He shrugged. “Put the calf to another cow.”
A wet nurse. That’s a possibility. “Which can’t happen tonight.” She waved a hand at the items on the counter. “These items are what we have. I’ve seen the folded tip of a cloth used by dipping it in a bowl of milk. But that method would take too long.”
A cry sounded.
“Coming, Angela.” Tavia scurried into the laundry room and scooped up the baby who lay on the floor kicking her legs. She patted Angela’s back, dipping her knees to create movement. If I can just figure out a way to keep her with me but have my hands free. Her thoughts went to the General’s book collection and the images of aboriginals in Africa or Indian mothers who used lengths of cloth to strap their babies close. Once, as a child, she’d seen the wife of an Indian scout carry a baby in a basket held by a strap across her forehead. Tavia dug a hand through the items in the laundry basket until she came up with a man’s shirt. Perfect.
She walked back into the kitchen to see Fitz had rolled up his sleeves and stood at the sink, washing the bottles. “How nice. Thank you for cleaning the bottles.” She lifted her hand with the shirt. “I figured out a way to keep doing the needed tasks but have Angela close.”
He glanced at her, eyebrow arched. “How?”
“By using this shirt to hold her in place on my back.” She tossed it on the table, spread it out one-handed, and then pulled the tails toward the center. “I’ll slip into the sleeves, button it from the chest partway to the hem, and tie the tails around my waist.”
Eyebrows bunched, Fitz glanced between the garment and Tavia.
His expression indicated he didn’t believe in her idea. “Or you can hold her while I work.”
“Me?” Both eyes shot wide. He reached for a towel to dry his hands.
She leaned forward and set Angela in the center of the shirt then pulled up the cloth so the collar tucked behind the baby’s head. “Now hold her up against me until I get everything set.” Without waiting for his answer, she turned and braced a hand on the table, trusting he wouldn’t let the baby topple over the edge.
“I have never seen such a contraption.”
Warmth pressed against her back, and little hands patted Tavia’s shoulders. “Doesn’t mean it won’t work.” Tavia buttoned as fast as she could, then she grabbed the tails and tied them in a knot at her waist. Smoothing her hands around to her back, she made sure the fabric tucked under the baby’s legs. “You can let her go.” The cloth sagged and pulled at the base of her throat, but she adjusted the shirt higher.
Between Tavia and Fitz, they’d agreed on the logic of diluting the condensed milk by fifty percent with boiled water. A taste indicated the mixture was too sweet so another half can of water was added and mixed well. Tavia poured one cup of the liquid into the bottle. A square of toweling covered a clean wedge of sponge inserted into the neck of the bottle. “I think this solution will work. I’ll tie off the twine to keep the towel secure.” Keeping her body in motion allowed her to help with the chore and provided enough action to pacify the baby.
Fitz duplicated her actions with the other bottle. “I’ve seen a leather teat used for piglets, but this is a clever arrangement.”
Hating that she had to keep things moving forward, she glanced around at the mess strewn over the counter. “I didn’t see bedrooms downstairs…”
“Three finished rooms are located upstairs and the fourth is in the process of being finished. Those chores are good to complete during snowstorms.”
“As soon as I feed her, I think she’ll fall asleep for several hours. I thought to do the feeding near where I’d put her to bed.”
“But, Tavia, you must eat.” He moved to the warming oven and pulled open the door. Smoke rolled out, and he coughed and waved a hand. An acrid scent soon filled the room. He grabbed a towel to remove the plates with smoldering lumpy towels that covered their supper. “Damnation.” He shook his hand. “By building up the fire for the water, I must have double-cooked the food Missus Hudgins left.”
The absurdity of the day’s events swept through her, and she couldn’t hold back a laugh. The laughter soon turned to tears that flowed down her cheeks—whether they were happy or sad, she didn’t know. Then grief hit, and she doubled over, wrapped her arms around her waist, sobbing for the poor child that was now in her care.
Strong hands braced her upper arms and eased her upright. Then Fitz enfolded her and the baby in an awkward embrace and held her close, murmuring over and over, “Don’t cry. We can fix this.”
