Wedded for the Baby

by Dorothy Clark

  She grabbed an apron, slipped the strap over her head and pulled the ties taut around her small waist to make a bow at her back. Trace tried to hide it under a cover of extreme politeness, but it was apparent he could barely tolerate sharing a meal with her in the large dining room at home. Of course he had to pretend he was eager to spend time with her in front of others. Poor man. He was trapped.

  She ran hot water into the dishpan, added soap and washed and rinsed the breakfast dishes, then scrubbed at the oatmeal pan. However would Trace manage here? She glanced at the eating table situated against the end wall just inside the kitchen doorway. The Latherops’ bedroom door was only a few steps away down the hall, and she could easily hear Blake and Audrey talking together. And though she tried hard not to hear what they were saying, their loving tone was very clear.

  And then there was Howard. She brought him into the kitchen with her when he was fussy, and also while Blake and Audrey were together throughout the day. And they would expect Trace to be delighted to spend time with his new son.

  She rinsed the scrubbed pan and slid her gaze to the blanket-padded crate resting on the seats of two of the table chairs Blake had positioned facing each other. Trace would not be able to ignore Howard as he did at home. The thought gave her pause. She stared at the improvised crib beside the kitchen table and a smile touched her lips. Perhaps this would work out well after all.

  Now, what should she have with the salmon loaf?

  * * *

  Trace followed Blake into the storage room, his shoulders tense, his steps reluctant. “Most of my patrons the last few days have been ill with coughs or sore throats, but quite a few of them look to have a fever. Of course it’s only natural that those who are feeling ill would come to me. But I’ve been wondering if you have noticed much sickness among your patrons?”

  Blake stopped, waved his hand to the left. “You can hang your hat and coat on one of those hooks.” His eyes narrowed. “Come to think of it, I have. It seems like most of them are coughing or sneezing.”

  “I thought as much.” He shrugged out of his coat, hung it on a hook then tugged his suit coat back in place. “I’ve ordered a dozen bottles of Gilbert & Parsons Hygienic medical alcohol. I’m going to use it to wipe down my counter and clean my hands between trains and before I leave the shop. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Why?”

  “To protect yourself and Audrey from the illness.” Just do it, Blake. Don’t make me explain.

  “I don’t understand. How would the alcohol keep us from getting sick?”

  He looked at Blake, willing him to agree to the precaution. “I don’t fully understand, either. But I heard a lec—I heard about a doctor named Semmelwies who discovered a...connection between childbed fever and the unclean hands of those who delivered the women’s babies. When a few of my coll—doctor friends began cleaning their hands and instruments with alcohol, the spread of illness among their patients decreased significantly. I’ve been using alcohol to protect myself against disease ever since.”

  “I see.” Blake stared at him. “Well, if it will keep Audrey from getting sick, I’ll do it. I’ll make out an order for the alcohol this afternoon. But—”

  No more medical questions! “What is that?” Trace indicated a large wooden box in the far corner to change the subject.

  “I hired one of Mitch’s men to build a large coal box here in the storage room. I want to be prepared for a blizzard or whatever might happen.”

  “That’s a good idea, Blake. I think I’ll do the same. My place is farther from the station, and if we get deep drifts, the wagon would have a hard time getting through.”

  “True.” Blake started up the stairs, eagerness in his steps.

  He set his face in a pleasant expression and followed.

  “Good afternoon, Katherine. How’s my wife?”

  “I’m fine, Blake.” Audrey’s voice floated out into the hallway. “Impatient to see you, but fine.”

  “I’m coming, my love! I’ll see you after dinner, Trace.” Blake hurried down the short hall on the left, entered a room and closed the door.

  He took a breath and slid his gaze to Katherine. “Well, I—”

  She held a finger to her mouth, shook her head and motioned for him to come. He bit back a question as to her odd behavior and followed her to the far end of the Latherops’ kitchen. She stopped in front of a worktable and turned to face him.

