Mail-Order Haven

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  A squeak sounded.

  Leaning to his left, Fitz tilted his head toward the side of the wagon, hoping an axle or bearing hadn’t gone dry. Having to stop to apply grease would only add additional time to the already lengthy trip. No additional sounds were heard, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Up ahead, the twisted top of the hardy orange tree that had been struck by lightning marked the turn into the lane leading to his ranch. He’d send out Ned to lop off the top six feet—

  A tap on his thigh startled Fitz. On reflex, he jerked and reached for his right hip, dislodging Tavia’s head.

  “What?” She straightened, pulling the baby close to her chest, before turning toward him, blinking fast. “Is something wrong?” Then she cooed. “Ah, you’re awake, little one.”

  “I apologize.” Embarrassed at the overreaction to the baby’s touch, he shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. We’re only a few minutes from the ranch.”

  Stretching, she pressed a hand on her lower back. “Good, because I’m ready for a seat that doesn’t move.”

  The complete tour of the house and barn would be best conducted in daylight. He told himself to have patience and wait for her to see them at their best advantage. Anticipating her reaction brought a smile to his lips. “I’m sure Missus Hutchins has left something in the warming oven. Rather than eating at the formal table, we might like to take our meal in my den in front of a blazing fire. Followed by a brandy or a cup of tea.” He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you shaking your head?”

  Tavia frowned then sighed. “Fitz, have you ever been around a baby?”

  “Of course, I have.” He shot a narrowed glance over his shoulder.

  “When and where?” She moved the child so it sat facing her and bounced her knees.

  “I’ve observed them when they’ve been present at church services.” Granted those occasions were few and far between because of the long list of his chores at the Star S.

  “Ah, so only from afar?”

  “Well…” He disliked being at a disadvantage and clamped his jaw tight.

  “Don’t mistake me, Fitz. I relish the scenario you described. A quiet dinner would be the best way to finish my upsetting day.” She leaned forward and rubbed noses with the child. “Wouldn’t that, Angela? Think you’ll wait patiently for your meal while we sit with forks and knives, cut our food into the right-sized pieces, and enjoy it?”

  Sounds perfectly reasonable. He stiffened, wondering if she was making fun of his expectations.

  Again, she rubbed noses.

  This time, the baby chortled and grinned, waving her hands to catch Tavia’s face.

  Fitz watched the interplay with interest. Tavia’s acquaintance with the child couldn’t have been more than eight or nine hours long. How could she know the baby would like that game?

  A minute or so later, Tavia switched to pressing the baby’s hands together and then tickling her tummy.

  “Now that a faster pace won’t disturb the child’s slumber, may I trot the horses?”

  “That gait would be fine.” Tavia lifted the baby and turned her to face front, then held onto her arms as she bounced and chanted, “Ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross…”

  The chanting sound lulled him to a memory of hearing that read by his sisters’ nanny when they were very young. Funny how the words were right there on the tip of his tongue. “…wherever she goes.”

  Tavia turned, wide-eyed. “You know this rhyme?”

  “I do have younger siblings. That rhyme was one of my younger sister’s favorites for a while. Mercia would sing it repeatedly.” The roof of the house came into view, and he jerked his chin. “Look, we’ve arrived.”

  “Wonderful.” She pointed a hand ahead of the baby. “See, Angela, there’s the house. Look at how tall the two stories are. And there’s a nice wide porch. In the kitchen is where I’ll heat some milk, and we’ll sit—” she turned toward him with a frown—“do you have a rocking chair?”

  “No.” A rocker? Those chairs were for old people.

  “Oh, I wish you would have mentioned that while we were in town.” She blew out a long breath. “I think I saw one at the mercantile.”

  As was his habit, he turned his gaze toward the fenced pasture to check on his herd. All seemed calm. “Whoa.” The horses stopped, and the wagon rocked for a moment. Seemed he couldn’t do much right. His memory of the woman in Missus Turnbull’s office was of a more compliant personality, not one with so many demands and censuring notes in her voice. Grinding his teeth to bite back a tart response, Fitz set the brake and jumped down. “What items would you like carried into the house first?”

