A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (feel good books to read txt) 📕

an hour. I tracked the seconds between breaths, exactly as I sometimes counted the seconds between a birthing woman’s contractions. Alma stayed sleeping. I did not wake her.

Finally, my teacher had no more breaths to take. As I watched, the pink slid out of her skin. I knew her soul had been released from her earthly shell, too, but that was less visible. The clock on the bureau ticked from eleven fifty-nine to twelve as if nothing had happened. I ran my hand over Orpha’s hair one last time, slid her eyelids shut, and kissed her forehead. I straightened the covers, smoothing them over her chest.

“And thus it is, dear Orpha,” I murmured, removing my spectacles and setting them on the bedside table. I sat, holding her in God’s Light. When quiet tears flowed from my closed lids, I did not wipe them away.

I didn’t know how long it had been when I felt something stirring within me, as if some small fish had flipped and rippled along the walls of its tank. Except this was my baby. I hadn’t yet felt it move. Clients of mine had described the sensation, and now I truly knew what they meant. I hoped the quickening was a sign that part of Orpha’s spirit had jumped into the tiny life within me. I couldn’t imagine any better parting gift.

Chapter Eighteen

“Her soul left her body at a few minutes before midnight, David,” I told him after he helped me up into the buggy at an hour past dawn the next morning. “Alma slept through the death, but I finally woke her. We washed Orpha and prepared her. By the time we were done, it was nearly two o’clock and I decided to sleep there for a bit, borrowing the girls’ bed.”

“You are a most caring friend, my darling.”

I blinked away more tears. “I was honored to accompany her to her death.”

We rode in silence until we reached our house.

“I’m going straight on to the hospital if you don’t mind,” he said, “but I’ll come home early today to comfort you.”

“That’s fine, and I will welcome thee.” I touched his hand. “I have a bit of happy news to share with thee first. Last night as I sat after she died, I felt our baby move.” I smiled through my fatigue and grief. “It was the first time.”

He threw his arms around me and murmured into my hair, “That makes me very happy.”

“Me, as well.” I sat comforted by the warmth of his arms for a moment, then disengaged. “It means the little one continues healthy. By and by, as it grows, thee will be able to feel it kick, but not yet.”

David sat beaming at me. Daisy nickered. The milkman’s white wagon pulled up. The day’s young sun slanted across the road and through the bare branches of a tall elm.

“Go on and get thyself to work. I’m going to try to grab a little more sleep before my morning clients come.” I kissed him and climbed down.

Inside, I put away the milk. I washed my face and hands, used the lavatory, and let down my hair. Ravenous, I scrambled two eggs. I toasted bread and fried a slice of ham to go with the eggs. I sipped a cup of herbal tea instead of coffee but found myself buzzing with thoughts and feelings instead of relaxing into rest.

The feelings were easy to identify. Grief dragged me down. My body was heavy with it. How I would miss Orpha’s twinkling eyes, her raucous laugh, her wise counsel about all things connected to pregnancy and birth, life and death. Perhaps most of all I was going to miss when she peered into my soul. She had a way of seeing the true me—sometimes before I myself was even aware of what I was experiencing.

But my mentor’s days had run their course. At least her spirit hadn’t been cut short by illness or violence. It was in the right order of things that old people should die. We humans had no way of stopping that natural progression, nor should we.

Justice Harrington’s life, however, had not been allowed to follow its own path. I wasn’t surprised my thoughts led me, even as I grieved, to seek his killer. I brought my tea into the office as my grandmother’s clock struck eight. I wanted to gather my thoughts, and I’d found in the past that laying them out in writing could prove useful.

First, though, I needed to telephone Mary Chatigny. I put the call through to Gertrude, the operator, and waited until Mary answered.

“Mary, I need to tell thee that Orpha’s soul was released to God last night. Alma and I were with her. She died only minutes before midnight.”

I was met with silence. I hoped she wasn’t upset with me for not summoning her.

“May her blessed soul rest in peace,” Mary finally said. “She went quietly?”

Perhaps the good doctor had been praying instead of speaking. “Yes. When I arrived, she was already in a comatose state, and she didn’t seem to be in pain or struggling. After she was gone, Alma and I washed her and laid her out. I’m not sure what the arrangements are now. We were both so exhausted we simply went to sleep at around two in the morning.”

“I’ll handle that. Mrs. Latting and I have an undertaker arranged. Don’t worry. Thank you for being her death midwife, odd as that sounds.” She gave a low laugh.

“It does, doesn’t it? I might have to add it to the letterhead on my business stationery.”

We were both quiet for another moment. I thought about her own letterhead. “Mary, I think thee has a patient named Marie Deorocki. She’s a friend of mine and seems ill with coughing. I heard a rale when she breathed. I’m concerned that she’s still going about town, making purchases and conducting business.”

“I shouldn’t talk to you about patients, but you are correct. Mrs. Deorocki is ill with tuberculosis. I’m concerned,