Wedded for the Baby

by Dorothy Clark

  “But I want to—”

  He shook his head. “This is no time for argument, Mrs. Karl. I need dispassionate, steady hands to assist me.” He picked up Eddie as gently as possible and started back to the path.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll do whatever is best for Eddie. And I’ll be happy to care for your baby. Minna, do as Mr. Warren asked—and hurry.” Mrs. Karl lifted her toddler into her arms and fell into step beside him.

  * * *

  Katherine burst into Trace’s shop, stopping at the sight of Ivy Karl leaning against the counter, her face pale, her eyes swollen and red and shadowed with fear. “Why, Ivy! What—Minna said—”

  “Through there.” Ivy waved a shaking hand toward the door behind the counter.

  Had something happened to Trace? Katherine’s heart lurched. She slipped behind the counter and rushed through the door, fearful of what she would find. “Trace? Are you all right? Minna told me you wanted me—” She stopped, stared. Trace was bent over Eddie, who was lying with his eyes closed on a long table. The boy’s torso was draped with a cloth that left his legs and arms exposed. Bloody legs and arms. Her stomach flopped. “What happened?”

  “Eddie fell out of a tree. I need you to help me patch him up.”

  “Me?” It came out a squeak. She looked at Trace washing blood off Eddie’s leg. An ugly gash appeared on the boy’s thigh. Fresh blood welled from it. She swallowed hard and leaned back against the door for support.

  “You said you wanted to be a nurse.”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes. But for sick—”

  “This is your chance.”

  “But I don’t know anything about—”

  He glanced up, fastened his gaze on her. “Eddie doesn’t have time for you to learn, Katherine. Just do what I tell you. First, wash your hands in that bowl of carbolic acid.”

  “But Howard—”

  “Mrs. Karl will care for him. And Audrey. Now hurry—and wash thoroughly.”

  His voice was stern, authoritative. She pulled in a breath, stepped to the table and washed her hands.

  “Now dip one of those cloths in this bowl of warm water and carbolic acid and clean the cut on his forehead. Make certain you remove any foreign material like bits of bark or pine needles or moss or dirt. When it’s absolutely clean, tell me.” He went back to cleansing the gaping wound on Eddie’s leg.

  Her stomach roiled. Tears sprang to her eyes. She stared down at the rambunctious nine-year-old scamp she’d come to know. “What if I hurt him?”

  “There’s no need to whisper. Eddie can’t hear you. He’s unconscious. He won’t feel a thing. Now blink those tears from your eyes—No! Don’t touch your face. Your hands are clean! Do not touch anything you haven’t washed in the carbolic acid. Now hurry and get the work done before he wakes up.”

  She blinked her vision clear and watched him cleaning the wound on Eddie’s leg, his movements quick and sure. Please help me to do this, Lord! Please don’t let Eddie wake up—don’t let him feel any pain. She dipped a cloth in the acid water and dabbed at Eddie’s cut. It wasn’t as bad as she expected once she washed off the blood. “I’m finished.”

  Trace looked up from his work, stepped to her side and peered closely at the wound. “Excellent job, Katherine.”

  It was over! She sagged against the table and looked toward the door, waiting for the strength to come back into her legs so she could leave.

  “Now come and hold this wound together so I can stitch it.”

  Stitch it! Bile surged into her throat. She stared after him as he moved back down the table to Eddie’s leg. “Trace, I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can. I need you to help me if I’m to get this done before he wakes.”

  She took a breath to settle her stomach, but her hands and knees were shaking beyond her power to control.

  “Put your hands here...like this.”

  His hands closed on hers, moved them into place. Strength flowed into her at his touch. The shaking eased. He looked down at her.

  “All right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now hold your hands steady so the edges of the wound stay in place.”

  She watched him prepare the needle, then fixed her gaze on him. His hands brushed against hers as he worked. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth of his touch. His hand touched her shoulder.

  “I’m finished. Now we will do the same for the cut on his forehead.”

  She held her breath and held the wound closed, thought about Howard and how he was trying to make little baby sounds when she talked to him. He waved his arms and kicked his legs and—

  “Very good, Katherine. Now we’ve only to set his arm and—”

  His tone had changed. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “And?”

  The muscle on his jaw jumped. “Wait for Eddie to wake up.” He dumped powder from a bag into a bowl, added some water and stirred.