  “I’ll need the carpetbag with the clothes…no, I really should set those dirty diapers to soaking tonight. But, first, I think the crate from the mercantile. That one has the essentials.” Biting her lower lip, she turned to look over her shoulder. “By now, her diaper probably needs changing, so—”

  With those words, his thoughts of a peaceful evening dissipated like a misty fog in direct sunlight. “I understand.” He lifted a hand. “Everything is needed, and as fast as I possibly can carry them inside. Am I correct?” He grabbed the handles of both carpetbags.

  “Wait—”

  He yanked them upright. One handle tore through the canvas, dumping the load of messy diapers over the bed of the wagon. An awful stench rose from the wads of cloth. “Yech.”

  She slumped and shook her head. “I was about to tell you—”

  “Don’t bother. I do believe I can guess.” Fitz reached for the first crate, lifted it over the wagon side, and stomped up the porch stairs. Within moments, he’d lit lamps in the sitting room, along the hall, and overhead in the kitchen before retrieving the crate from just inside the front door. After setting it on the kitchen counter, he moved into the last room on the left at the end of the hallway and grabbed the metal washtub. He figured out how to remedy the mistake he’d just made, without being told.

  Next, he stomped across the hall to the pantry and grabbed the long tongs used at summer barbecues. A new set would definitely need to be purchased before warm weather arrived. Halfway down the hallway, he thought of another needed task and reversed to the kitchen to fill a kettle with water, stir the coals in the stove, and set on several small pieces of wood.

  On his return trip to the wagon, he spotted Tavia climbing down. Although his instinct was to go to her aid, her rigid back and stiff moves dissuaded him. He’d be better off unloading the wagon, and then cooling down in the barn while taking care of the horses for the night. That task he knew he could handle without instruction.

  His wife’s homecoming was nothing like he’d planned.

  ~**~

  Exhaustion weighed on Tavia’s muscles as she climbed the solid plank steps to the open doorway. Each movement took extra effort, because she just wanted to sink onto the closest bed. The moment she’d asked about a rocking chair, she’d heard the echo of her demanding tone. But the realization hadn’t stopped her irritation. Didn’t Fitz see she was out of her element? That she was scared she’d overlook an essential part of what needed doing? Of course, he didn’t because he hadn’t spent time around babies and had no idea of what was needed.

  The care of the child was hers alone. Hefting Angela higher on her hip, Tavia glanced around at the front room, noting the divan and wing chairs, before she stepped into a hallway. An open door on her left revealed what must be his office. Bookcases lined one wall, and the furniture was dark wood and leather. This room looked lived in—with personal items like a book on a table at the end of a sofa and a frame propped on the edge of the desk. “Look, Angela, this room must be the den Fitz referred to. But we need to find the kitchen.”

  Passing the dining room, she walked deeper into the house, hearing the echo of her footsteps. Fitz must have gone to unharness the team and put the horses into stalls for the night. How long did those tasks take? Would he be back soon? She pushed her shoulder against the
last door on the right and warm air brushed her cheeks. “Ah, that feels good.” The crate from the mercantile sat atop the kitchen counter, and a washtub perched next to a wooden bin table in the middle of the room. Heat radiated from the stove, and she hoped the kettle held water. She’d need quite a supply to get the diapers soaking.

  So many tasks. Clean diaper first, or heat the milk? Where were their bags? She retraced her steps down the hall and spotted the carpetbags dumped on the sofa in the den. “Ah, now we can get you clean.”

  Angela kicked her feet and patted a hand on Tavia’s chest.

  “Sounds good, doesn’t it?” As soon as she laid the baby on the sofa, Tavia reached for the buttons on her own coat, shrugged it off her shoulders, and then tossed it over a nearby chair. Maintaining a one-sided conversation might keep Angela distracted so she wouldn’t roll off onto the floor. “What shall we put on you?” She rummaged through the packed clothes and pulled out a diaper and a dry soaker. “I believe I saw a yellow nightgown and a pink one.” Within minutes, the baby was in dry and clean clothes. But what to do with the wet diaper? She dashed over to the stone hearth and set the wet lump on the farthest edge. Before she picked up the baby, she leaned over and wiped her hands on the hem of her petticoat, mentally noting the preparations she’d need in place for the next change.

