“Not at all. She has blond hair and blue eyes and she’s very beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful, too.”
“Thank you, Penelope, that’s very kind of you to say. You’re a sweet girl.”
“I’m not trying to be kind, or sweet. It’s the truth.”
Feeling a pleasant swell of warmth, Madeline turned the bucket upside down and dumped the last of the feed onto the ground. Then she and Penelope went into the barn to fill another bucket for the hogs.
“Will you come and visit us when you’re living with the Ripleys?” Penelope asked.
Even though she knew future visits would be difficult, Madeline couldn’t bring herself to refuse Penelope’s invitation. “Yes, of course I’ll come.”
A short time later, Madeline and Penelope started back to the house. They had just reached the kitchen door and were discussing a new cookie recipe, when a gut-wrenching scream cut through the still, morning air and pitched Madeline’s heart into her throat.
Chapter Seven
“Whoa!” Adam angled the plow to a halt, wiped a sleeve across his damp forehead and turned toward the house. He listened intently, not altogether certain what he’d heard. There. There it was again—another cry from the upstairs window.
Dropping the reins, he bolted for the door. He nearly wrenched it from its hinges as he threw it open and ran through the kitchen toward the stairs. Two at a time he took them, until he reached the top, crossed the hall and skidded to a halt at Mary’s open door.
She was sitting up on the bed, panting and screaming Jacob’s name while Madeline leaned over her, trying to calm her. “Everything’s going to be all right now, Mary. I’m here.”
Penelope dashed into Adam’s back. “There you are, Papa! I tried to find you!”
Adam turned to her. “Go out to the south field and fetch Jacob. Tell him Mary’s time has come, but first go and get Mrs. Dalton.”
Panic flitted through Penelope’s wide eyes. “She’s not here! She’s gone to the market!”
Adam glanced at Madeline again, who was trying to convince Mary to lie back against the pillows. “Find George, then. Tell him to saddle a horse and fetch Dr. Hudry.”
“I will!” Penelope hurried down the stairs.
Another terrorized scream from Mary shook Adam to the core and summoned hot, agonizing memories. Jane’s screams had sounded the same. For the rest of his days, Adam would never forget the desperation in his wife’s voice just before Penelope had come into the world—the tears and the sobs and the pleading to God for mercy. He was sure she’d known she was dying and, from his seat in the hall outside the closed door, he could do nothing to save her.
The guilt afterward had been excruciating, for how many times over the years had he wished for things to be different with Jane? How often, when she was ranting and smashing things, had he wondered what life would be like if she were not there?
Adam thrust those thoughts away and said a quick prayer for Mary. His children’s happiness meant everything to him, and he did not want Jacob’s young wife to be taken from them now, when she and Jacob were so deeply in love and eager for the future.
Madeline pulled the quilt back and tossed it into the corner of the room.
“What can I do?” Adam asked.
Fear showed itself in her eyes, but her voice was calm. “Is there no one here? Just us?”
“Just us for the moment. Penelope has gone to fetch Jacob, and George will go for the doctor.”
Adam watched Madeline contemplate the situation, as if she were playing it through in her mind and anticipating what she would have to do.
A feeling of powerlessness moved through him. All he could do was trust her with his daughter-in-law’s life.
“Have you done this before?”
She met his gaze squarely. “Yes. Twice in Yorkshire, and the midwife explained everything to me along the way. We’ll get along fine, Adam. Breathe, Mary. That’s it. In and out.”
He stood in the doorway, watching Madeline move around Mary, talking to her and telling her what to do, her voice always composed and reassuring.
“Adam, could you get me hot water and towels, please?” She sounded wholly in control, and her confidence eased the tight knot that had formed in his gut. “Then you can leave us alone.” With her eyes, she told him not to worry.
He left the room to do as she asked, and thanked the good Lord for sending Madeline to them when He had.