  She looked down at Eddie, so pale and still. She hadn’t thought—Fear knotted her stomach, closed her throat. Her thoughts darted to Ivy Karl waiting, praying, while she tended Howard... Make him wake up, Lord. Please make Eddie wake up.

  “Come over here beside me, Katherine.” He took hold of Eddie’s arm, ran his fingers along it, twisted it.

  The room swayed. She grabbed the edge of the table.

  “Katherine, open your eyes! Look at me!”

  She forced her eyes open, focused on his face. “Don’t give out on me now, Katherine. I need you to hold Eddie’s arm in position while I wrap it. Take a deep breath.”

  She nodded, blinked and took Eddie’s arm in her hands, tried not to think about the tension in Trace’s voice when he had mentioned waiting for Eddie to wake up. Almighty Lord, please make Eddie wake up. Trace’s hands blurred. The strips of cloth he dipped into the plaster then wrapped on Eddie’s arm became a hard white splotch without form. Water splashed. Something blue waved through the air. Trace’s hands touched hers.

  “You can let go now.”

  He wiped plaster from the edge of her hand with a wet cloth, dried it with a blue towel. Tears welled into her eyes, boiled into her throat. She turned her back and buried her face in her hands, tried to stem the flow with pressure from her fingers.

  “Katherine...”

  She shook her head, tried to speak and choked on a sob. His hands closed on her shoulders, turned her around. She collapsed against him, sobbed against his solid chest. His arms closed around her, held her close.

  “Don’t cry, Katherine. It’s over. It’s all over now...”

  His deep voice washed over her, quiet and reassuring. But the hand that wiped tears from her cheek trembled. He pulled in a long, deep breath, the sound a whisper beneath her ear, and then there was only the beat of his heart and the strength of his arms holding her while she cried.

  * * *

  The frost on the grasses glistened in the moonlight. Trace yanked his collar tighter around his neck, blew on his hands and stared at the soft golden glow of the kitchen windows. Katherine was waiting for him. His heart thudded.

  He clamped down on the longing to march into the house, take her in his arms and kiss her until he’d satisfied the yearning that had been building since the first time he’d looked into her eyes at the train station. Since holding her in his arms this afternoon, he doubted that satisfaction was possible.

  He frowned and walked toward his house that was beginning to feel like a home. He couldn’t afford that. Even the catch in his breath at the anticipation of her waiting for him was too much.

  How had he let this happen? He knew better than to allow another woman into his life. But Katherine was so—He broke off the thought. It didn’t matter what Katherine was. He didn’t want her in his heart or his head! He’d suffered enough because a woman he
’d loved had died. He would not go through that again. He needed to maintain his emotional distance from Katherine until the right woman answered the posting he’d sent out to the newspapers in New York City and Philadelphia. He wanted no more errors.

  He firmed the thought in his mind, climbed the porch steps and hung his coat and hat in the entrance. The smell of coffee hit him when he stepped through the kitchen door. But it was the sight of Katherine standing in the center of the room, her shoulders squared, her hand pressed to the base of her throat and her incredible eyes shaded with worry, that slugged him in the gut.

  “Eddie’s awake. He’s going to be all right.” Her smile stole what little was left of his breath. “Is that coffee fresh?” He growled the words, frowned and cleared his throat. He didn’t want coffee—he wanted Katherine in his arms. He gritted his teeth, turned his back and closed the entrance door. Her long skirts swished. China rattled against china. Two cups. He clenched his hands.

  “Thank the Lord for His blessing. I’m so happy for Ivy and Pastor Karl. It had to be terrible for them waiting for—” Her soft, husky voice broke. “Well, that doesn’t matter now.” Liquid flowed. The coffee smell grew stronger. “Thanks to your care, and the Lord’s mercy, Eddie will be fine.” She set the coffeepot back on the stove, turned and looked at him. “He will be fine, won’t he?”

  He stiffened at her praise. He didn’t want her or anyone else to start thinking of him that way. “All I did was patch Eddie up. Waking him was the Lord’s doing. His healing is out of my hands.” He lifted his cup from the worktable and switched the subject. “I apologize for treating you so harshly this afternoon, Katherine. I’m sorry. I ask your forgiveness.”

  “You have it, though none is needed. You did exactly the right thing, Trace. If you hadn’t, I would have collapsed—much sooner...”

