Buried Secrets

Buried Secrets

work in progress

August 2005 (begun)

35 years old

Chapter One

Elizabeth stood and wiped at the stains on her apron. She had kneeled in some fallen berries searching for that precious herb the young Bell girl would need before long. She was fit to burst with that babe of hers, and Elizabeth expected to be called to her side any time, now. She reviewed her last visit with the girl, detailing the examination, feeling the babe’s hiccups low near Sarah’s hip bone, the bottom high up between the ribs. The babe was restive, and well positioned. In spite of Sarah’s small size, Elizabeth expected the young girl’s wide hips and ox-like strength to deliver the child quickly and safely.

Not like the last one.

Dear lord, never again like the last.

Elizabeth shuddered to remember last week’s birthing. She was the only midwife in all of Jefferson County, but why was she the one to see the Lutz’s child into the world? The babe had been breech. She’d struggled hours to bring the child around, but the little thing was stubborn. It had wrapped the cord round its neck and torn its mother during the struggle. The child had been stillborn, blue from lack of oxygen, and Gudrun Lutz had bled to death.

Elizabeth stayed long enough to clean the bodies, and see to the father. She’d patted his arm, feeling inadequate, assuring him there was nothing anyone could have done differently, and left the shoemaker’s tiny cabin to the sound of the man’s mournful wail.

The memory brought tears to her eyes, and she wiped at the wetness with her sleeve. Adjusting her basket of wares from the street market in town over her elbow, she tucked in the freshly plucked herbs among the onions and tomatoes and headed toward the road again, lifting her knees high to trudge through the grass. It was getting late. Judging from the sun on this fine October afternoon, it was past supper time, and darkness was falling. She should hurry, before she lost the light altogether.

She passed a large oak tree, which she sometimes sat beneath to enjoy a basket lunch, or to rest on her way into town, when she heard a noise from the road. She froze, her hand stretching back toward the looming oak, reaching for the comforting solidity of the tree, the protection of its shadow in the fading light. She’d lived in Jefferson County all her life, but was not foolish enough to believe a woman would be safe at night, even in her own town, or in her own garden. And here she was, still a thirty-minutes’ walk from her dooryard, far from the safety of her solid cabin walls.

“Hello?” a voice called out. A man’s voice, deep and rough. A voice she knew. It belonged to Wolfgang Lutz, Gudrun’s husband, the man who had lost his wife and child to her hands the week before. “Elizabeth, is that you?”

Elizabeth remained silent, holding her breath.

“Elizabeth, I know you’re there. I saw you at the market. I saw you walk into that field there to pick something from the ground. Don’t hide from me.” He stepped off the road into the high grass, walking toward the tree. “I can see you, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s breath came faster, her corset making it impossible to gain enough air. She hugged herself closer to the tree and skirted around it to the far side, putting it between Wolfgang and herself.