Author: Robyn Carr

“Time?” Mel asked. “To deliver?”

“Uh-huh. I like Doc, don’t get me wrong. But—”

“When are you due?” Mel asked.

She rubbed her swollen belly. “I think about a month, but I’m not really sure,” she said. She wore laced-up work boots, a yellow sweater underneath the overalls and her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked twenty years old, at most. “It’s my first.”

“I’m a midwife, as well,” Mel said, and the young woman’s face lit up in a beautiful smile. “But I have to warn you—I’m only here temporarily. I’m planning to leave as soon as—” She thought about what she should say. Then, instead of explaining about the baby, she said, “Have you had a checkup recently? Blood pressure, weight, et cetera?”

“It’s been a few weeks,” she said. “I guess I’m about due.”

“Why don’t we do that since you’re here, if I can find what I need,” Mel said. “What’s your name?”

“Polly Fishburn.”

“I bet you have a chart around here somewhere,” Mel said. She went behind the counter and started opening file drawers. A brief search turned up a chart. She went in search of litmus, and other obstetric supplies in the exam room. “Come on back, Polly,” she called. “When was the last time you had an internal exam?”

“Not since the very first,” she said. She made a face. “I was dreading the next one.”

Mel smiled, thinking about Doc’s bent and arthritic fingers. That couldn’t be pleasant.

“Want me to have a look? See if you’re doing anything, like dilating or effacing? It might save you having Doc do it later. Just get undressed, put on this little gown, and I’ll be right back.”

Mel checked on the baby, who was napping in the kitchen, then went back to her patient. Polly appeared to be in excellent health with normal weight gain, good blood pressure, and…“Oh, boy, Polly. Baby’s head is down.” Mel stood and pressed down on her tummy while her fingers stretched toward the young woman’s cervix.

“And…You’re just barely dilated and effaced about fifty percent. You’re having a small contraction right now. Can you feel that tightening? Braxton Hicks contractions.” She smiled at her patient. “Where are you having the baby?”

“Here—I think.”

Mel laughed. “If you do that anytime soon, we’re going to be roommates. I’m staying upstairs.”

“When do you think it’ll come?” Polly asked.

“One to four weeks, and that’s just a guess,” she said. She stepped back and snapped off her gloves.

“Will you deliver the baby?” Polly asked.

“I’ll be honest with you, Polly—I’m planning to leave as soon as it’s reasonable. But if I’m still here when you go into labor, and if Doc says it’s okay, I’d be more than happy to.” She put out a hand to help Polly sit up. “Get dressed. I’ll see you out front.”

When she walked out of the exam room and back toward the front of the house, she found the waiting room was full of people.

By the end of the day Mel had seen over thirty patients, at least twenty-eight of whom just wanted a look at “the new lady doctor.” They wanted to visit, ask her questions about herself, bring her welcome gifts.

It was at once a huge surprise to her, and also what she had secretly expected when she took the job.

By six o’clock, Mel was exhausted, but the day had flown. She held the baby on her shoulder, gently jiggling her. “Have you had anything to eat?” she asked Doc Mullins.

“When, during our open house, would I have eaten?” he shot back. But it was not nearly as sarcastic as Mel imagined he wished it to be.

“Would you like to walk across the street while I feed the baby?” she asked. “Because after you and little Chloe have eaten, I really need some fresh air. No, make that—I’m desperate for a change of scenery. And I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

He put out his old, gnarled hands. “Chloe?” he asked.

She shrugged. “She has to be called something.”

“Go,” he said. “I’ll see that she’s fed. Then I’ll poke around here for something.”

She handed over the baby with a smile. “I know you’re trying to act miserable and just can’t pull it off,” she said. “But thank you—I’d really like to get out of here for an hour.”

She grabbed her jacket off the peg by the front door and stepped out into the spring night. Out here, away from the smog and industry of city life, there were at least a million more stars. She took a deep breath. She wondered if a person actually got used to air like this—so much cleaner than the smog of L.A., it shocked the lungs. There were quite a few people at Jack’s—unlike that stormy night when she’d arrived. Two women she’d met earlier in the day were there with their husbands—Connie and Ron of the corner store, and Connie’s best friend Joy and husband Bruce. Bruce, she learned, delivered the mail and was also the person who would take any specimens to the lab at Valley Hospital, if needed. They introduced her to Carrie and Fish Bristol and Doug and Sue Carpenter. There were a couple of guys at the bar and another two at a table playing cribbage—by their canvas vests she took them for fishermen. Mel hung up her jacket, gave her sweater a little tug to bring it over the waist of her jeans, and popped up on a bar stool. She did not realize she was wearing a smile. That her eyes shone. They had all come out to see her, welcome her, tell her about themselves, ask her for advice. When the day was full of people who needed her—

even those who weren’t necessarily sick—it filled her up inside. Passed for happiness, if she dared go that far.

