Through the screams and cries of labor, two girls are
brought into the world in 1843 near Beaufort, North
Carolina. The first-born gave no sign of life, so the
midwife removed her from the room, while the second child
brought tears and cries of joy. That was the start of life
for Wynter and Sage McCain.
Midwife Lucette Denzer took the silent child to her room
where in the darkness of night, a life began. Startled by
the bundle of joy and not looking forward to a life alone,
she steals away to raise the child as her granddaughter
Sage. They journey from North Carolina to Long Island, New
York, where they remain until she wants to move on to the
Midwest. On the last leg of their trip, they meet William
Peterson, who becomes known affectionately as Peter Pa. He
takes to Lucette and Sage and invites them to take up
residence with him in Minnesota. Sage comes of age and
while out exploring, she saves the life of a young brave,
whom she comes to love, marry and have children. She feels
very loved and complete with her life.
Wynter grows up sheltered and privileged, yet lonely, in
Beaufort. She is enveloped by her parents' love, luxuries
and the aroma of her mother's flowers. However, she still
meets with tragedies that take the life of her mother and
younger brother, only to leave her feeling more lonely and
lost. At the age of 18, with her father remarried, she
embarks on an adventure to her aunt's home in Minnesota.
After promising her father she'll return in a year, Wynter
sets out to discover a whole new world. Here's where she
meets Dax Oliver, whose family established a life in
Minnesota, and they discover love and passion with each
other. With the Civil War looming over the community, Dax
is asked to enlist with his younger brother, Fenn, in order
to watch over him until the war is ended.
Before leaving, Wynter and Dax share a moment of passion
that leaves her pregnant. Not knowing what to do, she
agrees to marry Dax's younger brother, Cord, who not only
truly loves her, but suspects the child is Dax's. The war
takes Fenn's life and injures Dax, who returns home in the
midst of the Dakota uprising only to learn that death has
come to members of his family and Cord is missing. Not only
does he discover that Wynter is married to Cord, but she's
been captured and sold to French traders.
On the search for a good tracker, Dax meets Wa-na-pay-a and
is shocked to see that the tracker's wife is a mirror image
of Wynter. Now the sisters' paths have finally crossed, and
Dax realizes his true feelings for Wynter. With his
feelings for her strong and passionate, what will he do
about Cord?
MOON OF THE SLEEPING BEAR is a moving adventure story about
love, passion, revenge and family honor. The characters'
descriptions are so vivid and realistic that you not only
see but feel their joys, triumphs and tragedies. I was so
pleased to discover that a sequel is coming, titled MOON OF
THE LONG NIGHT. K. Celeste Bryan has created a story with
characters as rich and adventurous as the Wagon's West
Series by Dana Fuller Ross, The North South Trilogy by John
Jakes and Sara Donati's Wilderness epic. I look forward to
reading the sequel and all other stories written by this
author.
Note: this book can be purchased from JoNa Books by
calling (812) 278-9512; or e-mailing them at
[email protected]
Wynter McCain was born into a life of wealth and luxury in
North Carolina, although her childhood was plagued with
tragedy. In her adolescence, she sneaks into the attic
one day, only to stumble across her mother's diary. She
soon discovers that she was a twin at birth, and her
mother's desolate words reveal that her sister was
stillborn. Or was she? Wynter has always been a young
woman ahead of her time, and at eighteen, convinces her
father to allow her a year-long visit her aunt and uncle
in Minnesota at their ranch, Full Circle. Soon after
arriving, she meets the dashing and wild Dax Oliver, and
his kind and handsome brother Cord.
When Civil War breaks out, Dax enlists with his younger
brother, Fenn, and they soon find themselves amidst the
bloodiest of battles fought in the deep south. How was he
to know when he left home that the brown-eyed beauty of
his dreams was with child---his child? Realizing that
even on the plains of Minnesota, unwed mothers are
considered a terrible breech of social propriety, Wynter
accepts an offer of marriage from Cord. When Fenn is
killed in battle, and Dax is wounded, the army gives him
an honorable discharge and sends him home. There was no
way he could have prepared himself for what he found once
he arrived. Not only has the woman he loves married his
brother, but the entire county is caught up in a bloody
war with the Dakota Indians. Half of his family has been
slaughtered during the uprising, his brother Cord is
missing, and Wynter has been kidnapped by the Indians and
sold to French traders.