The solid muscles that surrounded her, as well as the warmth that seeped into her body, seduced Tavia in a way no sweet kiss or fancy words could have. Thankfully for now, the harsh words were behind them. Fitz was close, offering his help when she most needed it.
Chapter Six
Ten minutes later, Tavia leaned back into the sofa and let out a sigh. Fitz had built up the fire in the den, heating the room. The slurping Angela made as she swallowed the milk proved the sponge and cloth nipple worked. Nourishment was being delivered. A few wipes of a flannel length took care of the intermittent drips falling from the corners of the cloth.
As she drank, Angela stared into Tavia’s eyes, her thin eyebrows drawing into a wrinkle over the bridge of her nose. Her little hand grabbed onto the sleeve of Tavia’s dress.
What must the poor child be thinking? Hours had passed since she’d seen the familiar faces of her mother and father. Now, two inexperienced people were doing their best to meet her needs. Could the baby sense the difference in her new situation? Tavia brushed a finger over the wrinkled skin, smoothing the child’s frown. “You’ll be all right, little one. This warm milk will fill your belly and help you fall asleep.”
Approaching footsteps clunked on the bare wooden floor. Fitz walked into the den and stepped around the end of the sofa. On a board, he balanced a plate of sandwiches and two steaming ceramic mugs. “Not quite—”
“Shh.” Tavia glanced down at the baby who’d pulled away from the bottle and turned toward the voice.
Angela’s eyes widened.
Don’t cry. Tavia lifted Angela upright and tossed the flannel over her shoulder. With gentle pats on the baby’s back, she worked out a burp before again settling the baby into the crook of her arm. The sigh of the baby’s angelic face and trusting gaze brought a lump to her throat. Already, Tavia felt a heart-bond forming.
“I apologize,” Fitz whispered then settled into an armchair and bit into a sandwich.
If only she had an extra hand. She looked toward the plate with longing but getting Angela fed held a higher priority. Only a few ounces remained. Tavia knew she could put off her own hunger for a spell longer. Thankfully, she’d dressed Angela in a nightie before settling in the den. Glancing down, she saw Angela’s eyelids were closed so rocked her body a few inches side-to-side. Her own eyelids slipped shut, but she kept moving, finally releasing the tension pulling on her during the past several hours.
A log popped and crackled, rousing her. The milk was gone, the bottle lay discarded, and Angela’s body was limp in her arms. With slow moves, Tavia lifted her across her lap, tossed the length of flannel atop the cushion at her side, and lowered Angela onto her tummy, rubbing circles on her back until the baby’s body again relaxed. Only then did she reach for the mug and sipped. The lukewarm liquid in her parched mouth felt wonderful. The fluffy bread with a fried egg in the middle tasted even better. Simple fare, but filling enough at this late hour. “Thank you for this food, Fitz.”
“This offering, my dear, is close to the extent of my cooking ability.” He pointed toward the last sandwich and arched an eyebrow.
“Tastes good.” She nodded and leaned back, cradling the mug in her hands. “Tell me again the name of your cook. I know you mentioned she thinks of the kitchen as her domain.” She sipped more tea, grateful for the sugar he’d added. “Now that we have a few moments, I’d like to learn about the other people on your ranch.”
He held up a
finger as he put the last of the sandwich in his mouth and chewed.
While she waited for him to finish, she stood and moved closer to the fire, holding out her hands to the warmth. Large river rocks of grays and browns formed the fireplace, rising in a tapering column to the ceiling. Turning, she spotted a big oak desk at the other end of the room. Only a pen stand and a glass inkwell decorated the polished surface. Behind the desk stood a matched set of bookcases, and the shelves were almost full. Fitz’s collection was even bigger than she’d imagined. If she wasn’t so very tired, she might be tempted to peruse the titles.
“The cook and housekeeper is Missus Hutchins, and she’s married to my stable master, Ned. He also serves a foreman, if needed.” He crossed a boot over one knee. “But I’m hands-on and usually direct the four cowhands in their duties.”
