[2016] A Widow's Love

by Christian Michael

She felt his fingers brush over her arms before she felt her dress move up over her waist. A small part of her was surprised how indifferent she was to that—to all of this—but then she spread her legs wide and decided to focus on more important things.

  “Duncan, Duncan,” she whimpered, reaching outward.

  “I got you,” Duncan said somewhere in front of you. “I got you. I’m here.” She felt him squeeze her leg. “It’ll be okay.”

  It was several horrible hours later when the baby was finally out of her. Elle was so sore and relieved she sobbed and let her body fall back onto the floor. Still, as overwhelmed with sensations as she was, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Is the baby alright? Duncan?” For the second she waited for his answer, ice-cold fear gripped her heart.

  “He’s perfect,” Duncan said. “He’s healthy and perfect.”

  Elle’s head fell back against the floor, a sigh of relief bursting from her mouth. “Thank God.” She closed her eyes and let her mind swim in and out of consciousness. She trusted Duncan completely, and she had no qualms over letting herself fall into a coma of sorts.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had gone by when she felt something being placed over her stomach and torso. She heard the little whimpers—felt the little squirming—and she forced herself to open her stinging eyes and look down at her son. She didn’t get the best look at him from the angle she was at, but that didn’t matter. She knew Duncan was right; this little boy was perfect.

  “Hold on to him, okay?” Duncan instructed gently, crouching over her. “I’m going to carry the both of you to bed.”

  Elle’s arms cradled around her baby boy. Once he was secure, Elle nodded toward Duncan.

  Duncan awkwardly scooped his arms beneath her legs and her back. It took him a moment to get to his feet, but once he was standing, he had no problems carrying the two of them. He stepped over Peter’s body, and Elle’s mind reeled at that; she had nearly forgotten about him—about what she had done to him.

  She closed her eyes tight and pressed her face against her son’s head. She could not make herself feel guilty over murdering someone like Peter—someone who was going to kill the best man in Elle’s life. All she could feel in that moment was relief and love as she inhaled deeply.

  Duncan lowered himself, placing her on top of their bed. She was so tired; she was practically limp as her husband situated the pillows behind her head. Her eyes wandered over her son—the warm little bundled that meant everything to her. She cried and smiled. “I love you,” she said to the child. “I love you so much.”

  Duncan situated himself beside her and peered down at the baby. “What’s his name?” he asked her.

  Elle hadn’t even thought of that—not in that moment, at least. Through all the months she considered various names, none of them sounded ideal to her any longer. She shook her head, her eyes still glued to the infant. “I don’t know. Nothing seems right.”

  Duncan placed a kiss against her temple. “What was his father’s name?”

  She nearly sobbed. The question itself, and the tender tone it was asked in, was too much. “S-Sam.”

  “Samuel. That’s a good name. Strong. Biblical.”

  She had considered it earlier, but she hadn’t been sure if Duncan would have appreciated being reminded of her husband. But by the way he was speaking now—by the way he was pressed so closely to her and protecting her—she nodded. Then a surge of determination shot through her. “Samuel Duncan Aster,” she said. “It’s perfect.” Torn between so many emotions, she turned to Duncan.

  He backed away a little, revealing his wide and glazed eyes. God, he was perfect, too.

  Elle smiled at him. Not caring if it was right or wrong any longer, she said, “I love you, Duncan.”

  His breath hitched. He stared at her intently, like he wasn’t sure if she was delusional or not. Before she could repeat it—louder and firmer this time—he whispered, “I love you, too. Both of you.” He shifted his wonder-filled gaze to the baby. To Sam.

  Elle laughed, joyous. She also turned back to their son and felt Duncan’s head press against hers a moment later.

  Epilogue

  Duncan woke to the sound of Sam’s wails in the crib at the end of the bed. The child was over four months old now, and his lungs seemed to be stronger than ever.

  Groaning, Duncan turned to encircle his arms around his wife, only to discover she was no longer in bed. Tired as he was, he forced his eyelids apart and allowed his vision to adjust to the darkness. Then he turned toward the crib.