Jacob pounded a fist against the door frame in the hall. “How much longer is this agony going to last?”
Mary screamed again, her cries muffled behind the locked door, but no less disquieting for Adam and Jacob, who waited restlessly outside.
Adam stopped pacing to reassure Jacob again. “This is normal, son, especially for the first child. I remember the night George was born…it seemed to take a week, but it was only six hours.”
“Six hours! It’s only been three so far!”
Adam strove to maintain a confidence he did not feel, not when Mary was screaming so much louder now.
Where was the damn doctor? George hadn’t been able to find him.
“I know it’s difficult, but all you can do is wait and pray. Perhaps you’d be better off outside, where you can’t hear what’s going on.”
“No. If she has to endure this, so must I.”
Jacob collapsed into the chair in the hall and buried his face in his hands. He shook almost violently with silent, pain-racked sobs.
The sight of him weeping was like a knife in Adam’s chest, twisting with excruciating exactness, for his children were his life. His love for them was greater than anything he could ever have expected or comprehended, and to see his son suffer was grueling agony.
Another cry came from inside the room. This time, a baby’s cry.
Jacob looked up, his eyes full of tears. “Was that what I thought it was?”
Before Adam had a chance to reply, the door creaked open and Madeline walked out. Her hair was damp with perspiration around her forehead, her face pale. She wiped her hands on a bloody cloth.
Jacob almost leaped out of his chair. He took one look at the blood smeared on Madeline’s apron and teetered, as if he were about to faint. Adam grabbed onto Jacob’s arm to steady him.
Madeline smiled. “Congratulations, Jacob. You have a daughter.”
The air sailed out of Adam’s lungs. Surely, the weight of the whole world had just lifted from his shoulders.
Jacob stood. “Is Mary all right?”
“You can ask her yourself.” Not even the sun could compete with the purity and brilliance of Madeline’s smile as she delivered this welcome news.
Jacob hastened into the room, leaving Adam and Madeline alone in the hall. They both stood in silence, staring at each other, recovering from the anxiety they had both been harnessing for the past three hours.
Adam gestured toward the chair. “Why don’t you sit down? You look to be in need of a rest.”
“Thank you.”
An immense upwelling of fondness and gratitude moved through Adam. Madeline had been a great champion today. She had kept Mary safe and brought a beautiful new life into the world. She had made Jacob a happy, lucky man, and that made Adam a happy, lucky man, too.
“No, I must thank you. What would we have done if you had not been with us today?”
She made light of his compliment. “Everything went smoothly. Mary’s built for childbearing. You’ll have a whole house full of grandchildren before you know it.”
Adam gazed at the young woman sitting across the hall from him, her hair tousled and toppling from its bun, her cheeks now flushing from the stress of the morning. How was it she could be a mere four years older than his stepson, Jacob, yet seem a whole lifetime older in maturity and experience?
“Blimey,” he stammered, trying to sound full of humor, when he was not at all accustomed to trying so hard to sound anything at all. “The years have caught up with me. I’m an aging grandfather.�
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Her eyes shone with self-assurance again. “That is not how I see you, Adam. I see what lies ahead, not what has already gone by.”
He could not resist probing further. “And what do you think lies ahead?”
She thought carefully before she spoke. “New beginnings, great happiness and love.”
“Do you mean Diana?” he asked quickly. Too quickly.
An uneasy sensation prickled through him. What kind of question was that? Of course she meant Diana.
After a long pause, she simply smiled and stood. “I should go and see if Mary needs anything.”
Adam cleared his throat. He felt unexpectedly flustered and unsure what to say next. “Of course, you must go.” There was that gruff voice again. “I’ll go and spread the good news.”
He made a move to leave, but Madeline caught his arm. “Please, Adam, come first and see your granddaughter.”
A warm, familial pride moved through him. Madeline was right of course. He should be among the first to see the babe. This was all so new to him. Thank God sensible Madeline was here to guide him through this.