There is only one man who can help bring Wynter back, an
Indian tracker by the name of Wa-na-pay-a. How was Dax to
know that the tracker is married to a woman who is the
spitting image of Wynter!
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Beaufort, North Carolina - February, 1843
Agonizing screams resonated from the candle-lit master
bedchamber at Grand Cove, heard by all who were present in
the manor. The grueling, painful labor left Clarissa
Bradford McCain semi-delirious and spent, hovering between
unconsciousness and fleeting reality. The midwife sponged
her face before moving to the end of the four-poster bed,
and Clarissa wondered if the woman's hands were clutched
in prayer or anxiety just before she lifted the bed sheet
to check on her progress. Outwardly, Lucette Denzer's
demeanor was calm, her weary face failing to expose her
concern to the black servants present, but in truth,
Clarissa knew ripples of worry were festering in the pit
of the woman's stomach, and in the last several hours,
they had managed to reveal themselves as genuine alarm.
Clarissa clutched the bed sheets, waiting for the next
crushing spasm to pass, her befuddled thoughts revisiting
the last several months. Where had she gone wrong?
Countless hours were depleted preparing herself for the
lying-in and delivery of her first child, and while she
recognized the majority of upper-class society in
Beaufort, North Carolina, summoned and could well afford a
physician to deliver them, she, after reading everything
available, had adamantly insisted on a midwife.
The McCains had openly longed for a child of their own,
but the mere thought of childbirth dredged up a cauldron
of fear, perhaps for several reasons. It was an undisputed
fact women in her family had suffered greatly during the
birth of a child and she was aware several, along with
their newborns, had perished from various, nonspecific
complications.
But now, after eighteen hours of punishing labor, the
child had not made its entrance. She had suffered through
most of it in anguished silence but in the last several
hours, waves of panic and fear coursed through her.
The darkies in the room had always gravitated toward
superstitious musings. She had known it for years, but
now, in the hour of her despair, it helped little when
America, the offspring of Bessie, their cook, stepped from
the shadows, her doe-like eyes wide as clam shells. "My
mammy says if'n a woman look at a full moon in dah last
days, dah child will surely die." The whites of her coal
black eyes glowed in the dimly lit bedchamber and her
pupils bored into Clarissa as if she were already on her
way to heaven. "An' if'n a rabbit crosses her path, dah
child be born wid a harelip." True her somber words were
barely audible, but was the servant daft? Despite her
incapacitated state, there was nothing wrong with
Clarissa's hearing.
Clarissa and her husband Dilce, didn't believe in
physically punishing slaves, never had. But at this
moment, she was so angry at America, she wished she could
take a whip to her. It must be the gruesome pain, she
thought. She saw the guarded look of intolerance that
passed from the midwife to the black servant and Lucette's
clenched jaw when she arched her head toward the girl.
"Shush now! I won't have you bringing foolish
superstitions into the room. The problem in delivering the
infant is due to the narrow hips of the mother, that is
all."
The midwife didn't seem surprised by the unfounded
babbling of the black servants, apparently, she'd heard it
all, and more. They've brought many irrational stories to
this continent from Africa, and I don't abide by any of
it, Mrs. McCain, she had told her. "I'm confident in the
learned skills my German ancestors have practiced for
decades, knowledge passed down from mother to daughter."
Apparently she and the midwife were the only ones present
who didn't believe in irrational notions when bringing
forth life.
Clarissa struggled to raise her head from the pillow to
cast a disgusted glower toward America. The girl appeared
dutifully cowered by the midwife's words. She bowed her
head and snuck a sheepish glance through drowsy lids at
Praline, the overseer of the house staff. It would serve
her right if Praline chastised her for repeating Bessie's
admonitions, although the elderly servant's face was
passive, she didn't seem upset with the girl. And then a
conversation between Praline and Sailly, the head cook at
Grand Cove, came to mind. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop,
but, well, the door was slightly ajar, and when she heard
whispered voices in the kitchen, her curiosity was
piqued. "Dah midwife be pea-brained when it come to
birthin' an' kaint see dah light if'n it be shinin' in her
eyes," Sailly had scoffed. "Dere be other dark workins'
goin' on when dah time cum, an' dah oft-told warnins' from
dah elders ought to be heeded." At the time, Clarissa
cleared her throat before entering, and when she did, a
hushed silence came to the room.