  Elle stood over it, her hand no doubt skimming over the baby’s head. She whispered soft nothings, but that wasn’t calming Sam down in the slightest.

  Duncan stretched before releasing a long sigh. “Did you feed him?”

  “Yes,” Elle said grouchily.

  “Clean him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why’s he crying then?”

  She turned, and though it was too dark to be certain, Duncan could swear that she was glaring at him. “How the hell should I know?”

  He smirked. Both of them loved to sleep as often as they could, and little Sam had been forcing them to cut back. It was tough, his fatigue heaviest within his skull. Stretching one more time, Duncan forced himself to get out of bed and assist his wife.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said over Sam’s wails. She leaned against Duncan when he wrapped a languid arm around her. “I’ve tried everything.”

  Duncan peered down at his son and thought. “Ma used to give me whiskey when I was fussy.”

  Elle reeled in his arms. “Really?”

  He had to laugh. “You never heard of doing that?”

  “No. That sounds dreadful!”

  Duncan hummed at that, and let his mind drift for a bit. The piercing sounds of Sam’s cries were aggravating things he had actually started to get used to. He rubbed his jaw and yawned. “Well, I don’t know. You want to rock him?”

  “I did that for hours.”

  Duncan reached in the crib and ran his fingers over the baby’s arm. Sam was shaking his fists in the air as if the world had done him a great injustice, but before Duncan knew it, the baby was moving his little arms and grabbing Duncan’s finger. Duncan watched, mesmerized, as Sam slowly tugged his finger until it was inside the infant’s mouth.

  Silence fell upon the house.

  “Thank the Lord,” Elle breathed. “He just needed something to suck on.”

  Duncan smiled down at his quiet boy. The moment was calm, affection warming Duncan’s heart and soothing him.

  But then his back started to ache.

  “Am I supposed to stay like this all night?” he whispered into Elle’s hair.

  She snorted. “I guess so.”

  He tightened his grip on her and pulled him to his chest. “You’re staying with me,” he said, grinning with a sense of triumphant.

  She chortled softly before a big yawn got the better of her. Smacking her lips together, she rested her head beneath his chin. “Okay,” she said sleepily.

  Duncan’s smile softened. The two most important, precious beings to him were within arm’s lengths. Just being near them…it was all that mattered. As uncomfortable and exhausted as he was, there was no other place he would rather be.

  *****

  THE END.

  Looking For Love

  Mail Order Bride

  CHRISTIAN MICHAEL

  Chapter 1

  When the train whistle blew, Cora abandoned her seat on the sofa and hurried to the window. She pulled back the heavy burgundy drapes and sighed deeply. In the dusky light, she could just discern the locomotive as it snaked its way across the tracks toward the Alexandria station. “Look, Hannah! Isn’t she beautiful? I haven’t traveled by train in ages. I’ve quite missed it. And oh my, how the Potomac has risen since the rains! We must walk by the river tomorrow.” She glanced over her shoulder.

  Her dearest friend Hannah sat on the sofa in the O’Leary family parl
or, her red hair gleaming in ringlets about her shoulders, her freckled face bright with happiness, not much different than when the two were children.

  “A walk sounds lovely, although it does make me sad to see how much the waterfront has changed since the war. I scarcely recognize it, even these three years later.”

  “I’ve hardly been anywhere in the past three years. Papa was so sick with the consumption. All I could do was nurse him. But memories of our adventures here in Alexandria helped revive me, especially on the very difficult days. Did you think of those times, too?”

  “Of course, dear. I remember how you and that twin brother of mine consistently lead me into trouble. Or more often, each other.”

  Cora laughed. The sound startled her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed. Certainly not since the last time she had visited the O’Learys. Was that six months ago? Nine?

  “Do you remember when Mama spanked you both on the train for playing in the engine car in all that coal dust?”

  “Oh, stop. That isn’t a pleasant memory!” Oddly though, as she said the words, Cora laughed again. Even the humiliation of that public spanking was a better memory than the war years that came after.

