Mail Order Midwife (Brides of Beckham Book 18) by Kirsten Osbourne

Author:Kirsten Osbourne [Osbourne, Kirsten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unlimited Dreams Publishing
Published: 2016-10-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

After breakfast on Sunday morning, Patsy had to hold Emily down so she could fix her hair. The child’s screams filled the house, and Patsy’s words could be heard by Wesley through two closed doors. “You will look like a lady on Sundays if it kills me! And it might!”

“I don’t want to look like a lady!” Emily yelled back. “This dress has ruffles. I hate fairy puke!”

“I’ve told you a hundred times to stop calling dresses with ruffles fairy puke! Where did you learn that anyway?”

“That’s what Seamus, Sean, William, and Declan called them! And they know fairy puke when they see it!”

“Your cousins should not have used that language around you, and you will stop using it around anyone!” Patsy yelled back.

When his two ladies emerged from Emily’s bedroom a few minutes later, he saw that her fairy puke was firmly in place. “You look beautiful, Emily.”

“I don’t want to look beautiful. I want to look strong and muddy.” Emily kicked the toe of her shoe against the floor, obviously annoyed.

Patsy looked slightly worse for wear. Her hair, which had been wound into a perfect knot atop her head, was now trying to escape the pins. He smiled at her. “We have five minutes if you want to repair your hair. I’ll watch to be sure she doesn’t get dirty.”

“Hold her hand the entire time!” Patsy never worried about how she looked, but it was her first time in a new church, and she was the doctor’s wife. How could she not worry?

She slipped into the bedroom she now shared with Wesley and quickly unpinned her hair, redoing it quickly and efficiently. After ten years of being woken up at midnight for birthings, she was able to fix her hair in an instant.

She stepped back out in the hall and saw that Wesley had taken her advice and was holding onto Emily’s wrist, as if he was afraid she’d escape and go find a mud puddle. “Thank you,” Patsy said with a nod.

“She really hates having to wear ruffled dresses,” he said with amazement. “I really thought she just hadn’t been introduced to the finer points of being a lady.”

“No, she’s against the finer points of being a lady. She wants to run wild and play baseball.” Patsy sighed. “She’s as wild as they come.”

“I think you’re right to make her act as if she’s a lady on Sundays. It won’t kill her.”

Emily frowned looking between them. “It might kill me. Then what would you do? Your only daughter would be dead!”

Patsy shook her head, smiling sadly. “It’s a risk we’re going to have to take, I’m afraid.” She reached for Emily’s hand and smiled sweetly at Wesley. “I have a pork roast in the oven, so we can have someone over for Sunday lunch if you’d like.”

They walked down the street to the church, dragging a sad Emily between them.

“Does she hate church so much?” Wesley asked.

“Not at all. She hates having to look like a girl for church and not being allowed to get muddy on the way.

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