  “I’m sorry, Trace, but I couldn’t let you say anything in the hallway. The house is small and conversations are easily overheard—even soft-spoken ones. And, well, they would expect—” pink spread across her cheekbones “—you know.” She made a helpless little gesture.

  Yes, he knew. And the thought was far too appealing. “I see. Thank you for the warning.” He took refuge in teasing her. “Do you think we’ve whispered long enough that they will think our loving greeting is over? Something smells good in here! And I’m hungry.”

  “I think enough time has passed so that we can eat.” She laughed and motioned him toward the table. “I made a salmon loaf. I hope you like it.”

  “I do. And I haven’t had any since I came to Whisper Creek.” He turned, spotted the baby in the makeshift crib, paused and then continued on toward the table. At least the infant was sleeping. He held a chair for Katherine, trying not to smell the floral scent clinging to her hair. Or to notice the way the lamplight gleamed on its dark waves when she bowed her head to ask God’s blessing on the meal. He closed his eyes to resist the temptation to look at her. When he opened them again, a small lock of wavy hair had fallen forward onto her smooth forehead. His fingers twitched to brush it back, to feel the softness of her skin. He picked up the knife on the plate and sliced off two servings of the salmon loaf.

  “I’m not familiar with your likes or dislikes, so I made simple fare.” Katherine’s voice was pitched low, its slight huskiness more pronounced. “There’s mashed potatoes and buttered green beans and applesauce. I left it chunky and added a bit of cinnamon.” She brushed back the lock of hair. “And rolls. And butter and jam.”

  A soft murmur came from the Latherops’ bedroom. He clenched his jaw and lifted his gaze from his plate to look at her. The table was small, and she was so close, he could see tiny flecks of reflected light in her violet eyes. He had only to reach out his hand to touch her... “I’m sorry I’ve gotten you into this uncomfortable position, Katherine. I never meant for you to be embarrassed or—”

  The baby let out a squall. Katherine rose and bent over the crate then lifted Howard into her arms. “You owe me no apology, Trace. I chose to stay to help you keep your home and shop for Howard’s sake. I’m not sorry.” She looked over at him and met his gaze. Tears glistened in her beautiful eyes. “I may be hurt by my choice, but I’ll never be sorry.” Her whisper was fierce. She bent her head and kissed Howard’s cheek. The baby nuzzled at her neck, searching for something to eat. It was the perfect picture of what he had longed for, prayed for and lost.

  His chest tightened; his stomach knotted. He looked down at his plate, picked up his fork and forced himself to take a bite of salmon loaf.

  “Trace...”

  He braced himself and looked up.

  “Please hold Howard while I warm his bottle.”

  She handed the baby to him, took a bottle from the refrigerator and set it in a pan of hot water.

  The baby looked up at him and wiggled his arms. His little mouth puckered and his eyes squeezed shut. He let out a whimper and then another. His little fists beat at the air. It was clear he was getting ready to express his discontent in no uncertain terms. Trace took a deep breath and lifted Howard to his shoulder, patted his tiny back. The baby stopped wiggling and rested there against his heart. So small. So helpless.

  He looked at Katherine standing by the stove, holding a towel while she waited
for the bottle to warm. Her lips curved in the suggestion of a smile. His heart lurched. She was so beautiful, so kind and softhearted, so brave to take on the care of an infant of a woman she didn’t even know. Katherine Fleming was an amazing young woman.

  He jerked his gaze away and stared down at his plate. He had to think of an acceptable excuse to leave as soon as the baby’s bottle was ready. And a reason why he could not come again. It was far too dangerous for him to be here alone with Katherine every day. The baby squirmed, nuzzled at his neck and shoulder, whimpered.

  There was a soft rustle. Katherine’s long gray skirt appeared at the edge of his vision. Awareness of her sizzled along his nerves. He groped for an excuse to leave but could think of nothing.

