Annabelle’s black hair hung in a long braid down her back, and she wore a thick robe with sheepskin slippers. When she moved to the stove, she squeezed her husband’s arm and whispered, “Do not fash,” and winked at him. After preparing the pot, she set it on the stove to brew, squeezing Ewan’s arm before she returned upstairs.
“Ye’re fortunate in yer wife,” Ewan murmured as he breathed in the scent of brewing coffee.
“Aye, as are you,” Cailean said. He leaned against a wall, his alert gaze roving over his injured brother. “I can pick off some ice from a trough for your lip.”
Ewan waved away the offer. “Nae, I’ll be fine. I’ve a few bruises from where Ezekial gouged me, but nothin’ that will cause me much sufferin’.”
“You were in a fight with Ezekial?” Cailean asked, his eyes bulging as he canted forward in shock. “An’ ye only look this bad? Are ye daft, man?” His Scottish accent reappeared with his strong emotion.
Ewan’s brown eyes shone with anger and despair. “Tell me what ye would have done had ye discovered the man in yer wife’s shop, late at night, with them plannin’ another rendezvous?”
“Never,” Cailean whispered. “That’s no’ Jessie.” His brows furrowed, as though attempting to determine why his sister-in-law would act in such a manner.
“It’s no’ the Jessie we kent, nae,” Ewan said. “’Tis the Jessie of late.” He rubbed at his head and sat with a thud. “I dinna ken what to do, Cail. I thought she liked our life. Accepted we would no’ have children but rejoiced at the life we had.” His brown eyes shone with pain. “What more could I have done?”
Cailean shook his head, his arms crossed over his strong lean chest. “I ken there has to be more to this story, Ewan.” He took a deep breath to ease his tension and his anger at the thought of his youngest brother’s wife playing him false.
Ewan sighed. “I fear there is. Warren warned me that I would have to apologize to my wife.” A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “I dinna understand why Warren would ken more about what was occurrin’ than I would.” He glared at his brother as Cailean snorted.
“That man knows more about everyone in this town than the preacher. And Warren’s far better at guarding their secrets.” He looked at his brother in confusion. “Why was Warren there? He hates the Boudoir.”
Ewan sat in deep contemplation, as though running through the events of the evening as an observer, rather than as a participant and a catalyst. He shrugged. “Helen was there to tend a sick Beauty. Beth.” He saw Cailean hold his breath, as Beth was the beauty who had aided them the previous summer when Ben’s cousin had attempted to cheat at cards. “She … died. I dinna ken how or why.”
Cailean murmured a soft prayer at the news. “The poor wee lass.” He moved to the stove to pour them each a cup of coffee. After setting their cups on the table, he sat across from his brother. Raising his mug, he toasted her. “She had little fortune in this life. I pray she has more in the next.” He and Ewan bowed their heads for a moment in reverent silence.
“Can ye decipher why Warren warned me away from my home? Away from any place Ezekial might find me?”
His brother stared at him as though mystified. “No, I have no idea. However, you might as well try to sleep a few hours here. Hopefully you will find clarity come morning.”
Chapter 5
Jessamine woke with a start at the loud knocking on the back door of her print shop. She looked out the side window, moaning to discover it was daylight. “It must be past seven,” she murmured. She set a hand on the baby who slept in her crib, comfortable after her numerous feedings and changes in the night. Jessamine tiptoed to the door, cringing as the door squeaked open. She glared at the man standing on the other side. “Why are you so late? Ewan will never trust me now.”
Ezekial pushed inside and dropped to his knees, his large hands gently caressing the baby’s head. It was an incongruous sight, the large hulking man, dressed all in black, with ebony hair and silver eyes, fussing over a tiny baby in a basket, but it eased a little of Jessamine’s heartache to see his concern for the baby. When he satisfied himself that the babe was well, his shoulders drooped. “She looks well. Is she?”
“The baby’s fine. But you and Beth must decide on a name,” Jessamine said as she arched her back and stretched and yawned. “And you have to come up with a better plan to care for her.”
Ezekial sat beside the basket on the floor and hung his head. “Beth died last night,” he whispered. “Helen … Helen couldn’t save her.”