It was a well-known fact the darkies thought every event
in life was manipulated or controlled by voodoo spirits.
Before returning her head to the pillow, she studied
America. She was retreating to the shadows, folding her
hands obediently and seemed to resign herself to wait
patiently for the child. Clarissa had little time to
wonder about sorcery after that. Her pain-contorted face
contracted along with her abdomen when the next crushing
spasm grabbed her with such a vengeance, her screams
echoed in the room.
And then...the events happened so rapidly, Clarissa
couldn't remember their order. The white-hot pain blinded
her to all reason and sense of time, and she wasn't
certain if the hoarse screeching, similar to that of a
snared rabbit, was coming from her throat or could it be
possible she was dreaming? The vague blur of ebony bodies
moved about the room, seemingly with purpose, but void of
sound. A high-pitched, mournful wail ripped through her
throat and she felt as though her inners were being ripped
to shreds, and then suddenly the intense pain ceased.
She was vaguely aware of the midwife hovering between her
thighs, and the distinct sound of a long sigh as the air
rushed from the woman's lungs. "Tis a dark-haired female!"
Lucette cried with glee. The midwife placed the child on
her abdomen and turned the tiny being face up, sweeping
her nimble fingers through the infant's mouth in one swift
motion. Clarissa held her breath when next, the woman
turned her from side-to-side in an obvious attempt to draw
life from her daughter's still form. Tears stung her eyes
when she gazed at the babe, she was listless, her pallor a
dull gray. Clarissa struggled to maintain consciousness,
remotely aware of the dreadful silence in the room while
dark forms stepped from the corners, their faces etched in
sorrow.
The midwife passed the stillborn to the nearest
servant. "Submerge her in the basin and rub her briskly
with a cloth and cool water." Lucette's tense voice grated
against Clarissa's ears, and a muffled groan came to her
as the fate of her firstborn filled her with numb
disbelief.
An ancient, lilting chant floated through the air, a
soothing, calming dirge from the midwife, one that
Clarissa surmised was designed to bless the infant who had
passed. It could only be a mantra passed down for
generations, since it was delivered in German. Little did
she know Lucette had, indeed, learned it from her
grandmother, and was, at this very moment, calling on her
predecessor's spirit for assistance.
Whispered words of encouragement, surely intended to
bolster her resolve, fell freely from the midwife's lips,
and it was then Clarissa realized her painful ordeal was
not over. Oh, Lord above, deliver me from this hell. She
tried desperately to summon forth the strength to deliver
the second child as the midwife set about her duties
again, but the dark oblivion marched forth like a mighty
army, threatening to claim her.
When at last the boisterous squalling of new life raised
its head, the midwife handed the infant to Praline, with
clear instructions. "Bathe her and wrap her tiny body in
muslin cloths, and make sure they've been warmed by the
hearth."
Clarissa finally surrendered to the beckoning emptiness.
Following directly on the heels of her twin, Wynter McCain
arrived into the world on a blustery winter evening
fighting for survival, and instinct that would serve her
well for many years.
Dilce McCain had gone to great lengths to find and secure
Lucette Denzer for his wife. He didn't want to affront the
entire town by inquiring on the delicate subject, but
there was nothing he wouldn't do for Clarissa, and so he
had sent out the proper, socially acceptable feelers. In
the end, it was his barrister, Maxwell Foote the Third,
who had written the midwife's name on a sheet of his
personal stationary and had handed it to Dilce on the
streets of Beaufort. Beneath her name were clear, concise
directions to her abode on the outskirts of town. He had
nearly leaped with joy and rode out to see her that very
day, placing a hefty stipend down before she could decline.