Her head swam. “You’re saying six other adults live here?” She waved a hand to indicate the floor above them. “Are they already asleep?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t say. The Hutchins live in a small house about three rods from this one, past the vegetable garden, and the bunkhouse is where the hands live.”
So, the closest building was not quite fifty feet away. To remind herself of the house’s layout, she walked to the doorway, glanced across the hall toward the sitting room, and then the dining room before looking back at Fitz. Her husband was even wealthier than she’d first imagined when she’d learned he was a rancher. “All this space is just for you?”
“I did build with a future wife and family in mind.” Smiling, he stood and walked toward her. “You probably can’t deny the décor lacks a woman’s touch.” Stopping only inches away, he cupped a hand on her elbow. “Do you like it?”
“Fitz, the house is wonderful.” She faltered under his curious gaze and looked up at the walls and ceiling. “So sturdy and solid. Homey touches can always be added.” Fatigue dragged at her body, and she yawned. “Perhaps you should direct me to the privy and then show me my room.” Standing on tiptoes, she leaned to the side to glance around him to check on Angela, but her view was blocked by the sofa.
“Of course.”
“Where are the bags? I need to put something on the cushion so Angela can’t roll off.”
Fitz turned, moved to a chest behind the second armchair, and pulled out a blanket. He tucked it next to the sleeping baby, and then looked up.
Tavia stepped close and peeked over the sofa back, nodding at the arrangement. “That bulk will work for a short time.” She pointed at the dishes. “We should take those to the kitchen, too.”
Fitz stood and gathered everything onto the board. “Follow me.”
This time as she moved down the hallway, Tavia really studied the structure. This house is now mine. She had lived in lots of houses, but none had been of such fine construction with rounded moldings at the seam of the ceiling and the top of the wall. The plank flooring held a dull shine and no gaps showed between boards. She tapped a toe, and the resulting thump was a deep sound.
Fitz returned from the kitchen empty-handed. “Checking the construction?”
“Admiring it.” She met his gaze and smiled.
He stepped to a closed door and turned the knob. “The lavatory. Towels are in the cupboard over the toilet. This lever is for flushing when”—he cleared his throat—“you’re done.”
“A flushing toilet?” A gasp escaped, and she stepped onto the terracotta tile floor. The tapered metal bowl had pipes and gauges, and a lever on a pipe disappeared into the outside wall. “I’ve never seen such a design, and it’s quite a novelty.” More than I ever expected at our first meeting in Missus Turnbull’s office.
Fitz shrugged. “My father’s been installing them on his ships for as long as I can remember. I figured the equipment would work in a house, too.”
“And such a large bathing tub.” A long tub resting on four carved feet stretched along the far wall under a window. Tavia moved close and ran her fingers over the rim of the grayish-white material. “Is this pottery?”
“It is. Sealed with several coats of varnish.” He swept a hand toward the single faucet. “I’m still working on how to pipe in hot water. Maybe I’ll figure out a system this winter.”
Surprise lifted her brows. “Are you an inventor, too?”
“I like to tinker.” Again, he shrugged, but a grin crept over his mouth.
Now that she’d seen the actual toilet, she’d been made aware of a pressing need. But she didn’t know how to share this bit of too-intimate information. Glancing at the apparatus might be too obvious. “I’d like to freshen up now.”
“Right.” His eyes shot wide, and he stepped into the hallway, pulling closed the door.
The simple fact she needn’t worry about fighting the weather to deal with basic needs would be such a luxury. Minutes later, she followed the clunking sounds and joined him in the kitchen where he’d set the dishes into a pan of soapy water. “I meant to wash those.”
“Let them soak. I’ll be down early enough to make our apologies to Missus Hutchins. She’s very particular about the kitchen.” He grabbed a towel to wipe his hands. “I’m heading out early tomorrow to collect your luggage and check with the sheriff if he received the information from the depot manager.”
Tavia leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I will feel better about having my portmanteau collected. The freighting company told me to expect delivery of my trunk and the cases of books by Friday.” Is today still Monday? She felt like three days had elapsed since boarding the stagecoach.
