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

a mother birth her baby. All my visits to her parlor after she gave up the midwifery practice, when she was a wise listener to my feelings and worries. All those peppermints, all those laughs.

I’d been sitting with Orpha’s death half the week. But grief welled up in me afresh being here with her as the focus of all present. I began to weep softly and slid off my glasses. I missed her, plain and simple.

The tenor of the service seemed to change. I opened my eyes, wiping them, then restored my spectacles. The minister was finally talking about Orpha. He included a few details about her earlier life I hadn’t known.

He looked straight at me. “The family chooses not to speak, but they would be grateful if Mrs. Rose Dodge might share her memories of Mrs. Perkins.”

Me? Alma turned in her seat again and gave me an apologetic look, pointing surreptitiously at her father. Why wouldn’t he go up and speak about his mother? Or even Alma, although I remembered she’d once told me how terrified she was of public speaking. And she had mentioned what a difficult man her father was.

I rubbed my forehead. I could have prepared some remarks if I’d been forewarned. David patted my knee. Faith whispered that I would do fine. I supposed I would, but I hadn’t anticipated having to perform, as it were. I sniffed, took in a deep breath and let it out, then stood. I would let God guide me in my comments, as I did during Friends’ worship when I rarely was moved to speak.

“Could you come forward, please, ma’am?” The minister, now down off the pulpit, beckoned.

Faith angled her knees to let me slide past. But when the minister pointed to the pulpit, I shook my head. I faced the mourners at their own level and clasped my hands in front of me, surveying them. In a back pew sat Esther and Akwasi with their newborn bundled in blankets. Orpha had helped them a couple of summers ago. It was early for Esther to be out so soon after the birth. But she’d had an easy time of it. Clearly, they’d both wanted to pay their respects.

“I am midwife Rose Carroll Dodge.” I spoke in a loud and clear voice for all to hear. “Many here have known Orpha much longer than I. But when she accepted me as a midwifery apprentice some years ago, she also welcomed me into her life. I have never known anyone as insightful, as caring for the health of mothers and babies, as funny, and as good a listener as Orpha Perkins. That said, she did not suffer fools gladly. Her commentary on the world was acute and right-minded.”

Emotion welled up in me once more. Maybe sharing my memories and feelings about my favorite octogenarian was going to be more difficult than I’d expected. I swallowed hard and gazed across the pews. Jeanette and Frannie were there, with Annie next to them. I spied Jonathan and Amy Sherwood, the latter wiping her eyes. Catherine Toomey sat in front of them, also patting the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. Even John Whittier was there. He’d been acquainted with Orpha, and I was glad to see him well enough to be out.

My survey stopped short at William Parry toward the back. What was he doing here? Perhaps Orpha had delivered his first son, the one who had ended up murdered, and William had come to pay his respects.

At least Kevin was not in evidence today. He had lurked in the back at other funerals and memorials I’d attended. This one didn’t have anything to do with a homicide, for which I was grateful.

More words came to me. “Orpha could see into one’s true soul. I am grateful for the years I had with her and for her teaching. I’m most grateful for her friendship, and I know each of thee here will miss her as much as I will. Remember, she would not want thee to walk about with a heavy step because of her absence. Orpha loved life and celebrated it, as we celebrate her. May her soul rest easily in God’s arms.” I closed my eyes and prayed for her. Even as I did, my wee bun stirred again, as if also in homage to Orpha.

The minister cleared his throat and murmured a soft thank you, which roused me. I resumed my seat. He ended the service with the hymn “Amazing Grace.” It was rousing and simple, and I knew Orpha loved it. Alma must have requested the song be included.

“All present are invited to join for fellowship at Mr. and Mrs. Latting’s home.” The minister gave Alma’s Orchard Street address. “Burial in the Mount Prospect Cemetery will take place at a later date after the ground thaws.” The organ started up again with another somber tune barely short of a dirge. The minister gestured to Alma and her family, including her parents, to walk out with him, no doubt to greet mourners on the broad front steps of the church.

Chapter Thirty-three

Faith whispered, “I want to get home to Zeb. I’ll see thee tomorrow in worship.”

I gave her a quick hug. Even though it took a few minutes before David and I made it outside, small groups of people lingered. Some stood on the wide landing under a portico supported by four two-story-high columns. Others conversed on the equally wide steps. The family reception line had broken up, but the minister remained. David and I greeted him.

“You looked surprised in there to be invited to share your memories,” the minister said to me. “I apologize for putting you on the spot. I thought the family would have asked you before the service began.”

“It was fine. I’m not a timid person, and I owe Orpha an enormous debt.” I spied William coughing into his handkerchief. Mary Chatigny gazed at him, too, with a worried expression. “If thee will excuse me.”

“I’ll wait