Today he questioned his judgment and found himself
alternately pacing the floor and sitting at the mahogany
desk in the library of Grand Cove, neither of which
brought him relief, although he tried desperately to
achieve it. He rested his face in his massive hands, the
tips of his fingers reaching the lower lobes of his ears.
In a conscious effort to drown out the pitiful lament from
the master bedchamber, occasionally he would slide his
hands over them and sob forlornly.
For eighteen hours he had been alone, except for the
presence of his faithful manservant, Cromwell. Throughout
the long hours, Ol' Crom had drifted in and out of the
library with a tray of food or liquid refreshment, but
when he waved it away, the servant placed them on a small
table nearby and retired from the room, his brow furrowed
with worry and dejection.
From beginning to end of his wife's difficult labor, Dilce
had remained in a constant state of anxiety, mentally
strained and physically exhausted, while images of his
beloved Clarissa, writhing and moaning in their bed snaked
through his mind. The pitiful screams from the room, one
level above, only served to accentuate those mental
portraits and he wondered how much longer either could
withstand the onslaught.
Two servants passed by the door of the library, one of
them cradling a small bundle wrapped in cream-colored
muslin. He couldn't see the contents, but after observing
their tear-stained faces and bowed heads as they scurried
down the hallway, he couldn't bring himself to inquire.
Hearing no further sounds from the master bedchamber, he
imagined the worst in his mind . . . his and Clarissa's
child must have died in childbirth. Perhaps Clarissa had
perished, too, since an undeniable stillness now filled
the great manor. Unable to bear the sudden eerie calm, he
rushed from the library and whisked up the stairs two at a
time, heading for the master bedchamber. When he reached
the landing, he paused and then exhaled. The raucous cries
of a newborn filled the manor, a strong and fervent wail
that bode well for a life of fortitude and courage.
At the top of the stairwell the wizened old midwife cast a
boastful glance in his direction, her partially toothless
smile expressing delight at the small bundle in her arms.
It was the same cream-colored muslin he'd seen pass by the
library just minutes ago. He closed the distance between
them and peered down at the tiny face. Despite the cherry
tint of her skin and the misshapen head, the infant was
the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Relief and awe
transformed his weary features while he sent a grateful
nod toward the midwife.
The infant was relaxed in peaceful slumber, serenely calm
as she sucked on her lower lip. A rose-colored, delicately
shaped mouth shared space with a tiny, slightly upturned
nose, symmetrically placed on a perfectly oval face. Light
auburn brows rested above closed eyelids, banked by long,
thick lashes. A mass of hair, the color of autumn leaves,
threatened to escape the muslin wrap about her head. He
studied her intensely, trying to ascertain whose side of
the family she favored, suddenly overcome by an
overwhelming urge to release her from the snug wrap to
study every detail of her form. He checked himself,
certain the midwife would deliver a scathing glare if he
appeased his curiosity.
Lucette blanched when the cool, crystal-gray eyes turned
to her. "What of Clarissa? Is she dead?" He felt his face
tense, dropping the smile from his lips.
"No, surely not, Mister McCain. Your wife slipped into a
merciful state of semi-consciousness when the second
daughter was born." Her voice was filled with regret.
"There was another child?" Flashbacks of the servants'
faces scurrying past the library emerged, and the
unmistakable droop in Lucette's shoulders when her gaze
shifted from him to the floor confirmed his worst fears.
She nodded her gray head, studying him from the corner of
her eye. He wondered if she detected the sorrow he
felt. "Does Clarissa know?"
Lucette lifted her head to meet his eyes. "I don't know,
sir, what she was able to comprehend at that point, foggy
as she was. It will be a long recovery, but one she'll
live to tell about." She placed her arm on the sleeve of
his shirt. "I must caution you, Mister McCain, I've
brought many children into the world and I don't believe
your wife would live through another birth."
Although he nodded in understanding, his nerves were
frayed beyond logic at the moment. His insides churned. He
dismissed the midwife with a polite nod, the library and a
stiff drink foremost on his mind. He beckoned a passing
servant, "Have Ol' Crom see me at once in the library."