Jessamine froze in the midst of stuffing her long red hair into a bun. It slipped from her hands to fall down her back. “What?” she rasped. “Beth had a fever after the birth. But she was young. And healthy.”
Ezekial sat in a dazed stupor. “There was nothing more Helen could do. Beth couldn’t fight the infection.” He looked at Jessamine. “You know the Madam hated Beth because I favored her.” When Jessamine snorted in disgust, he looked toward the slumbering infant. “I loved her,” he whispered, “as I will never care for the Madam.”
Sitting on the bed with a thud, she stared at him in stupefaction. “You’re sincere,” she breathed in awe. “You truly care … cared for Beth.” She let out a deep breath. “What will the Madam do with her baby?”
His loving gaze roved over his daughter. “Send her to an orphanage. Consign her to a life lived among those who may or may not care for her.” He closed his eyes. “She taunted me this morning that, if she had her way, she’d raise her and then auction her off. Like she tried to do to that Helen Jameson.” He met Jessamine’s horrified stare. “I don’t want that for her.”
“No,” Jessamine whispered as she tucked the blanket around the baby’s toes.
He looked at Jessamine with a beseeching gaze. “I know you already care for her.”
Her breath caught at the images that flashed through her mind. Of Ewan teasing the baby as she got older, a gurgle of delight escaping as he tickled her belly. Of Ewan carrying her on his shoulders, so proud to call her his daughter. Of Ewan reaching for Jessamine’s hand as the baby grew to be a young woman, and they had to have the courage to give her wings.
“Don’t leave her to the Madam who will show her no compassion,” he murmured.
“I don’t understand why you won’t care for her,” Jessamine said. “You can do more with your life than be the brute at the Boudoir.”
He gave a mirthless chuckle at her description of him. “No wonder you are a reporter. How could I raise a baby alone? How would I feed her?” He pointed to the bottle and formula she was using. “You and I both know that’s not meant to replace a mother’s milk.” He shook his head. “I’d fail, and then she’d end up in an orphanage, dependent on the charity of strangers.”
“Ezekial,” Jessamine whispered, “don’t ask me if you aren’t sure.”
He looked at her with unutterable torment. “It’s why I’m so late. I spent the whole night with Beth. Sitting by her side until dawn.” He took a stuttering breath. “I thought through every possible way I could keep the baby. And it’s not possible. I want her with someone who will give her a good home. Who will love her. Hopefully as much as her mother would have.”
Jessamine reached forward and gripped his hand. “You care for her too.”
He nodded as he looked at his sleeping baby, his big hand rubbing his girl’s downy head again. “Yes, I do,” he rasped. He looked at Jessamine, his eyes tear-brightened. “But, if she were to remain with me, she would have a miserable life. And I want more for her than that.”
Jessamine rocked forward and backward as she thought through everything he said. “I must speak with Ewan. He doesn’t even know about the baby.” She fought a shudder. “I should never have kept this from him.” A tear leaked down her cheek.
Ezekial ran a finger down the baby’s cheek one more time. “I’m not bringing her back with me, Jessamine. I can’t. The Madam is irate that one of her Beauties died. She blames me.” He hung his head.
“As she should.”
“It’s not your fault!” Jessamine said as she reached out and gripped his hand a moment. “I’ve known too many women who die after childbirth.”
“The Madam needs someone to hate, and I’m her target right now. She threw a cup of coffee at me this morning, shattering it against the door as I left.” He shrugged as Jessamine rolled her eyes at the Madam’s show of histrionics.
“I’ll find a way,” she whispered. Just as he was about to ease out her back door, she leaped up and grabbed his arm. “If Ewan agrees, will you sign a paper granting us custody?” At Ezekial’s nod, she released his arm. When the door closed behind him, she turned to face the baby, fighting hope and fear in equal measure.
Jessamine returned home, her entrance into the house ungraceful as she banged her shoulder into the doorjamb as she wrestled the basket inside. She shivered, staring around the freezing vacant interior of her home. “Ewan?” she called out. When there was no response, she called out again in a slightly louder voice, hopeful she wouldn’t wake the baby. “Ewan?”