“Tavia, you’re exhausted. Come, I’ll gather your carpetbags. You carry Angela upstairs.”
Guilt stabbed through her at the subject that had nagged at the back of her mind since her arrival. “I know we’re married, but—”
“I’ll not rush you.” Fitz slipped an arm around her waist and gently turned her body toward the hallway. “You have been through so much today. A guest room always stands ready, but I’m taking you to the bedroom that adjoins mine.”
The strength of his grasp bolstered her sagging muscles, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. Scents of wood smoke and leather wafted into her nose. “Thank you for understanding.” They broke apart when he moved to the front room for the bags, and she to the den for the baby. She made a note to find a softer blanket to store in the den. Wool was too scratchy on soft baby skin.
Following the flickering light as he climbed the stairs, she heard Fitz speaking of types of pictures and fixtures and rugs she might select. The details just whirled in her tired mind, not settling into a logical form. Nothing was as important as crawling onto a soft mattress and closing her eyes for six or seven hours. Her gaze flicked between the sleeping baby and the next step.
The bedroom to the right of the stairs had a four-poster bed of light wood with a matching bureau. Brass handles and carvings of leaves decorated the drawer fronts. Next to the bureau was a table with a porcelain ewer, a basin, and a set of snowy-white towels. A patchwork quilt of a variety of shades of blue fabric topped the mattress.
Fitz set the bags on the floor and then moved to a door in the middle of the wall. “Here is the closet that connects our rooms.” He held aloft the lamp and walked to another door. “This room is the master suite.”
“Fitz?” Tavia leaned a hip against the bed post, wishing she could be more gracious about seeing everything. “May I inspect the rest of the upstairs tomorrow, please?”
Shaking his head, he returned and set the lamp on the bureau. “Of course. Tell me what is needed to accommodate the baby.” He set both hands on his hips.
She looked around and jerked her chin toward the bureau. “Lined with a blanket, the bottom drawer would be a good size for a baby bed.”
Long strides moved him to the bureau. He pulled out the drawer a few inches and then spread his arms wide to lift it out.
For just a moment, Tavia noticed the muscles bunch under the taut fabric, which set her thoughts wondering how differen
t the night might have been if the stagecoach hadn’t crashed. Might she have had the time to select a novel from his library? Maybe they would have spent a pleasant hour reading in the den. Would Fitz have just held her close while they gazed into the flames of the fireplace? Or would they have shared a kiss or two? Her heart fluttered at the thought.
“On the bed?”
At his question, she blinked. “Yes. The right side, please.” Tavia watched as he refolded one of the quilts stored within to fit the entire drawer and tossed the second over the bed’s foot rail. She pulled the flannel from her shoulder, set it at one end, and then lowered Angela into the makeshift bed.
The baby squeaked and roused enough to rub her nose on the flannel. After receiving a couple dozen pats on her back, she again relaxed with a sigh.
From the burgundy carpetbag, Tavia pulled a knitted blanket and tucked it around Angela, being sure to cover her little hands. Pressing a hand to her own back, Tavia straightened but couldn’t hide her wince.
“Are you injured?” Fitz moved to her side, his mouth drawn tight under his mustache.
The caring tone in his voice almost did her in. No one had worried about her well-being for so long. She had to fight from closing the small distance and leaning against his sturdy body. Looking into his frowning expression, she shook her head. “Only sore from carrying her. I’ll get used to doing so.”
He glanced around then tipped his head toward the uncurtained windows. “Stay to the hallway side of the room when dressing or douse the light beforehand.”
“I understand. Thank you again, Fitz, for all you’ve done.”
Hands on her shoulders, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Tavia, you’re my wife. My duty is to help and protect you.”
The touch on her shoulders wasn’t enough. Instead, she yearned for another embrace like when his strong arms holding her created such a sense of security and had quelled her nervousness for long and precious moments. At the loss of his touch, she swayed and opened her mouth but saw only his back as he moved toward the closet.
Mail-Order Haven Page 7