Dilce stood by the gray, stone hearth, snifter in hand. He
reflected on the events of the past eighteen hours. On
this day, two daughters had been born at Grand Cove, one
had lived, and one had perished. Clarissa would survive,
and for that, he would be eternally grateful. He looked
toward heaven and savored the tepid liquor as it passed
down his throat. Sadness for the babe they lost suddenly
engulfed him, knowing he and Clarissa had been robbed of
the chance to cherish and raise her, but at the same
moment, he was overcome with gratitude and pride. Clarissa
was alive! And their child--the one they had waited an
eternity for--had finally arrived! Indeed, this was a
glorious day!
* * *
Lucette left the master bedchamber, confident her tasks
were complete. She descended the stairs, crossed the
marble floor leading to the massive doors at the front of
the house and stepped into the frigid night air. She
pulled the woolen shawl snugly around her shoulders. A dim
light filtered out from beneath the door of the barn,
several rods from the main house. The house servant,
Praline, must have taken the stillborn there.
Her steps were deliberate as she crossed the meticulously
landscaped yard, but the tension and excitement from the
evening gradually dissipated while she walked. Although
the grounds were canvassed in a light snow, she recognized
the vast flower beds to her right, imagining them in
glorious bloom when spring arrived. At the end of the long
rows, she paused by a thorny bush to pull the shawl over
her ears, involuntarily shivering from the cold wind that
howled about her head.
Once she reached the wooden structure, the door creaked
and groaned when she tugged at the handle, and as she
stepped inside, her gaze was drawn to the pale yellow glow
of lanterns hanging from old wooden posts at the far end.
She squinted, trying to adjust her already strained eyes
to the dim light, focusing on two forms leaning over a
small wooden crate. She recognized Praline, and the other
as the servant she had dismissed from the bedchamber with
the lifeless infant.
"It's difficult to lose a child before it draws its first
breath," her solemn words echoed in the vast
interior. "You may leave now and I'll do what needs to be
done."
Praline had had months to scrutinize the midwife, and was
doing exactly that at this moment. Lucette Denzer was
stronger than her frame implied. Five feet, four inches
tall, she was slight of build, weighing no more than a
scant hundred and fifteen pounds fully dressed. A
multitude of lines and wrinkles crisscrossed her kind
face, although Praline was certain she hadn't passed fifty-
odd summers. Her thick gray hair was pulled back from her
face in a sleek knot, secured with pins, and culminated in
a neat oval bun. Brown eyes, the color of cocoa beans,
were topped by neatly arched brows, the same color and
texture as her hair. Her attire was neat and clean, yet
bespoke of a lower-class. Lucette had earned the respect
of Praline as well as the servants and slaves who resided
at Grand Cove, and with good cause. On more than one
occasion in the last four months, the midwife had been
summoned to minister to the sick and dying. She performed
these duties with compassion and infinite knowledge.
"Yas'm, it truly be a shame," Praline uttered. "My
mistress heart be seamed at dah loss of dis wee one."
When the door closed behind the servants, Lucette
reflected on the conversation she had with Clarissa McCain
the first time they met. Dilce McCain arranged for the
meeting in the fourth month of his wife's confinement, and
now, she called forth her words with clarity.
"In addition to my anxiety about my lying-in period, I'm
filled with apprehension about the welfare of the child.
You come highly recommended, Miss Denzer. Please tell me
about your knowledge and experience regarding the birth of
a child," Clarissa had said.
"I can understand your concerns, since many women dread
pregnancy and childbirth. Most complications are from
exhaustion, dehydration, infection or hemorrhage of the
mother. You've sent for me in the early stages of your
confinement, a prudent decision. Together, we can overcome
any difficulties.
"How?" she had asked.
"Through proper nourishment and an insistence the highest
standards of cleanliness are observed."
"You agree what I have read is true." It was more of a
statement than a question from Clarissa. "Serious
complications are from childbed fever, caused by the
attending physician or midwife's failure to wash their
hands."
"Yes, ma'am. The germs are passed on from birth-to-birth,
the attendant never ridding themselves of the highly
contagious venom. The infected attendants move on to the
next patient, unaware they're spreading disease. I've
assisted in hundreds of births and not one mother or
infant has succumbed while in my care."
