Read Online A Matter of Principle by Kris Tualla - Free Book Online Page A

She was called out in Cheltenham a couple times a month now and twice had been called to Millspring, just to the north. Her reputation as a capable midwife was growing.
    “ That was good, Ruthie. Very good. How are you feeling?” Sydney motioned for Taycie to bring another hot compress; Rickard’s mulatto slave was now her apprentice. The girl complied quickly.
    “ Alright, I guess,” the young woman answered. “It hurts a lot, but, well, I reckon I can stand it.”
    Sydney lifted Ruthie’s knee, removed the cloth between her legs, and replaced it with the hot one. “After this, I’ll rub some more oil on you. Then I’ll check you again. I believe we are almost there.”
    “ Yes—” Her words were stopped by the onset of another pain.
    Sydney turned to instruct Taycie, but she was already setting the oil on the bedside table within Sydney’s reach, along with dry cloths from Sydney’s bag. Sydney watched the slave girl retrieve the string for tying the cord, and Sydney’s knife to cut it, from her leather satchel and set them on the table as well.
    “ Thank you, Taycie,” Sydney said softly. “You’re learning quickly.”
    Taycie blinked her light amber eyes, self-conscious in the public praise. “Thank you,” she whispered.
    Ruthie’s housekeeper slipped into the room. She tiptoed to where Ruthie’s mother dozed in a chair and tugged on her sleeve. The older woman snorted, opened startled eyes, and swiped her palm over her face before turning quizzically to the intruder.
    “ I beg your pardon, ma’am,” the housekeeper said in a tense undertone. “But the midwife is here.”
    “ Yes, of course she is!” The older woman pushed herself straighter in the chair and flipped a hand toward the bed.
    “ No, ma’am. I refer to the other midwife.” She glanced at Sydney.
    Sydney’s heart skipped and sweat prickled her skin. She had never met Berta O’Shea. Their paths had not crossed at any social events, nor did the woman attend church with the Lutheran pastor. The disconnected thought, perchance she ’ s Catholic like me, flitted across Sydney’s mind.
    When Sydney decided to become a midwife, she did so for herself. Her initial experience with guiding a babe from its mother’s body and holding it while it took its first breath and opened its eyes to the world for the first time, was so astonishing that she knew this was her calling. Besides, she wasn’t squeamish; pain and blood didn’t frighten her. She didn’t choose this path with the intention of supplanting Mistress O’Shea.
    But that is not how Berta would see it.
    Berta O’Shea had been in attendance at the birth that killed Nicolas’s wife Lara and Stefan’s twin. She would logically feel threatened by Sydney’s presence in Cheltenham. For that very reason, rightly or wrongly, Sydney had never sought her out. Without preamble, Berta pushed into the room, taking charge.
    “ Thank you, dearie. I shan’t need you now.” She dismissed Sydney with barely a look.
    Ruthie grabbed Sydney’s hand, gripping it so tightly that Sydney’s garnet wedding ring bruised her knuckle. Sydney looked from Ruthie’s wide eyes to her mother’s silently flapping lips; it was not Sydney’s place to decide which midwife stayed.
    Berta moved to the bed. “Thank you,” she repeated, tapping her toe.
    “ Count!” Ruthie grunted, and closed her eyes.
    Ignoring Berta, Sydney turned to the natal woman, kneading her back and counting in her ear.
    “ What are you doing?” Berta demanded when the contraction ended.
    “ I don’t believe we have met.” Sydney slid off the bed and extended her hand. “I am Sydney Hansen. Nicolas’s wife, and”—might as well get this over with—“I’m a midwife.”
    Berta fell back a step, visibly shocked at all the information Sydney lobbed at her. “What? Hansen? Nick Hansen?” Her eyes scoured the room, picking up the clues she had not taken time to notice. “You’re a midwife?”
    “ I am. I learned