  Hannah joined her at the window, tucking Cora’s arm into her own. “It’s good to have you back again, if only for a week. But you’re changing the subject yet again.” She drew back. “Why, you’re positively shaking! Whatever is the matter? And don’t tell me it’s my imagination because I simply won’t believe it. You’ve been here for over two hours, hardly spoken, picked at your supper. And now this--mooning over trains and shivering as if you’ve caught your death. Come back to the fire and tell me what this is all about.”

  Cora allowed Hannah to arrange her on the sofa in front of the crackling fire, a brown velvet cape thrown over their laps.

  “Is it that horrid half-brother of yours? What has he said of his promise to allow you to apprentice as a nurse?”

  Cora’s heart leaped at the words. To apprentice as a nurse was all she had wanted for so long--all her father had wanted for her--that she couldn’t imagine life without it. She closed her eyes momentarily. But forget it, she must. She opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes, it is Edward.” She twisted her gloves in her hands. “He says there is no money to provide for me while I apprentice, that it has all been spent or promised.”

  “No money. But your father had plenty upon his death.”

  “I know, Hannah, I know. But he left me in my brother’s care. I have no money of my own, except a small inheritance from my mother. Very small, likely not enough to cover my needs.”

  “And what does he expect you to do instead? Marry?” Hannah smiled at her own joke for she knew Cora had no designs to marry.

  Cora searched for space within her thickened throat to speak. She swallowed hard, then whispered, “Yes.”

  Hannah gave a start. “What? You to marry? And whom has your brother found worthy of you?” Her voice was shrill.

  Cora shook her head. “It’s too horrible to say aloud.”

  “Mr. Jeremiah Bladen. It is him, isn’t it?” At Cora’s nod, Hannah slapped her hands over her cheeks. “My word! I won’t allow it. We can’t let this happen. He was pawing at you when you were little more than a child. He’s evil.”

  “Don’t speak of it, Hannah.”

  “And what of Mr. Bladen’s marriage? I remember a few years back, you were relieved to hear of his nuptials?”

  “He lost his wife to influenza a month after dear President Lincoln’s death. He has three horrid daughters. Oh Hannah, whatever will I do?”

  Hannah wrapped her arms around Cora. “My dear, we shall do what I have always done when I don’t have the answers.”

  Cora smiled into Hannah’s shoulder, and declared the words at the same time as her friend, “Ask Mama.”

  Chapter 2

  “A mail order bride,” Cora gasped the words. Even after hearing them spoken repeatedly over the past twenty minutes, she couldn’t accept them. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. I simply couldn’t. Papa—“

  “Your father would approve," Mama O’Leary assured. “He would want you settled and safe. My Matthew can give you that.”

  The pit of Cora’s stomach was hollow and swallowing her down fast. She sank into a chair by the Mama O’Leary’s sitting room door.

  Hannah laughed. “Oh Cora, you look positively white. Quite the contrast to her gorgeous ebony hair, eh mama?”

  “Our Cora has always been lovely, even with pasty cheeks.”

  Conversation and laughter wrapped around her. The O’Learys loved both dearly—talking and laughing. She had asked for advice and this was what was offered: A mail order bride. Hannah’s oldest brother Matthew in need of a wife and her in need of a husband.

  Years ago, she had known the incredibly tall, auburn haired boy. But she could hardly picture him now, except through the wedding photo that hung on the wall downstairs. She felt nothing for him.

  “You are exactly what we need, Cora. In last month’s letter, Matthew mentioned he was in need of a bride to help him raise my grandchildren. Women are scarce in that wild Colorado territory.” Mama O’Leary shuddered.

  Of course Hannah had written to her about Matthew’s wife, how she’d ran off and left him and their children, then caught the influenza on the train trip home. She’d died in a Midwestern town surrounded by strangers. A horrible way to go. Alone and far from home. Was that a risk she faced if she accepted Mama O’Leary’s proposal?