Clarissa had fallen silent for a moment, processing the
information before she spoke again. "I see. The women in
my family have a difficult time delivering a healthy,
living child. My dear sister, Estelle lost two at birth
and my mother suffered the same. It was only with extreme
discomfort and hearty prayer that Mother lived through the
birth of Estelle and me."
Lucette had tried to reassure her. "I understand. Whatever
arises, I feel certain we can handle. I've dealt with just
about every variant of childbirth."
"Well then, I'm confident you're the one to assist in the
birth of our long-awaited child. My husband has seen to it
that the guest cottage has been cleaned and stocked with a
surplus of food. Should you decide to accept our offer, it
awaits your occupancy." Clarissa had paused and lifted her
head to meet the midwife's gaze," I hope you will accept."
Lucette curtsied, bending slightly at the waist. "The
offer is accepted, ma'am." She lifted her head to meet the
lady of the manor's eyes. "I'll be checking on you often
during your lying-in period, and hope to make you as
comfortable as possible until the day arrives. The birth
of a child is a blessed event. I'll do my utmost to ensure
you and the child make it through safely."
Clarissa smiled. "Thank you, Miss Denzer, you're excused
for now. I hope you'll find your accommodations here
satisfactory and pleasant."
Yet even knowing the family history and Clarissa's
overwhelming fears, something had gone awry. The child was
dead. Lucette was certain it wasn't childbed fever. She
had personally supervised the hand-washing of those
present, and after intense questioning, not one had
attended a recent birth. She knew Clarissa would have a
difficult time, like her mother, since the size of a
woman's pelvis was generally passed down through
generations. Still, the child shouldn't have met her
demise from that. There was another theory, of course, but
it was far-fetched. Some people harbored the belief that
when twins are born, the first often dies paving the way
for the second. An exasperated sigh escaped Lucette's
lips. Well, whatever had caused the child's death, it was
certainly a shame.
Lucette lifted the tiny bundle from the wooden box,
cradling it in her arms, allowing her mind to meander
through time. For years she had been labeled a spinster by
the local residents, but now, at fifty-two, she would be
categorized an old maid. It was an ironic twist of fate
that she, a midwife, had been denied the laughter of her
own children and it tore at her heart every time she
assisted in the birth of a child. With the infant in her
arms, bittersweet emotions--a hollow emptiness and a
haunting loneliness--consumed her. She opened the muslin
wrap and peered at the tiny form before her. The child was
the mirror image of the one she had left but moments ago
in the master bedchamber. She stared in disbelief at the
absolute perfection of her face. It was beautiful, despite
the gray pallor and the pointed shape of the her skull,
evidence the birth had been traumatic. Oh what a shame it
was they had lost this one!
Peaceful in death, the infant's face was framed in a mass
of thick, curly, chestnut hair, streaked with golden
lights. Perfectly formed brows, mimicking the color of her
hair, rested above closed lids, and thick black lashes,
nearly reaching the top of the cheekbones, seemed to have
a life of their own, even in the stillness of death.
"So beautiful," she whispered, "how hard it will be to
bury you, one who has not taken her first breath."
Weary to the bone, she covered the infant's face with the
muslin and returned her to the make-shift coffin. The tiny
box would accompany her, and in the morning, she would
prepare the infant for burial. She left the barn by the
light of a pale moon breaking through the clouds and began
the short walk to the secluded cottage. Three-hundred feet
in the opposite direction, the rustic abode had served as
home for months while she awaited the birth of the child.
She had completed her contract and now it would fall to a
multitude of servants to care for the newborn and the
mother in the days ahead.
Exhausted and hungry, she entered the cottage and placed
the small wooden crate on a quaint oak table, next to the
tidy sum Mister McCain had dispensed for her services. She
hobbled to the iron kettle over the hearth, filled a bowl
with leftover boiled beef and cabbage, and consumed it
quickly, along with a piece of stale bread. Satiated, she
closed the distance between the table and the beckoning
cot and climbed beneath the covers, spoke aloud her
nightly prayer, and drifted off into a deep slumber.
In the middle of the night, she awoke to a strange sound.
