She couldn’t blame her. Daniel deserved better.
Within seconds, the once-busy table was half-empty, only Horace continuing with his toast.
Nora pressed her fingers to her sternum, the sting of Julia’s abrupt departure spreading through her. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”
“Sorry?” He smiled in earnest now, the way he did when he discovered some new animal or medical anomaly. “I’m ecstatic.” His hand hovered over her stomach, knowing there was nothing at all to see or feel. The magic of new life was entirely concealed within her.
Unruffled, Horace folded his paper in half and smoothed it on the table. “I agree with Mrs. Phipps, Nora. If we do see cholera cases, you should leave town.”
“If I do have immunity, I’m the only one who should see cholera patients,” she countered, livid he’d returned to his conversational tone after setting off an incendiary at the table. She considered it a sound hypothesis. Few argued against the effectiveness of Edward Jenner’s smallpox vaccine, and Nora knew from her own practice that children who survived measles, diphtheria, and other ailments could expect to be spared those diseases in later years.
“Seems a foolhardy time to test any theory.” Daniel pointed to Nora’s stomach.
Nora stiffened at the set of Daniel’s jaw. He was formulating arguments already. Everything was unfolding just as she’d feared—everyone joining ranks, urging her to stop working.
“Fortunately, we don’t have to,” Nora said swiftly. “Two cases—or eight, however many Dr. Conway claims to have seen—are not an epidemic.”
Neither man could argue with that, but Nora wasn’t about to count it a victory. She had bigger problems than obscure cases and theories. Daniel’s excitement over her pregnancy proved he felt no qualms about becoming a parent. His life would change, but not as radically as he expected hers to.
Horace’s surprise disclosure had opened a new struggle for her, one only just beginning.
Chapter 20
Ruth’s hands, as sure and nimble as any Nora had ever seen, fumbled over the cloth doll Nora had ordered from a perplexed seamstress.
“Supine?” Ruth asked uncertainly.
“No,” Nora said, trying not to sound discouraged. “Supine is face up. Most babies, as you know, are born in the prone position.” Nora twisted the doll to a supine position on the table. It stared up at them with its stitched eyes. The seamstress had jointed the shoulders, elbows, hips, and knees, just as Nora had requested. She wished there was a way to make the neck as malleable as a real baby’s.
Ruth sighed. “What’s wrong with saying ‘face up’? Everyone knows what that means.”
“What’s wrong is that you won’t understand lectures or articles when a doctor describes a position as supine or prone.” Nora pitched her voice into something more patient. “When we know the Latin terms, it helps us communicate with doctors and scientists around the world. I’d never have managed in Italy if I didn’t know Latin.”
“Yes, well, I’m never going to Italy, and Mrs. Kelly won’t be yelling Latin while she’s giving birth. She’ll bawl me out in plain English.” Ruth cocked an eyebrow at Nora. She’d agreedto weekly lessons, eager to learn about the forceps, but hadn’t expected to begin with Latin.
“We can’t be at odds,” Nora pleaded. “There’s enough opposition to both of us to waste disagreement on each other.” Flecks of iridescent gray in the marble table glinted in the sallow midday light. “You know about the petition. If Adams has his way, I worry any midwife who takes pay for her work could be prosecuted. You could go to prison just for practicing.”
Establishing a training program, and licensing if necessary, was the best defense Nora could think of—and the way to communicate standards was in the language doctors had made their own.
Ruth’s glare deepened. Nora never knew if the woman was seeing a fellow woman or an enemy doctor. “We never had this problem before.”
Before I came along.Nora rolled her shoulder backward. “They feel threatened. But we can prove to them that midwives, educated in the latest practices, achieve better outcomes, and that will sway opinions. We’ve enough women’s clubs to take up our cause if we can make a stirring argument.” Nora looked over Mara, the model. She’d carefully removed the glass dome that enclosed the yawning cavity of the abdomen.
“Once you get used to the sound of it, the Latin terms are no harder than English,” Nora promised, handing the doll back to Ruth. “Button on the umbilical cord and placenta, and we’ll practice delivering different presentations. You’ll see.”
Ruth did as she was told, pausing to glimpse around thecavernous surgical theater that doubled as a lecture hall. Outside, the rain drenched everything into a soggy mess. London hadn’t seen the sky in over a week.
She placed the baby into the ceramic body, the top of the head protruding through the vaginal opening. “Vartrix.”
“Vertex,” Nora corrected with a smile.
Another sigh.
“We call it the crown,” Ruth grumbled.
“Now, keep the vertex presentation and let’s change the body position. Show me an anterior presentation.”
Ruth’s hands shook as she fumbled the doll into position.