  Humming a random tune, she picked up Angela, kissed her cheek, and then braced her forearm across the baby’s chest and settled the small rump on her hip. “This way you can see where we’re going. Let’s prepare you a bottle.” Tavia walked across the floor and turned down the hallway.

  Angela reached out her hands and bounced.

  “You want to touch?” She leaned close enough the baby’s fingers trailed along the wood paneling that had been sanded and shone with a dull luster. Unusual. Most of the houses she’d been in had plaster or paper-covered walls. “That’s wood, Angela. Smooth wood.” Tavia ran her hand over the surface, appreciating the fine texture provided by the grain. She glanced along the wall and spotted oil lamps in decorative brass sconces that created a warm glow. The house appeared to be of quality construction with a pleasing sparseness to the furnishings.

  Stomping came from the back of the house, and a cool draft flickered the lamp flames.

  Tavia turned and spotted Fitz turning into the kitchen. She hurried down the hall, anticipating his help with her next task. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Leather gloves lay on the table and he stood at the stove still wearing his jacket. “Heating water as requested.”

  She winced at his stiff tone and took a deep breath. “Fitz, I know my arrival is not what you expected. I hear the shrewish tone of my own voice, but I can’t stop myself. The weight of the responsibility is big.” She hugged the baby closer. “Maybe if I talk about what happened, I’ll release some of this tension.” But so much remains to be done. She sidled over to the crate and one-handedly pulled out items to set them on the counter.

  “Do you want the wash tub in here or in the laundry room?”

  Turning her head, she fought not to drop her jaw. “You have a room set aside for doing laundry?” On the Army post while growing up, she’d taken her turn as a laundress in the cabin used for that purpose. As part of her survivor’s benefit, Clarice’s household had received laundry services, including pickup and delivery.

  He looked over his shoulder and met her gaze for the first time since arriving. “That fact pleases you?”

  “I’m sure having one comes in handy during bad weather.” She smiled and brushed the back of her hand at the stray tendril that tickled her forehead. “Putting the wash tub in the laundry room would be wonderful.” She reached back into the crate and pulled out the box of bleaching powder. “Which way?”

  In silence, he hefted the tub in one hand and held the kettle with a pad covering the handle. Four long strides took him across the kitchen into the hall and toward a darkened room. “Wait until I light a lamp.”

  She hesitated in the doorway until the flare of a match chased the shadows to the room’s corners. Opposite the door was a wooden stand where he’d placed the tub.

  A hollow plunking sounded when he emptied the kettle. He shook his head. “Barely covered the bottom.”

  She thrust out the box. “Would you please add a couple shakes of this? Then we’ll need a pail of cold water for every kettle of hot.” Again, that sounded like a demand. But she wasn’t much help because someone had to hold Angela. Tavia looked around the room and spotted a woven laundry basket in the corner. White cloth mounded in the center, and she stepped close to examine what was there. Bedsheets—perfect. “Look, Angela, we’ll cover the floor, and you can sit and play with…” Again, she glanced around the room. Her trunk that was to be delivered in a day or so had items she could let the baby play with. As she looked, she grabbed the sheet and tossed it on the plank floor then tried spreading it with her toe.

  “What are you looking for?” Fitz squatted so he could straighten and smooth the cloth.

  “A wooden spoon, a darning egg, a block, a tin cup—anything without sharp edges she can hold and not get hurt.”

  “Let me set the kettle to heating again, and I bring back something.” He disappeared.

  At least, he didn’t appear mad. Curiosity moved her to open the closest cupboard where she spotted bolts of fabric—cotton toweling, twill, and percale—and a basket with needles, thread, and assorted buttons and fasteners. The next cupboard held an assortment of flatirons and heating pans for the foots of beds. Near the door was a skinny cupboard. She’d just tugged on the handle.