She sat up in bed and cocked her head to the right, her
ears straining to identify the source. And then...she
heard it again. She tossed back the covers, dragged her
achy bones from the cot, and rose to light a nearby candle-
lantern. Her body drifted toward the table in the opposite
corner of the room, the empty space between filled with
subdued commotion. She blinked, wondering if her eyes were
playing tricks on her when a slight movement from the
muslin bundle caught her eye, the same that only hours
before was perfectly motionless. Her steps were slow and
cautious, yet curiosity propelled her forward. Visions of
evil spirits danced before her eyes, causing her to wonder
if they, too, occupied the cottage. The orange-yellow glow
of the lantern only served to heighten the eerie ambiance.
A pair of tiny, unfocused eyes peered back at her when she
pulled back a portion of the muslin. Small limbs flailed
about in wild abandon, loosening the cream-colored wrap
until a perfectly formed human was exposed.
"Oh, merciful God! The child is alive!" She clasped her
hand to her heart and steadied her quaking knees, then
picked up the tiny form, ever so gently, similar to the
movement of one not wishing to wake a sleeping child. When
the babe turned her head from side-to-side seeking
nourishment, tears welled in the midwife's eyes.
Now jolted from her slumber-like state, Lucette walked
toward the door, her outstretched arm reaching for the
knob. A cold blast of air passed over her when she
retrieved the old crock from the outside well, but she was
oblivious to its chill, recalling only the fresh goat's
milk she had lowered into it that very morning. Scurrying
back to the cottage, she poured the milk into a skillet
and warmed it near the open fire. She tore a strip from
the muslin, soaked it in the milk, and offered it to the
babe by pressing it into the corner of her lips, repeating
the ritual until the infant drifted off into peaceful
slumber.
She marveled at the turn of events. The infant had not
died in childbirth! The long difficult labor had
apparently dulled the babe's senses by the time she had
emerged. Lucette relived the events in her mind. The first
child had arrived lifeless. Hearing no sound, she had
handed her off to the servant, immediately turning her
attention to the most pressing matter, the arrival of her
twin. The fact that the child had survived sorely tested
Lucette's faith. She was at a loss to explain it to the
McCains, much less justify it to herself. They had been
told the first child had died at birth, and rightfully so,
for all indications were, she had.
Lucette was keenly aware she was getting on in years and
had never realized until this evening, this very moment,
how desperately lonely she was. The presence of the tiny
babe, alive and helpless, fueled her desire to care for
the child. Convinced fate alone had delivered the infant
unto her, she felt powerless--no, unwilling to give her
up. Oh! What should she do? As a Christian, she knew it
was a great sin to take the child, but to surrender her
would perpetuate a life of loneliness and solitude until
the end of her days. It was a thought she could no longer
bear.
Sleep eluded her for the remainder of the night and she
paced the floor of the cottage, stopping frequently to
check on the babe while the battle raged. The child
appeared to be healthy and robust. When dawn approached,
she had made her decision...she would leave at first light
and take the child with her, putting as much distance
between them and Grand Cove as possible, lest someone find
out the child had lived. Yes, that's it, I'll book passage
on a ship to Long Island, New York. It shouldn't prove
difficult, after all, there are hordes of ships arriving
and departing Beaufort every day. She would concoct a
story that the child's parents had perished in an epidemic
and it had fallen to her, the grandmother, to raise her.
She checked on the child for the hundredth time. "Sage,
you shall be christened Sage," she whispered.
She would name the child in honor of her favorite herb,
one used often in ministering to the sick. She would teach
the child midwifery and bequeath to her the knowledge of
medicinal herbs, skills handed down from her grandmother.
The girl would learn to care for the sick and wounded,
learn how to concoct remedies and cures from hundreds of
plants and roots that grew wild upon the earth. A woman
should have these skills in order to survive in the world.
She peered down at the wondrous being, her face an open
mask of adoration. ""In any event, I cannot surrender you.
You're a special child, indeed, arriving in the Moon of
the Sleeping Bear. Those born during this season will have
many trials in their life, but they will have no fear, nor
will they falter. Whatever is placed in their paths, they
will overcome with strength and wisdom. It's the destiny
of those born while the bear sleeps."