When he failed to emerge from a bedroom, she set down the basket and moved to the kitchen stove. A few embers remained, and she blew on them to give them life before placing a piece of crumpled-up newspaper inside, barely sparing a glance at the headline announcing “Errant Bear Found Slumbering under Three Wool Blankets.” After the newspaper caught and crackled, she fed in kindling and then larger pieces of wood until the fire roared to life.
She set the basket nearer to the stove for warmth and then shucked her jacket, but kept on her hat and scarf. Rooting around in the icebox, she found a piece of cheese. After carving herself a slice, she cut a slice of bread, picking out the moldy pieces, and ate the cold snack. “Hard to believe it’s come to this,” she said to herself as the baby slumbered.
At the knock on the door, she walked a few steps to it, opening it with a hesitant smile. Her smile faded to find Fidelia on the step, rather than her husband. “Hello,” she murmured, suddenly battling tears.
“I only have a little while until the baby will be crying for my attention,” Fidelia said, as she scooted around Jessamine. She rubbed her arms and frowned at the chilled interior.
Jessamine shook her head, waving away a need to explain the state of her home. “Why are you here?” The minute she asked the blunt question, she flushed. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for the rude question or for the inhospitable way you’ve treated me since I had my son?” Fidelia asked, a chill to her tone. She waited for Jessamine to say more, nodding as though with resignation when Jessamine remained silent. “I’m here because Helen appeared on my doorstep this morning at the crack of dawn, imploring me to visit you today.”
“Helen?” Jessamine asked as she rubbed at her temple. “Why would Helen involve herself?” She froze as her gaze landed on the basket with the baby’s head poking out as though answering her own question.
Fidelia followed her gaze and paled. “Oh, Jessamine, what have you done?” Fidelia whispered as she rushed to the baby. She stroked a hand over the downy head and stared at Jessamine in wide-eyed horror.
“Nothing! I didn’t steal this baby,” she protested. “I swear.” The baby woke at that moment with a yowl, crying for food. “Oh, no, I haven’t had time to prepare the mixture or to wash the bottles.” She swiped at her forehead as she moved to her sink, her frustration mounting to find the hand pump frozen.
Fidelia cooed at the baby, plucking her from the basket to rest her on her shoulder. “Shh, sweet one. You’re fine. You’re all right,” she murmured. “Are you hungry?” With one glance at Jessamine’s stricken expression, Fidelia saw the truth. “Let’s give you some milk, rather than any of that mixture.” She sat at the dining room table and quickly undid the buttons on the front of her dress to breastfeed the baby. “Oh, you’re a champion eater, aren’t you?” she murmured as the baby latched on and suckled with gusto.
“I … I’m doing the best I can,” Jessamine whispered, as she sat at a chair across the table from Fidelia. Jessamine fought envy as she watched the ease with which Fidelia fed the baby.
Fidelia turned her confused gaze on Jessamine. “This is why Helen wanted me here? To ensure the baby was well? To ensure you were well?” Fidelia shook her head. “What are you doing with this baby? Helen would never sanction you …” She broke off her statement as though reluctant to give voice to her fear.
“I didn’t steal this baby, Fidelia,” Jessamine repeated in a low voice. “She was entrusted into my care.”
Fidelia stared at her wide-eyed. “Why do you have this baby?”
Shaking her head, Jessamine whispered, “I can’t tell you. Not before I explain everything to Ewan. It wouldn’t be right.” She saw understanding and compassion in Fidelia’s gaze. “Will you forgive me for how I’ve treated you?”
Fidelia gazed deeply into her friend’s eyes and nodded. “I was you … once. Imagining I would always be childless.” A smile bloomed. “And then I was blessed with Mildred. I never thought to deserve to be her mother.” Her gaze softened as she thought about Bears’s daughter from a previous relationship, who Fidelia loved as fiercely as she loved her baby, Jack. “But I did.”
Jessamine fought tears as she looked at the baby in Fidelia’s arms. “I thought I could care for a child. Could be a good mother.” She swallowed a sob. “But I still don’t know if I can do it.” She swiped at a cheek. “No matter how much I want to.”