  “I’m sorry. I just realized I forgot to pour our coffee. I’ll get it now.” She set the baby’s bottle on the table. “Would you please start feeding Howard before he begins to cry? I don’t like him to disturb the Latherops’ meal.” Her skirts flared out as she turned back toward the stove.

  He swallowed his protest, clenched his jaw and shifted the infant to the crook of his arm. The baby’s lips closed on the offered bottle; his tiny fingers brushed his hand and clung, their touch as light as a feather. Pain ripped through him. The pain of a broken heart vibrating to life again. It was his greatest fear coming true.

  Chapter Nine

  Trace took another small swallow of his coffee, looked down at the cold brew and frowned. It wasn’t as good as the coffee Katherine had made at the Latherops’ that afternoon. He’d been nursing the strong, bitter brew along, listening for sounds from the kitchen and waiting for Katherine to join him. He might as well admit it. He’d already stood there staring at the light from her bedroom windows for so long the cold had penetrated his jacket. He’d be shivering in another few minutes. And for what? So he could talk to her about helping Audrey now that she’d done it for two days? A flimsy excuse. The truth was he’d grown to like her coming out on the porch to share a cup of evening coffee with him. Even if he did hide the fact from her.

  He rolled the growing stiffness from his shoulders and pulled his collar up higher in the back, glanced down at the pool of light on the ground. It was plain foolish to stand there waiting for her. He needed to erase the images of her serving his meal and caring for the baby that had filled his mind since this afternoon—not add to them. The memory of her standing in the Latherops’ kitchen wearing an apron with her cheeks pink and a welcoming smile on her face still jolted him to his toes. She’d only been pretending to be a loving wife, of course. But the love glowing in her eyes when she tended the baby was real—and heart-rending. His frown deepened. He’d never meant to cause her hurt. And now...now it was inevitable. Guilt as dark as the night swept through him.

  The light disappeared, returned. He watched her shadow pass through the glow from her bedroom window then pass through it again going the other direction. She was pacing. Why? The baby should be asleep by now. Was there something wrong?

  A dozen possibilities flooded his mind. He scowled at the sudden catch in his pulse and threw the dregs of his cold coffee over the railing. He was becoming too involved with Katherine and the baby. His agreement was to provide for them—not to allow them to intrude into his life. It would serve him better to stop thinking about this afternoon and try to think of a plausible excuse to not join them at the Latherops’ for dinner every day. But it was the sensible thing to do. And so was going inside out of the cold.

  He strode into the entrance, hung his jacket on a peg and went to the kitchen to rinse his cup. He glanced at the coffeepot and reached to dump the contents down the drain, stopped and instead shoved the pot to the back of the stove and closed down the dampers for the night. It would stay hot for a little while—just in case she came downstairs.

  The muscle in front of his ear twitched. He walked to the doorway, cast a glance at the stairs, paused then moved on. He needed a distraction—something to get those images out of his head so he could sleep. He strode into the parlor to get a book, hesitating in front of the piano. He’d had the Steinway shipped even though he hadn’t played it in two years. The piano, his grandmother’s china dishes and his father’s watch were all he had kept of his former possessions. They were the only things he owned with memories attached to them. His chest tightened.

  He pivoted away from the piano and walked to the bookshelves, selected The Pioneers by James Fenimore Cooper and turned to go upstairs, but something wouldn’t let him leave. He turned back to the piano and stared at the gleaming wood, the matching stool he had sat on while he took his lessons.

  No, no, Trace darling. Don’t play from your head, play from your heart!

  How many times had his mother said that to him? He could almost feel her hands resting on his shoulders as she encouraged him to use all of his natural talent. She’d called it his gift. He placed the book on top of the piano and sat down, compelled by memories too strong for him to withstand. He opened the cover and ran his fingers over the keys. He was too out of practice to play anything that required precise timing and intricate fingering. He closed his eyes and let his fingers drift over the keys, find chords and fill in the melody of his mother’s favorite popular song. His throat filled with the words.

