by Prairie Wife
To his credit, Jesse kept a straight face. "A lad asks permission to leave the table, son."
"Oh." Toby sat back and looked at Amy. "Fine strudel, ma'am. Best I ever et. Can I be 'scused? Er, please?"
"Thank you, Toby, and yes you may. You boys wash up now and get ready for bed."
"I already washed this mornin', din't I, Cay?"
"We wash before bed, as well. When the weather's warm, you can wash at the basins on the back porch. When it's cold, you take a pitcher to your room and use the bowl. Water's on the well on the back of the stove. And clean your teeth."
"Again?"
She nodded.
"I ain't never knowed people what washed and cleaned so much. I don't know how you got any skin left."
"As you can see, our skin is all still intact, so it won't hurt you a whit," Jesse replied.
Cay filled a pitcher with water and Toby followed him out of the room. Their feet sounded on the stairs.
"This is all new to him," Jesse said.
"He's doing well." She picked up their dishes.
"I'll be checkin' the buildings and the animals now."
In his absence, Amy washed up their dishes and worked on the finishing touches of her dresses. She probably wouldn't be able to wear them for long. A funny feeling made her stomach dip. She would have to open the chest of clothing she'd packed away and bring out the clothes with drawstring waists and over-shirts to accommodate her growth. With the last hem in place, she heated the iron and pressed both dresses.
She'd carried them upstairs and hung them in her wardrobe, Jesse's voice drifted after her. Peering into the hall, she discovered him standing at the opening to Cay's—to the boys'—room. She joined him and they stepped inside.
Cay and Toby were seated on the bed in their union suits. Amy went to the chest at the foot of the bed and took out another blanket. "You might be needing this." Both of them scrambled under the covers, and Jesse helped her settle the blanket over the boys.
For a few seconds an awkwardness hung over them, but she refused to revisit the same mistakes she'd already made. She had never come in and wished Cay a good-night. She'd been uncomfortable with that—he wasn't a small child, after all, and she hadn't wanted to embarrass him. But he needed to know he was cared for and wanted. Everyone needed to know those things. She was starting over right now with both of these youngsters, and she could only pray they would accept her affection.
Because she stood nearest to Toby, she bent to tuck the covers around him. "I'm glad you came home with us. We'll all have to get used to each other, and some things we'll just have to work out. But this is a new start for all of us."
His eyes were dark in the glow of the lantern. He simply returned her gaze.
"Good night, Toby."
"Ain't nobody called me that since my ma," he said.
"Well, it's your name, and it's a fine name." She bent and kissed his forehead.
Jesse stepped back as she moved around the end of the bed to Cay's side, where she fussed with the blankets. "Remember, you made a promise to us."
"I remember. I won't never run away again."
"Because we're a family," she confirmed.
He nodded.
"And we want you here with us." She bent to kiss his forehead, and he brought an arm out of the covers to wrap it around her neck and kiss her cheek.
Emotion welling inside her, she turned down the wick, plunging the room into darkness.
"'Night, fellas." Jesse took her arm and led her from the room, closing the door and following her to their room.
She changed into her nightdress and sat at her dressing table, where she removed the pins from her hair. Dressed in only his trousers, Jesse padded to stand behind her. He took the brush from her hand and brushed the ends of her hair first, working out any tangles, then stroked from her scalp to the tips. When they were first married, he used to brush her hair like this often. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the tingling pleasure and the relaxing sensation that washed over her.
Laying down the brush, he drew her hair to one side, exposing her neck. He leaned to kiss her skin and nuzzle her ear, then traced a finger along her collarbone and inside the neck of her gown, creating delicious shivers.
"Cold?" he asked. "Maybe we'd better get under the covers."
She accepted the hand he extended. He led her to the bed, then extinguished the lamp, divested himself of his drawers and climbed in beside her.
Gently, almost reverently, he caressed her shoulder, then her breast. His touch moved across the swell of her belly, his hand warm through the fabric of her gown.