He followed her into the room, where Jacob was standing in front of the large window, holding his firstborn child in his arms. Dazzling sunshine lit up Jacob’s fair features—so much like his mother’s—and reflected off the tears of joy on his cheeks.
Adam felt his own eyes cloud with tears. It was an extraordinary moment he would never forget.
Jacob turned to show off the babe in his arms. Adam moved softly toward them. Only the infant’s tiny face was visible from beneath the white swaddling blanket—her beautiful, tiny red face. She made quiet little fussing sounds and pursed her puffy lips. Adam touched his knuckle to her fat little cheek and felt love move through him in a powerful, potent rush.
“Look, Father, isn’t she beautiful?”
“She’s a treasure, Jacob.” His voice shook.
Mary watched from the bed, smiling. Madeline moved toward her and wiped a cool, damp cloth over her forehead and face.
“Congratulations, Mary,” Adam said, bending to kiss his daughter-in-law on the cheek. “You did well.”
A single tear spilled from her eyes. “I couldn’t have done anything without Madeline. She was so encouraging and knew exactly what to do. I would have been terrified if she had not been here to tell me that everything was going to be all right.”
Adam glanced over his shoulder at Madeline, who had moved to the other side of the room. She lowered her eyes at Mary’s compliment, turned her back to him and wrung the cloth out in the basin.
Adam’s heart trembled with gratefulness. He could not let the moment pass without letting Madeline know how much he appreciated what she had done for them today. He crossed the room and took her by the arm, gently urging her to face him. “I’ll never forget this, Madeline. Thank you.” Then he laid a warm, light kiss on her cheek.
As he caught the scent of her hair in his nostrils, felt the warm, silky softness of her cheek beneath his lips, his body responded with a subtle buzzing sensation. He had the most intense urge to hold her a little closer and embrace her more fully. To run his hands over her back and let his lips linger longer upon her skin, and to kiss her again in other places: her hair and her forehead, down her cheeks to her neck.
Surprised and bewildered, Adam pulled back. He searched around inside himself for explanations. He had dismissed the spark he’d felt when he’d helped her onto her horse that day on the marsh. He had attributed it to his frustration over Diana. Could he dismiss this, too? Could he blame this on the intensity of the moment?
Thankfully, Madeline didn’t seem to sense any change in him, maybe because she’d kept her eyes lowered. She turned from him to face the washbasin again, and Adam sucked in a deep breath as he backed away from her and struggled to retrieve his sobriety.
Throughout the next week, Adam did manage to deny what he’d felt when he’d kissed Madeline in Mary’s bedchamber. Over and over, time and time again, he told himself that it was gratitude and nothing more, for he had come to depend upon Madeline a great deal since she’d delivered the baby.
She had been caring for the infant, reading to the children in the evenings, helping Agnes in the kitchen and with the chores. She was also giving Penelope impromptu music lessons. Then, after the children were in bed at night, Madeline sat with Adam in the parlor, listening to his concerns about the marshlands and encouraging him to continue his campaign to preserve them.
Like a newly sown field after a long, cold winter, Adam felt awakened and more confident about the task of safeguarding and expanding the land that belonged to him and would one day belong to his children and grandchildren. Yes, he and Madeline had become good friends. But nothing more than that, he assured himself.
Then one morning, Adam descended the stairs just as the back door opened and Madeline walked into the kitchen carrying a basket of eggs. She began to hum as she pulled off her shawl and hung it on a peg by the door. She wore a dress Adam had not seen before, with red printed flower sprays over a white background, and a muslin neckerchief covering her bosom.
Or perhaps he had seen the dress before but had simply not noticed it.
Well, he noticed it now. He noticed a lot of things now—like the feminine curve of her neck and shoulders, and the delightful wine-colored blush of her soft, moist lips. For once he let himself gaze deliberately at her bosom. It was hard to believe those ample, womanly breasts had not even existed all those years ago. Now they were full and round beneath that neckerchief, and he found himself wishing she would take the blasted thing off so he could see the deep crease between them.