“Lot of action across the street today, I hear,” Jack said, giving the bar a wipe at her place.

“You were closed,” she said.

“I had things to do—and so did Preacher. We stay open most of the time, but if something comes up, we put up a sign and try to get back by dinner.”

“If something comes up?” she asked.

“Like fishing,” Preacher said, putting a rack of glasses under the bar, then he went back to the kitchen. Out of the back came the kid, Ricky, bussing tables. When he spied Mel he grinned hugely and came over to the bar with his tray of dishes. “Miss Monroe—you still here? Awesome.” Then he went to the kitchen.

“He is too cute.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Jack advised. “He’s at the crush age. A very dangerous sixteen. What do you feel like?”

“You know—I wouldn’t mind a cold beer,” she said. And it instantly appeared before her. “What’s for dinner?” she asked.

“Meat loaf,” he said. “And the best mashed potatoes you’ll ever experience.”

“You don’t have anything like a menu, do you?”

“Nope. We get whatever Preacher’s in the mood to fix. You wanna enjoy that beer for a minute? Or, you want your supper fast?”

She took a pull. “Give me a minute.” She took another sip and said, “Ahhh.” It made Jack smile. “I think I met half the town today.”

“Not even close. But the ones who came out today will spread the word about you. Have any real patients, or were they all just checking you out?”

“I had a couple. You know, I really didn’t have to come over here—the house is full of food. When they come, they bring food, whether they’re really sick or not. Pies, cakes, sliced meat, fresh bread. It’s very…country.”

He laughed. “Careful,” he said. “We’ll grow on you.”

“You have any use for a couple of jars of canned berries? I think it was a patient fee.”

“You bet. Preacher makes the best pies in the county. Any news about the baby’s mother?”

“I call the baby Chloe,” she said, expecting a sting of tears that, remarkably, didn’t come. “No. Nothing. I hope the woman who gave birth isn’t sick somewhere.”

“With the way everyone around here knows everyone’s business, if there were a sick woman out there, word would get out.”

“Maybe she did come from another town.”

“You look almost happy,” he said.

“I almost am,” she returned. “The young woman who brought the berries asked me to deliver her baby. That was nice. The only problem seems to be that she’s going to be having her baby in my bedroom. And she could be doing that pretty soon, too.”

“Ah,” he said. “Polly. She looks like that baby’s ready to fall out of her.”

“How did you know? Oh, never mind—everyone knows everything.”

“There aren’t that many pregnant women around,” he laughed. She turned on her stool and looked around. Two old women were eating meat loaf at a table by the fire and the couples she had met, all in their forties or fifties, seemed to be socializing; laughing and gossiping. There were perhaps a dozen patrons. “Business is pretty good tonight, huh?”

“They don’t come out in the rain so much. Busy putting buckets under the leaks, I suppose. So—still feel like getting the hell out of here?”

She drank a little of her beer, noting that on an empty stomach the effects were instantaneous. And, actually, delightful. “I’m going to have to leave, if for no other reason than there’s nowhere around here to get highlights put in my hair.”

“There are beauty shops around here. In Virgin River, Dot Schuman does hair in her garage.”

“That sounds intriguing.” She lifted her eyes to his face and said, “I’m getting a buzz. Maybe I better do that meat loaf.” She hiccupped and they both laughed. By seven, Hope McCrea had wandered in and took the stool next to her. “Heard you had a lot of company today,” she said. She pulled her cigarettes out of her purse and as she was going to shake one out, Mel grabbed her wrist.

“You have to wait until I’m done with dinner, at least.”

“Oh, foo—you’re a killjoy.” She put the pack down. “The usual,” she ordered. And to Mel, “So—how was it? Your first real day? Doc scare you off yet?”

“He was absolutely manageable. He even let me put in a couple of stitches. Of course, he didn’t compliment my work, but he didn’t tell me it was bad, either.” She leaned closer to Hope and said, “I think he’s taking credit for me. You might want to stand up for yourself.”

“You’re staying now?”

“I’m staying a few days, at least. Until we get a couple of things that need attention ironed out.”

“I heard. Newborn, they say.”

Jack put a drink down in front of Hope. “Jack Daniel’s, neat,” he said.

“Have any ideas on the mother?” Mel asked Hope.

“No. But everyone is looking at everyone else strangely. If she’s around here, she’ll turn up. You done pushing food around that plate yet? Because I’m ready for a smoke.”

“You shouldn’t, you know.”

Hope McCrea looked at Mel in impatience, grimacing. She pushed her too-big glasses up on her nose. “What the hell do I care now? I’ve already lived longer than I expected to.”

“That’s nonsense. You have many good years left.”

“Oh, God. I hope not!”

Jack laughed and in spite of herself, so did Mel.

Hope, acting like a woman with a million things to do, had her drink and cigarette, put money on the bar, hopped off the stool and said, “I’ll be in touch. I can help out with the little one, if you need me.”