Wanting to be closer, Amy worked the hem upward, and he helped her cast the nightdress aside. She took his hand and placed it on her abdomen again.
Jesse drew the covers down so he could press his lips to the place where their child grew. Amy stroked his hair and freed her heart to accept. Accept this new life they'd created. Accept her responsibility.
As though a spiritual connection bound all three of them, a tiny flutter, like delicate wings, quickened in her womb. Their baby made its presence known for the first time. Her heart skipped a beat at the same time Jesse raised his head.
"Amy, I felt that."
A myriad of feelings pushed their way past Amy's defenses. The first tear she'd cried in forever leaked from the corner of her eye and trickled down her temple, followed by another, and another. Her chest quaked and a sob was retched from her being. She clamped her hand over her mouth.
Immediately Jesse pulled her hand away. He bracketed her face between his palms and kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her temples, speaking to her heart without words. She heard devotion in the beat of his heart, experienced calming peace in the touch of his lips and the earnestness of his concern.
"Jesse," she whispered.
He covered her mouth with his, breathed her name, sated her every need and longing as only he could. She clung to him and wept with newfound joy and worth.
"Yes," he said against her cheek. "Yes, Amy."
Eventually her tears subsided. Jesse took her in his arms and she lay with her head on his shoulder. Night closed in around them, and when they slept, it was with his hand on her stomach and her face turned to his.
***
In the days that followed, Amy told herself everything was resolved. She had come to terms with a new child. And she had, but there was more. More newly resurrected emotions vied for prominence, ate at her peace, eroded her small victory.
The dream of the crying baby returned, and she woke nearly every night with a start and the sound of that pathetic wail ringing in her ears.
Jesse's understanding and devotion only added to her conflict and self-recrimination. Remembering all the times he'd tried to comfort her, looking for solace and peace and partnership in his wife, she blamed herself for shutting him out. For turning him to the cold comfort of a whiskey bottle. Her fault. All her fault. Because Tim's death had been her fault.
Mr. Quenton had packed and left the week before, gifting them with a few photographs, among them the one of the graves. Amy had been tempted to tear it up and throw it away, but instead she'd buried the photograph in the bottom drawer of their bureau. As if guilt wasn't enough punishment, she'd taken it out and looked at it more than once.
One brisk morning, she woke before Jesse, the dream echoing through her head. She moved to the bureau and silently took out the photograph. In the semidarkness, she could barely see it, but she remembered well enough.
Moving to the window, she parted the curtain and looked out toward the slope. She would let herself feel. She would let herself love again. The walls guarding her heart had been breached. And now she remembered Tim....
She pictured him as he'd been—an active, smiling, beautiful child, the apple of his father's eye. And she remembered the worst day of her life—that horrible afternoon—and Jesse's reactions. Then she pictured her son the way she'd seen him last. Still. Pale. Gone.
Amy put on her stoc
kings and a shawl and made her silent way downstairs. At the back door, she pulled on her boots and coat and trekked outside. The frost crunched beneath each step that carried her away from the house, toward the slope and the crosses that marked the graves. She didn't notice the cold or the dog that sniffed at her ankles and then chased a small creature into the brush.
The place she avoided had always been this close to where she worked and slept, but she'd never before had the courage to climb the hill.
To see Tim's grave.
The marker was there, between the two others. Rosebushes, now dusted with snow, had been planted at the head of Tim's. Jesse, of course, had planted and cared for them. Just as he'd built the coffin as an expression of his love and grief, he'd kept this place tended.
But not Amy. Amy hadn't felt a thing, hadn't cried, hadn't grieved and hadn't allowed anything or anyone to remind her. She couldn't live with the fact that she'd been responsible for their loss, for the grief Jesse endured. All along she'd accused Jesse of not moving forward, while she'd been blind to the fact she was the one who hadn't dealt with Tim's death.
How could he forgive her? She didn't know, but she had to ask him.
