Page 58 of Where the Roses Bloom
In Willow Grove, though? Anything was possible.
I got the call on a Tuesday morning while I was in town getting groceries. The number wasn’t saved in my phone, but I recognized the area code as local. I was trying to juggle grocery bags on my way to the car when I picked up.
“Willow Rhodes speaking.”
“Hi,” a man’s voice said—a little awkward, hesitant. “I was given your number by Delilah over at the library…she said you’re a midwife?”
“Not exactly,” I said, tucking the phone between my ear as I popped the trunk. “I’m a doula with a background in herbalism and comfort care—I don’t do anything clinical.”
There was a pause on the other end. I could hear the faint sounds of a screen door creaking, then slamming shut. “Mywife’s thirty-two weeks. It’s our first. We’ve been seeing that traveling OB out of Perry, but it’s a forty-five minute drive, and she’s worried the baby might come fast. We’re hoping to find someone closer—someone who can be here when we need them.”
I frowned, sliding my bags into the backseat. “Okay. What’s your name?”
“Caleb,” he said. “Caleb Evers.”
“And your wife?”
“Jasmine. She’s the one who really wanted to call, but she’s been feelin’…off, I guess. Said her body feels different today.”
I shut the trunk gently and leaned against the car, trying to picture them. Caleb sounded young. Earnest. Like someone trying to do the right thing without knowing exactly what that was. “Well, Caleb,” I said, “I’m happy to come out and meet you both, if she’s comfortable with that. I can talk you through your options and see if there’s anything I can offer.”
“That’d mean a lot,” he said, relief threading through his voice. “We’re out near Mill Creek Bend—white house with blue shutters.”
I wrote it down in the notes app as I climbed into the driver’s seat. “Got it. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“Thank you, Miss Rhodes. Really.”
“It’s just Willow,” I said, smiling faintly. “And you’re welcome.”
I hung up, took a breath, and turned the key in the ignition.
Caleb was already on the porch when I pulled up, pacing back and forth like he couldn’t decide whether to stay put or sprint into the road. It was no wonder he seemed nervous—he wasyoung, probably no older than twenty-five, long and lanky with dark brown skin and a shock of black curls. The second my car came into view, he stopped mid-step, squinting like hedidn’t quite believe I was real until I shut off the engine and opened the door.
He jogged down the steps as I slung my canvas bag over my shoulder. “You really came,” he said, his voice equal parts gratitude and exhaustion. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” I said, offering a smile as I crossed the gravel. “You doing okay?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I think so? I mean—nothing’s happening yet, but she’s been having these…tightening sensations. And her back’s been killing her since yesterday. She just said something felt different.”
Braxton Hicks, maybe. Or maybe more.
“Did you call your OB?” I asked.
“Yeah, she said it was just false contractions or somethin’,” Caleb said. “Just…still worried, you know?”
I nodded. “I’ll take a look and see what I can do,” I said. “Mostly comfort measures, but I brought a few things that might help.”
The house was a modest two-story farmhouse, white with fading blue shutters, just like he’d said. A rusted wind chime jingled faintly on the porch. Potted petunias spilled over the railings. It was the kind of place that looked like it had a long memory.
Inside, the living room was neat, worn in with love—soft, mismatched furniture, a collection of family photos on the mantle, and a baby blanket draped across the back of the couch in soft pastel yarn.
“She’s upstairs,” Caleb said, motioning to the hallway. “Been tryin’ to rest, but…”
I nodded. “I’ll introduce myself and take it from there.”
I climbed the stairs, the old boards creaking with every step. The door at the end of the hall was cracked open. I knocked gently.
“Jasmine?” I said. “It’s Willow Rhodes. Your husband called me.”