As far as Lucette was concerned, the babe's miraculous
recovery was an omen from the heavens above. The child had
lived for a reason, one she didn't comprehend, but
believed would be revealed in due time. Her decision to
leave with the infant was now sealed in her mind. She
began to pack everything she had brought to the cottage in
two small knapsacks, setting them by the door. After
loading them and the infant onto the old nag tied up
outside, she would set out for the harbor. On their way to
the docks, she would stop at her cabin on the outskirts of
Beaufort to retrieve a tidy sum of money secured under her
mattress, accumulated over the last twenty-five years
while she plied her medicinal trade. She would need it now
to find a home for her and Sage.
Foraging through the knapsack of medicinal remedies, she
located the Valerian root, pummeled it into a paste, mixed
it with warm milk and filled the vial, carefully placing
it inside the breast pocket of her coat. A teensy amount
of Valerian root wouldn't harm the child and would induce
sleep until they were in the middle of the ocean. At her
age, people might find it strange she was traveling alone
with a newborn. The last thing she needed was to raise
suspicion with the Captain or other curious passengers.
Unaware of her final destination, she thought only of the
present need to place as much distance between them and
Grand Cove as possible. With that in mind, Lucette began
her long walk to the docks. She bequeathed the old nag to
a man who looked like he was in dire need of transport,
and then ambled to the second ship anchored in the harbor,
the babe and her meager belongings clutched tightly to her
bosom. She chose the ship because of its destination, Long
Island, and its massive size, but, more importantly, for
the bleating of goats from the decks below.
* * *
The following morning, Dilce entered the master bedchamber
to check on Clarissa. His face softened when he looked
down at her, and although she was pale, her voice weak,
she admitted to resting comfortably. The infant, cradled
in the servant's arms, was sound asleep. Moments later,
light snores from Clarissa gave him cue to leave, and
after a curt nod to the nanny, he left the bedchamber and
summoned Cromwell to the library.
"The midwife has disappeared," he exchanged an
apprehensive look with his manservant, "check the grounds,
and if you don't find her, ride over to her cabin in the
woods. I'm concerned she's met with foul play."
When Crom returned from his errand, he shuffled his feet
and scratched his head as he stood before his master. "Ah
done check dah cottage, Massuh Dilce, dah grounds, an' her
abode. She ain't nowhere to be found. Dah old nag's gone
an' so is dah healer. Ain't no sign of dah babe."
Dilce felt his brow furrow. "I can't understand it. I best
ride into Beaufort, look around, see if anyone knows of
her whereabouts."
He didn't find the answers in town. No one seemed to know
anything about the midwife's sudden disappearance, and
though he never questioned Ol' Crom's thoroughness, he
decided to ride over to the place the healer called home.
He'd been there before and instantly recognized the
isolated log structure set deep in the woods. Like the
guest cottage, there was evidence she had been there but
it was deserted now.
By the time he returned to Grand Cove, the constable had
arrived. "Sorry I can't be of more help, Mister McCain,
none of it makes sense." The man's bewilderment showed in
his wide-eyed gape. "You claim the infant was stillborn
and the house servants agree?"
"Yes, Praline, my wife's personal servant was present. She
claims to have left the infant in the barn with the
midwife. The woman excused the servants, said she'd
prepare the child for burial."
The constable scratched his chin. "Stranger things have
happened, sir. I'm familiar with the healer, and I can
attest, she has little reason to remain in Beaufort--no
living relatives. She probably buried the child, thinking
it her duty before she left and took off for parts
unknown, seeking work elsewhere."
Dilce cast him a suspicious glance.
"But if it will ease your mind, I'll ride out there myself
and check on things. If anything turns up, I'll let you
know."
Dilce tipped his hat toward the constable as the man
mounted and left the manor. He decided he would tell
Clarissa the child had been laid to rest in the proper
manner. She wouldn't have been able to attend the burial
in any event, bedridden for two weeks, according to the
physician, and there was no sense in causing her
additional grief. Yet something was amiss. Dilce would
wonder about the strange occurrences for months.
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