How could she forgive herself?
Denying herself forgiveness brought only agony.
"Forgive me, Tim," she said aloud. Saying his name for the first time unleashed a flood of grief. She dropped to her knees on the frozen ground. Sobs racked her body in a long-denied expression of pain. She cried so hard her throat hurt, her chest ached, and the cold seeped into her knees. The pain was excruciating... but it was a testament to life. She was alive and she could no longer refuse to live.
She sensed his presence and turned to see Jesse standing silently several feet away. Tears streaked his cheeks. As always, he was there for her, giving her space, allowing her time.
"Jesse," she said, her throat dry and constricted. "It was my fault."
Looking confused, he took a few steps closer.
"I was in the kitchen, using the quiet time to bake. I didn't check on him. I never thought to make sure the front door was locked in case he woke."
She staggered to her feet, but Jesse didn't move toward her. He simply listened.
"By the time I went up to check on him and saw he was gone, it was too late." Her voice was rising and her face contorting as she remembered. "It was my fault. My fault. How can you ever forgive me?"
She didn't wait for him to respond. She let her feelings spill out. "I shut you out. But what could I have done? I couldn't crawl into this grave with Tim." She looked at the ground, then squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her head back. "I couldn't go back to that day and change it. I couldn't even scream loud enough."
She curled her hands into fists. "So I shut off. Insulated myself from everything and everyone to keep this one tiny shred of sanity inside from slipping away. Something snapped inside me." Beseeching him with her eyes once again, she brought both hands over her heart. "I looked at you and saw you feeling and taking action. I stopped feeling and there was nothing I could do. But by blocking out Tim's memory I kept myself from healing. And I kept you from healing, too."
Silence stretched between them. Wind caught the hem of her coat and flapped it against her legs.
At last Jesse took a few steps to stand before her. "Tim's death was not your fault. There's no one to blame. It just happened and we'll never understand why. If there was anything to forgive, I would."
"But there is! I told you, I didn't check. I didn't lock the door."
"We've never locked the front except at night. But okay, I forgive you. I do. You'll have to forgive me, too, then, because I didn't think ahead and lock the door when I was at the house at noon. And I never warned him not to go to the creek alone."
She shook her head and reached to brush the tears from his cold cheek. "No, Jesse, no."
"You see, we could blame ourselves forever, but it wouldn't bring him back. Forgive yourself, Amy. That's what you have to do first."
"I shut you out. It's my fault you started drinking."
"I'm responsible for myself. I made my own mistakes. Don't take on the weight of the world."
"I shut out Cay."
"We've been through all that. It's done."
"I'm afraid I won't be a good mother to this baby," she admitted finally. "What if I let something happen?"
He grasped her by the shoulders. "Amy, we can't do anything about the past, and the only one who knows the future is God. If we let ourselves worry about what might happen, we'd never go out of the house in the mornin'."
"After all this you still love me?"
"Always, Amy. Always."
She collapsed against his solid form, and he wrapped strong arms around her. After several reassuring minutes, she turned to observe the graves in the first streaks of dawn. "It's just like you said. Tim's with his grandmas."
"We don't have to forget him, Amy. If we talk about him and share what we're feeling, we'll keep his memory alive. Remembering can be a comfort."
"I want to do something," she told him. Taking his hand, she led him back to the house. She tugged him through the dark kitchen and into the parlor, where she found a match beside the hearth and lit a lamp. Jesse shrugged out of his coat and took hers as well, laying them on the back of a chair.
Amy walked to the mantel and opened the round glass door on the clock she'd taken in trade. With a simple touch of one finger, she set the pendulum in motion. Closing the door, she stood back.
The ticking sound filled the room.
"From this moment on, we move forward," she promised.
Jesse took her in his arms and kissed her, the new life they embraced a tangible presence between them.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For givin' me hope again."