  “‘’Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone... All her lovely companions are faded and gone...’”

  * * *

  What was wrong with Howard? Why wouldn’t he settle down to sleep? Katherine patted the baby’s back and tried to stay calm. Trace had told her that first night in the carriage that a baby could sense it if you were upset or anxious, and that it made them fussy. But how did she rid herself of this hollow ache she’d been carrying around the last couple of days? Witnessing the love between Audrey and Blake had stirred longings she had thought buried and gone. And now—after today with Trace—

  She swallowed hard, tried to reject the memories from this afternoon. It had been a pretend situation. But acting the part of a wife and mother had made her buried hunger for love and marriage and a family spring to life. And the sight of Trace feeding the baby—

  She caught her breath, blinked her eyes. Howard wiggled, whimpered. “I’m sorry, little one. Shh, shh...” She put him in his cradle and covered him, rocked him until he calmed then went to the window and looked outside.

  Was Trace out on the porch? She glanced toward her closet, pressed her lips together and sat down at the desk. She would not join Trace for coffee again. She was allowing herself to become too close to Howard and Trace. She ignored the lure of her cloak hanging in the closet and took out paper and pen and ink.

  My dearest sister,

  Have you recovered from the surprising news in my first letter? I hope so, for I have more to share. But first, I must tell you that I am fine. Trace’s house is exceptionally comfortable with beautiful furniture and accoutrements. It is built in the shape of an octagon! Oh, Judith, I can hear your laugh of disbelief, but it’s quite true! I will draw a sketch of the placement of the rooms at the end of this letter so you can see how lovely it is. Outside, a porch wraps around the entire house. I put Howard (the baby I told you of) in his new carriage and walked him around the entire length of it. It was quite a long walk!

  Judith, why did you never tell me about the rattlesnakes here in Wyoming Territory? You know I am terrified of any sort of snake, but a rattlesnake! I assure you, I do not get off the porch or walk anywhere by myself. Trace takes me to town every day so I may tend Audrey. And that is the news I have to share.

  There will be a further delay in my coming to visit. There is a young, newly married couple here in Whisper Creek who needs my help. Mr. Latherop is the owner of the town’s one and only general store, and I happened to be there shopping for some new dress trim when his wife, Audrey, suffered a severe attack of cramps. It seems she is with child, and is in danger of losing the baby if she does not stay
in bed. I offered to take care of her until the danger to the baby passes. That will be almost a month. I will be staying here for at least that long.

  I know... I can hear you sighing and saying, “Katherine, what have you gotten yourself into now?” But truly, Judith, there is no one else here in Whisper Creek to care for Audrey. If I don’t do so, she could lose her baby!

  I will come to visit you as soon as possible, although I am a bit apprehensive of riding the train to Fort Bridger. I understand there are Indian attacks occurring around the fort and upon the trains, also. Please do not come to see me. I do not want you in danger riding on the train.

  I am busy at the Latherop home all day. I make their meals and do simple cleaning. And now Trace is joining me there for dinner every day. It’s quite...cozy...is the most descriptive word that comes to mind. It’s enjoyable cooking for people again. I miss taking care of Mother and Father. I suppose that is not surprising as doing so was the center of my life for five years. Perhaps I should look into becoming a nurse when I return home.

  Little Howard is growing so

  What was that? She stopped writing and listened. The faint sound of a piano being played floated on the silence. She glanced over at Howard. He was fast asleep. She wiped the pen and walked over to open the door. The music grew louder. Trace was a musician! The man was full of surprises. She stepped out into the hallway, drawn by the sound of him playing and singing.

  “‘Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea, mermaids are chaunting the wild lorilie... Over the streamlet, vapors are borne...’”

  She clutched the staircase banister, torn between wanting to hear Trace play and the desire to go back into her bedroom and close the door on the lyrics of the song. He had a nice voice, deep and full. She hesitated then took a breath and slipped down the stairs. The song would be over soon.