“Mrs. Cameron said the cook told her to use half a teaspoon to start. Some people don’t like the strong taste of sage. I tried it yesterday on my chicken. Seems like I could have used a bit more. The sage suited us just fine.”
“Is it just sage?”
Cynthia shook her head. “No, there are supposed to be six different spices, but no one is sure what they are. You can definitely smell the sage, though. There’s no disguising that one.”
“No, I don’t suppose so.”
Marybeth waited patiently while Cynthia grabbed up the rest of her order. After she’d paid, Marybeth put the things in her basket alongside the sewing. “I need to check on my mail and see if Edward’s sister has finally written. Do you suppose it will be safe enough to do so?”
Cynthia nodded. “I can walk a ways with you.” She pulled off her apron. “Let me tell Joe and get him up front to run the place for a few minutes. He’s been unloading inventory all morning and will probably love the break.”
“I hate to be a bother.”
Cynthia shook her head. “No bother. We ladies need to look out for each other.”
Marybeth smiled and waited by the front door. Cynthiareturned, pulling on an old heavy coat. It looked like a man’s coat.
She laughed as she approached Marybeth. “You look positively intrigued by my wrap. This was one of Joe’s old coats. I often throw it on for a quick trip outside. Believe me, you aren’t the first one to be surprised. I get comments all the time.”
“It looks like it will do the job, and that’s all that really matters.”
They made their way down the block and turned. Cynthia headed back to the store while Marybeth went on another block west, pulling her hood forward as the wind picked up. There was no mail waiting for her, unfortunately. More than anything she wanted to hear from Edward’s family and know if George had managed to sell her house. Once that was done, they could move forward on their plans. However, thinking about building a house brought up her conversation with Edward. It was painful to imagine that they would live a separate life under one roof.
She made her way back toward the east, glad to leave the town and its activities for the more residential parts of Cheyenne. Reaching Dodge Street, she turned north toward Eighteenth. She had just passed a row of houses when she heard something behind her. It might have been nothing more than the wind, but when a male voice called out, Marybeth walked a little faster. Her heartbeat quickened, and though she wanted to turn around, she knew she didn’t dare.
“Wait! Stop!”
She tried to refrain from doing so, but the commands were given with such an air of authority, Marybeth couldn’t help herself. She took another step but glanced over her shoulder.
“Please, I need your help.”
She stopped and turned. “Dr. Scott?” She pushed back her hood. “What in the world is going on?”
“Marybeth! I need your help. Come with me. Quickly. I have a patient in labor. She’s not doing well.” Marybeth nodded and followed him into the small house.
Inside the house was rather dark, but Marybeth could make out a sofa and two wooden chairs in the front room. To the left was a kitchen area.
“I need you to help me with the patient first, then come back here and get water on to boil.”
Marybeth put her basket down and pulled off her cloak. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
She followed Dr. Scott into a bedroom off the living area. There was a nice double bed along one wall and a chest on the other. There was a wooden chair seated at the end of the bed, and it was here that a woman sat moaning in pain.
“I’ve got us some help, Mrs. Martin.” Dr. Scott came to where she sat. “This is Marybeth Vogel. She happened to be walking by so it was faster to have her come help us than for me to leave you and get my wife.”
The woman glanced up. Her expression was pain-filled and tight. She nodded. Marybeth did likewise and awaited instructions.
“Mrs. Martin’s baby is breech, but her waters haven’t yet broken. I need to try and turn the baby before they do. I want you to help me position her on the bed and then hold on to her.”
Marybeth remembered the same thing had happened to her stepmother. She tried not to think about how that ended.
She followed Dr. Scott’s directions to the letter, and only when he was satisfied with the arrangement did he instruct Marybeth to climb up on the bed.
“Take hold of her arms. Mrs. Martin, you must remain strong. This won’t be comfortable.”
Marybeth watched the doctor as he pressed and pushed on the woman’s swollen belly. He would pause and feel the baby, then start again. Unfortunately, whenever he made progress, the baby seemed determined to return to the breech position. Then, without warning, the woman’s waters ruptured and spilled out onto the towels the doctor had placed beneath her.
“Well, it looks like this will be a breech birth,” Dr. Scott said. He looked to Marybeth. “Go ahead and get that fire built up and put water on.”