Overhead, the sounds of feet hitting the floor caught their attention. Minutes later, the steps creaked and two tousle-headed boys peered at them from the foot of the stairs.
"What's goin' on?" Cay asked. "I don't smell no breakfast cookin'."
Jesse released Amy but kept her hand in his. "We have somethin' to tell you boys."
"What is it?"
"It's about another new person in our family."
As the rising sun ushered in a new day, beams of light filtered through the curtains and spotlighted the Shelby family.
***
Two miles down the road, Sam pulled a buggy up to Matthew Barnes's home and walked to the door.
Elthea greeted him with a surprised smile. "What are you doing here so early?"
"Just stopped by to see if you'd like to ride in with me this mornin'."
His place was the opposite direction, and she knew it. She called inside to her son. "Sam Burnham's come by for me. I'll be going now."
She gathered her mittens and coat, and Sam held the garment while she slipped it on.
"This is a pleasant surprise, Sam. Thank you."
"You're welcome, Elthea." He led her to the wagon and assisted her up to the seat.
Matthew Barnes and his wife stepped out on their porch and watched as the buggy pulled away. They waved as the sun broke over the horizon.
Epilogue
Shelby Station, Nebraska, 1874
Amy's daughter flounced into the kitchen carrying the carved wooden revolver her big brothers had fashioned for her. "I don't wanna wear this dress, Mama. I wanna wear a holster and ride one of Papa's horses."
"But this is a special day, little miss," Amy said to her four-year-old daughter. She tied Miranda's shiny gold locks into place with a yellow ribbon and adjusted the ruffles of the dress she'd spent hours making. "It's your birthday, and our friends and the hands are waiting to eat cake. Catherine will love your dress." The shaded side yard had been turned into a picnic area with makeshift tables, and their guests were waiting for the birthday girl. Amy had been trying to get Miranda into this dress for the better part of an hour. "You want to look pretty at your party, don't yo
u?"
Miranda shook her head, and her shiny ringlets bounced. "Nuh-uh. I wanna ride a horse. I can wear dungarees and eat cake."
Any threw up her hands in surrender. "All right." She unbuttoned the row of buttons down the back of the dress. "Run back to your room and change. Quick, now."
Without releasing her favorite toy, the child threw her arms around Amy's neck, hugging her soundly, then placed a damp kiss on her cheek. "Oh, thank you, Mama!"
Amy watched her run through the house toward the addition Jesse and their boys had added that held three more bedrooms.
The sound of a spoon hitting the floor warned her that one-year-old Thomas had run out of patience waiting in the high chair. She washed his hands and face and lifted him out, holding him on her hip and kissing his cheek. "I can't get that sister of yours into a dress, Tom. What am I to do?"
The baby grinned and patted her cheek.
The kitchen door creaked and Elthea entered with an empty platter. She set it on the table and smiled brightly at the child Amy held. "Your grandpa was looking for you, Tom."
Amy handed over her son, and the older woman kissed is cheek adoringly. Elthea and Sam had married two years ago and were living happily in Sam's small house at the homestead. She rode in with him nearly every morning to help Amy with the meals and the children.
"She's not going to wear the dress." Amy uncovered a cake and carried it toward the door.
Elthea followed. "She'll grow into being a young lady eventually, Amy. You'll see."
Jesse was standing with a group of men when Amy approached, and he strode toward her with a wide smile. "Is she ready?"
Amy set down the cake and slipped her arm around his waist. "Wait and see."
Two young men approached them, and Amy's heart softened as it always did when she looked at her two boys. At sixteen Cay was the tallest, with blue eyes and a disarming smile like Jesse's. He had plans to go to the university in another two years.
Beside him Toby was downright handsome, broader, though not as tall. A lock of obstinate dark hair fell over his forehead and his hazel eyes were full of mischief. At eighteen, he was Jesse's right hand.
"Where's our girl?" he asked. His deep voice never ceased to amaze Amy. She remembered the scrawny distrusting boy they'd brought home and adopted.