He watched Madeline for another few seconds as she whisked the eggs, and he grew increasingly uneasy with his thoughts and the way his eyes were locked on her, as if he would stare at her all day if it were possible.
Just then, Agnes walked out of the dining room with an empty platter in her hands, and he felt as if he’d been caught stealing cookies from the jar.
In reality, this was much worse than that.
He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Agnes.” Then he walked with exaggerated aplomb into his kitchen.
Madeline turned, her voice cheerful and melodic as she greeted him. “Good morning, Adam. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
He picked up a warm biscuit from a pan cooling on the table and bit into it. The moist flavor of the biscuit melted exquisitely on his tongue. “These are spectacular, Madeline. Did you bake them?”
He sensed Agnes hovering around like a busy bee behind him, listening. His awareness of her presence, and a feeling of self-consciousness, was a great deal sharper than usual.
Madeline’s eyes lit up at the compliment. “Yes. I added some sweet, dried savory to the dough.”
“Savory, you say…” He took another bite. “Magnificent.”
Near the door, Agnes pulled on her shawl. “I’m going to the barn to do a few chores before breakfast.” With that, she was gone.
Adam remained in the kitchen, watching Madeline pour batter into an iron pot on the fire. She was so quiet. So calm all the time.
Suddenly he yearned to know more about her and her life before she came into his, and he couldn’t resist the curiosity. He sat down at the trestle table. “Did you cook for your family at home?”
“My father had a housekeeper, but I was always in the kitchen helping her, if I wasn’t in the garden digging in the dirt. Of course, neither of those things my father approved of, but he gave up trying to stop me after a while. To be honest, I doubt he ever expected me to do what Diana did.”
Her voice trailed off, and Adam was intrigued. “Which was?”
Madeline looked at him and giggled. “I don’t know, Adam. She spent so much time away from home. She was constantly with our aunt in London, and when she came home she always looked beautiful. She was skillful with an embroidery needle, too, so I suspect she spent a lot of time doing what most well-brought-up young ladies do.”
He laughed. “Are you saying you were not brought up well?”
“I’m saying I was not as socially ambitious as most young women my age.” She threw him an apologetic look. “I beg your pardon, Adam, I did not mean to insinuate anything about Diana.”
“I didn’t think you had.”
She stirred whatever she was cooking in that huge pot. “Diana and I were eleven years apart, and we had very different childhoods.”
Why did he have the feeling she was still apologizing for what she’d said about her sister?
Adam watched Madeline a little longer. The desire to know more about her and the person she was beneath the surface she showed to the world would not leave him, so he simply gave in to it. “How so? Diana spent time in London with her mother and aunt. What about you?”
Madeline moved away from the fireplace to the worktable. She reached for bread dough that she must have set to rise before she’d gone out for the eggs. “Mother died when I was born, so I never took any trips to London. Father went, of course, and continued to take Diana with him, but I was just a babe, so he left me at home with the housekeepers. Habits form, I suppose, and as I grew older, he continued to leave me behind.”
“Did that bother you?”
“No, I hardly noticed. It was the way things always were, and I never questioned them. To be honest, I grew to look forward to their trips, so that I could have more freedom at home to do what I wanted.”
“Were you lonely?”
“No. At least I didn’t think I was. I found much to interest me on the moors and in the garden, and later, in books. I know that when you came calling on Diana, I might have seemed lonely, the way I followed you about—” she glanced at him sheepishly “—but I think I was more curious than anything. About what you and she talked about and did together. I had never seen a romance before.” She flipped the heavy dough over and smiled at him, an appealing smile that made the hairs on his arm prickle. “Is it too late to apologize?”
“If anyone deserves an apology, Madeline, it is you, for we were young and selfish. You were just a child, and we should have included you.”
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