but he had never turned down something to eat before, especially some of Fern and Ivy’s treats.She followed him into the kitchen and prayed whatever errand had brought him here so late could either be settled quickly or resolved later.
    After she had resolved her dilemma about what to do with Victoria.
    As she followed him, she remembered that June was in the kitchen, dressed in her nightclothes. Before Martha could ask him to wait so June could slip upstairs, the doctor was already in the kitchen.
    He took one look at June and braced to a sudden halt.
    Martha nearly collided with him. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you—”
    â€œJune? Is that really you?”
    She chuckled. “Benjamin! I almost didn’t recognize you. I’m . . . I’m afraid you’ve caught me in my nightclothes. You look frightfully cold. Come. Warm yourself by the fire.”
    Absolutely confused, Martha peeked around him, glanced from one to the other, and clamped her gaping mouth shut. Again. Of all the people she expected to be able to confirm June Morgan’s identity and attest to her character, Dr. McMillan would be last in line.
    Dead last.

6
    D r. McMillan spun around, and his face was flushed a deeper shade of crimson. He nearly knocked Martha over. Again. Fortunately, she was a bit lighter on her feet than he was. She managed a quick side step and eased around him. She grabbed her cape from the peg on the wall and handed it to June. “Here. Put this on. Apparently, you two know one another so there’s no sense bothering to introduce you.”
    Still, the air was wrought with embarrassment for all. Even though the man was a doctor, he rarely, if ever, tended to a woman in her nightclothes. Martha treated most women when they were ill. For very serious cases that required a doctor, propriety demanded that he examine his female patients as they lay in bed fully dressed and covered by the bedclothes.
    With her cheeks flaming, too, June donned the cape and sat down again. “You can come in now, Benjamin.”
    He hesitated, then turned around and approached the hearth. When he was close, he turned his back to the fire and warmed his hands behind him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Widow Cadehad a guest, let alone . . . I mean, whatever are you doing here in Trinity?”
    June chuckled. “It’s a long tale, I’m afraid. I could ask you the same question, though. The last time I saw Charles, he said he’d lost touch with you and hadn’t heard from you in ages.”
    Basically ignored and excluded from the exchange, Martha watched and listened to the conversation. Her expression, apparently, prompted June to pause and explain. “Benjamin and my brother, Charles, were friends.”
    The doctor nodded. “I’ve gained a few pounds since then, I’m afraid. We went to school together in Boston, and I went home with Charles for several holidays.”
    June laughed out loud. “Holidays indeed! Father never quite got over one visit