  But what choice did she have? She wasn’t wealthy enough or strong enough to carve out a life alone. She couldn’t marry Jeremiah Bladen. And she wasn’t afraid of the west--adventure was not a stranger to her; an odd exhilaration filled her chest thinking of the wild territory beyond the Mississippi. Still…

  Mama O'Leary continued thoughtfully, “I expect he was joking a bit about placing an advertisement, but I immediately volunteered my services as matchmaker. I promised to find him the perfect mail order bride. Since he didn’t take my advice the first time around, he is quite happy to accept it now.”

  “But come, child, this is not a moment to faint away. You will be joining our family and that is a most wonderful thing. But let’s set this aside for now, my rheumatism is acting up, and you give such a lovely massage.”

  “Oh, Mama O’Leary, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” Cora hurried to her room and fetched her father’s medical bag. Old habits indeed die hard, as she always carried it just as her father had done. But her mind was a runaway train. Colorado. Matthew. Mail order bride. Jumping on board this new proposal scared her more than anything had in a long time.

  After Mama O’Leary was wrapped in warmed blankets, Cora handed her a steaming mug. “Sip this. The medicine and the warmth will ease your pain.” Then she moved blankets aside and began gently administering to the tight muscles.

  Hannah’s laughter trilled from across the room. “You never are more yourself than when you’re nursing, are you, Cora?” Then she smiled mischievously. “Or sparring with my brother, that is.”

  Cora gasped. “Hannah, you’re awful. Simon and I haven’t sparred since we were quite young.” She carefully repacked her father’s medical bag as she spoke.

  Hannah’s laughter rang out again causing Cora to look up. “Quite young, you say? I believe it was six months ago when you were here last.”

  Cora laughed in spite of herself. “Oh stop, you. Don’t listen to her, Mama O’Leary, we’re not nearly as much enemies as we once were.”

  Mama O’Leary laughed her happiest belly laugh. “Oh, my dear, I can assure you I never perceived you to be enemies.” She sobered quickly and clutched Cora’s hands. “I worry over Simon so much. His feet you know… They bother him more than he says. And he won’t let any of us help.”

  Of course, he wouldn’t because he was too self-centered to realize how much his family worried over him, but Cora refrained from saying. “He’s stubborn, but strong. I was there you know, sat wit
h him while father…well, as father helped him.” During the war, her father had amputated four of Simon’s toes on one foot and two on the other. Of all the things she had witnessed during the war, the amputations were possibly the worst. Simon had taken ill directly after the procedure, and she had feared he wouldn’t survive.

  Mama O’Leary nodded. “I knew of your help. Your father sent us a telegram and Simon wrote to us of course. Simon writes such beautiful letters you know, has a poet’s gift. It brought us great peace knowing you and your father were caring for him.”

  “The little bit of caring Simon would allow me wasn’t much.” Cora huffed. He had in fact sent her away after he stabilized; his words cruel and unforgiveable. “Your son is an awful patient.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head, but at his mother’s sad expression, she relented. “But, my father would say the more stubborn the patient, the better he heals.” Both women smiled as Cora meant them to do.

  “And with whom have you not been enemies with since you were a child, Nurse Cora?”

  Cora startled, nearly falling across her patient as Simon himself walked through the door. His red hair, so similar in color to his twin sister’s hung over his forehead in disarray. His was more naturally curly than his sister’s and far less cared for.

  “You were listening at the door then, Private Simon?” Cora scolded, her hands on her hips, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks. “We didn’t hear you arrive.” She glanced at her companions. They appeared unperturbed to find Simon had listened to their conversation.

  “Indeed I was. It is best to silence your feet when you hear yourself discussed on the other side of a door, the better to hear with certainly.”

  “An eavesdropper. I should have known.”

  Mama. O’Leary’s cleared her throat. “Simon, my boy, you are just in time.”

  Simon kissed the jaw his mother offered. “And what time is that, Mama?”

  “To congratulate Cora. She is to marry.”