“Of course you can do it. All of us will help you, and I have plenty of milk to aid you,” she murmured as she kissed the baby’s head. “Who wouldn’t help such a precious baby?”
Jessamine crossed her arms over themselves on the tabletop and lowered her head and sobbed.
Ewan paced Cailean’s living room, his gaze darting out the front window at every shadow and movement. He yearned for a glimpse of his wife, although he remained uncertain what he would say to her. How was he to mend the distance between them after such a betrayal? He closed his eyes as he recalled the previous evening, but little clarity surrounded his interaction with his wife once he realized Ezekial had visited her. Although he’d discussed it with Cailean, all Ewan truly remembered was a red haze of anger. He took a deep breath and exhaled, uncertain if he had the ability to forgive such duplicity.
For a few minutes he stood in quiet contemplation as the nearby stove pumped out heat, and the sounds of Annabelle and Skye in the kitchen provided a soothing backdrop. Images of the days when he had courted Jessamine flit through his memory. Of the verbal sparring matches they had, of their first kiss, of caring for her after she had been injured. He gripped his hands as though to ward off a body blow at the thought of losing her.
When he heard a soft voice respond to Annabelle, he turned toward the kitchen. Skye babbled but did not have the moderated, cultured voice of a woman. Walking as soundlessly as possible in a pair of boots, Ewan crossed the hallway and peered into the kitchen. Jessamine stood just inside the doorway, her arms crossed over her belly and her gaze guarded, as though she were uncertain as to her welcome in her brother-in-law’s house.
“Jessie,” Ewan said in a low emotion-filled voice. He cleared his throat but then shook his head rather than saying anything more. He frowned at the black circles under her eyes and the wariness in her stance. After entering the kitchen, he motioned for her to join him at the table.
Annabelle picked up Skye, murmuring that she and Skye would play in the living room. Ewan barely noticed their departure.
After sitting, he watched as Jessamine settled two chairs away from him. A log crackled in the kitchen stove, and he heard the nearby livery door slam shut. “Why are you here, Jessie?” He linked his fingers together on top of the table rather than reaching out for her.
She paled, causing the black splotches under her eyes to stand out even more. “Ewan, I know we’ve had problems recently, but you can’t honestly believe …” Her voice broke off as she wrung her hands together. Her cognac-color
ed eyes were filled with a plea for understanding.
After moments where she remained quiet, he rasped, “I can’t believe ye’d be unfaithful? That ye’d prove false with Ezekial?” he asked. “How … why would I no’?” He paused as though gathering his thoughts. “In the past two months, ye have no’ wanted me to touch ye. Ye’ve spurned every embrace, every kiss, every overture of affection.” He shook his head as though in disgust. “What would ye want me to do, Jessie? To believe?”
She sat forward as though she would reach for him before settling in her chair again. “Have faith in us, Ewan. In me.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Please.”
“Ye want me to have faith when I find a despicable man in the back space of yer office in the dark of night?” He shook his head as though she asked the impossible. “How can ye when ye give me nae reason to?”
“That’s faith, Ewan,” she whispered. She took a deep stuttering breath and then whispered, “You know I love you. I love our marriage.” She watched him intently until he gave a barely perceptible nod. “But I will always have a yearning.”
He sat back as though she had struck him, and his shoulders stooped. “I canna … I dinna ken how to ease that desire, Jessie.” His eyes shone with frustration. “We canna have a bairn.”
She ducked her head at his blunt words, swiping at her damp cheeks. “I … I lost another one. Two months ago. Helen advised me that I shouldn’t make love with you for a few months.” She ducked her head. “My body had to heal.”
“Ah, lass,” Ewan croaked out through a tear-thickened throat. “Why did ye no’ tell me? Ye ken I would have held ye as ye cried and soothed ye as I could.”
Tears poured from her eyes as she met his gaze. Speaking in stop-and-start sentences, she said, “I saw Bears and Fidelia, how happy they were, and I was so jealous. And I hated myself for that envy. I hated that I’d never see you holding our child in your hands, cooing at her as Bears did his son, whispering truths in her ear.” She closed her eyes as she whispered, “I hate my body! I feel like such a failure.”
Exultant Montana Christmas: Bear Grass Springs, Book Nine Page 5