  “No, don’t.”

  The surprise of Fitz’s yell made her jump backward, and she lost her grip.

  The door flung open, letting a flat item flop out of the cupboard to a horizontal position.

  She gasped, and her body tightened, one hand cradled the baby’s head.

  Angela stiffened and then sucked in a couple of breaths, her lower lip quivering.

  No, don’t cry. Tavia bounced and swung her body in a half circle then back again. She forced a big smile. “You’re all right.” When she saw the baby’s tentative smile, she looked back toward Fitz. “Is that an ironing board? How clever.”

  “Missus Hutchins appreciates it. Here.” He closed the cupboard with one hand and held out a wooden spoon with the other.

  She noticed he’d shed his jacket and spotted how the dark skirt cloth clung to his broad shoulders. “Wonderful.” She accepted the spoon, and then set the baby and the utensil on the sheet-covered floor. Straightening, she pressed a hand to her lower back to rub the aching muscles. “I’m not used to carrying a baby.”

  “I’d bet you have some bruises and maybe strained muscles from the accident.” He stepped close and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “I will. Later.” She mustered a smile and glanced into his eyes under frowning brows. “Once I get the baby’s milk heated and figure out how to rig a…” The words teat or nipple flitted through her mind. But she hadn’t spent enough time in her new husband’s company to explain what she needed to create so Angela could suck. The man was a rancher, he’d figure it out. “First, I need you to give me a quick tour of your kitchen. So I know where things are.” She darted a look toward Angela who seemed content to bang the spoon on the sheet then hurried across the hall.

  “Hmm, you might do better just looking in the cupboards and drawers. Missus Hudgins claims this room is her domain. I had to open several drawers to find the spoon.”

  Too much wasted time. “I need a pan, a bowl, a measuring cup, can opener, scissors or a knife to cut the rubber tubing. No, first we have to see if the tubing will fit inside the bottle opening. Better is if it stretches over the end.” As she talked, she opened cupboards and pulled out each item as she found it. In a lower cupboard, she spotted the cooking pans and hauled out a saucepan and a big soup pot. “We can heat water in this pan, too.” Thankfully, Fitz’s kitchen had a pump at the sink. First
, she filled the pot with cold water and lifted it, unable to stop a moan.

  “Tavia, hand it to me.” His warm hands grazed hers as he claimed the double handles.

  Immediately, she turned back to the sink, spotted a bar of soap, and rubbed her hands on it. Warm water would have been preferable for washing, but she needed to move fast before Angela got too hungry. From the crate, she pulled the two slender bottles and a can of condensed milk. Mothers at the Army post had discussed watering down the thick substance, but Tavia had never paid much attention to the proportions. Need for that type of information would have been important at the point she was pregnant. How her life had changed.

  “What’s next?” He stepped to the sink and pumped water into the pot.

  “Wash the bottles, see if the tubing fits, cut a piece of sponge, heat the milk mixture after I figure out how to dilute it. Oh, I saw toweling in a cupboard in the laundry room. I’ll need a small square of that.” She held up the bottle, put her cupped hand over the opening, and squinted. “And some twine to tie on the cloth.” The enormity of what was involved hit her, and she slumped against the counter, covering her face with her hands. “What if I do this wrong? What if she won’t take the milk? What if the milk makes her sick?”

  “Tavia, babies throughout the ages have adjusted to being taken off their mothers’ teat. Angela will, too.” His footsteps moved to the stove.

  Well…he had no problem being frank. She looked up to see him tossing more wood into the cast iron stove then resetting the lid. “Thank you for the reassurance. Will you help me?”

  His body stiffened, and he narrowed his gaze. “More than I’m doing now?”

  Fitz was right. He has been very helpful. “I’m sorry, but yes.” She took a deep breath. “Just help me figure out how to rig a way to deliver the milk. Having her suck on the tube would give too much of a flow.” She moved to the implements, picked up the tubing, and glanced at the round opening. A strong odor tackled her nose so she set it aside. “That method is rejected.” She looked over her shoulder. “What do you do when a mother cow dies but the calf lives?”