  She looked away. But not before he caught a glimpse of the memory of those moments after the surgery in her eyes. “Katherine, I need to—”

  Her hand lifted palm out. “Pardon me, Trace, but I think I hear Howard crying. I’ll have to forgo my coffee. Good evening.” She whirled and hurried from the kitchen.

  The baby wasn’t crying. He fought down the urge to go after her, stared at the empty doorway and listened to her footsteps fade away as she climbed the stairs. Guilt knifed him in the heart. He resisted it. He had to be brusque with her. It was the only way he would survive.

  He drew his gaze from the doorway, spotted a cloth draped over a dish on the table, walked over and lifted the towel. He sucked in a breath. There was a cold beef sandwich, a sliced pickle and two hard-boiled eggs. A piece of chocolate cake rested on a dessert plate. His chest squeezed so tight it hurt.

  Ah Key didn’t bake cakes.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was because it had been so long since anyone had held her. Had made her feel...cared about. That was all it was. For the last five years she had been the strong one. She had taken care of others. Katherine took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. It was time to stop her foolishness. Trace Warren did not care for her. This afternoon had been...had been mere kindness. Why, he could barely tolerate her presence in his house. And it was getting worse. Even the politeness between them was becoming strained.

  She yanked off the crocheted snood that held her long hair in a thick roll at her nape, marched to the dressing table and dragged her hairbrush through the dark, wavy mass. Would it have been so difficult for him to be just a little grateful that she had waited for him through the long hours he’d spent with Ivy and Konrad Karl waiting for Eddie to wake up? Or that she had fixed him a light meal and made him coffee? And baked him a cake?

  The tears flowed again. Why had he had to hold her this afternoon anyway? It certainly wasn’t the first time she had cried with no one to see or hear or comfort her. She didn’t need Trace Warren to hold her, to take care of her. It just made everything...worse. She whirled from the mirror, checked to make sure Howard was sleeping, then strode to the closet for her nightgown and dressing robe and carried them to the dressing room. She needed a long, hot bath!

  * * *

  Water splashed against the prow of the boat. She peered into the haze in front of her. Yes. He was there. A shadowy figure standing in front of the ship at the end of the stone jetty. Waves broke over the stone, lapped at his feet. He moved toward the ship.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” The plea to the unseen rowers burst from her throat. Katherine flopped onto her side in her bed, tightened her grip on the covers.

  “Richard? Richard, wait!” She lifted her hems, climbed from the boat and ran toward the man at the end of the jetty. The hazy figure faded into darkness. She boarded the ship and looked around. Music came from somewhere inside. She stepped through a portal, stopped. Richard stood beside a man playing the piano. Her heart raced. She moved toward them. Richard turned, smiled and faded into the mist.

  She watched him disappear. The grief in her heart rose in a cloud and drifted away. A sadness remained. She closed her eyes to hold back her tears.

  The music stopped. Strong arms closed about her. She leaned into their embrace, her heart soaring—the chords that were broken vibrating once more. Lips claimed hers. She sighed and opened her eyes. Trace!

  She woke, her heart pounding. Howard was whimpering. She turned over and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was too soon for him to have another bottle. She must have called out because of the dream and wakened him. “Shh...shh...” She stretched out her arm and rocked the cradle, shaken by the dream. Always before it had ended when Richard smiled and disappeared. She must have been more...comforted by Trace holding her this afternoon than she realized.

  Howard whimpered louder, started to cry.

  “What’s wrong, little one? Do you need your diaper changed?” She shook off the wistful longings awakened by the dream, rose and shrugged into her dressing gown. She pushed her hair over her shoulders out of her way and bent down to pull back the blankets. His soaker was still dry. He cried harder, the pitiful whimpers touching her heart.

  “It’s all right, precious boy. I’m here...” She lifted him into her arms, snuggled him close and patted his back. He was trembling. Heat radiated from his tiny body. She turned up the oil lamp and looked down at him. His cheeks were red. His normally bright eyes dull, but glassy. She whirled and ran out of her room and down the hall.

  “Trace! Trace, wake up!” She jiggled the baby in one arm, fisted her other hand and pounded on Trace’s door.

  “What is it?”

  His door opened. Trace stood in the gap, tying the belt on his dressing gown. His gaze locked on hers. Reality cleared away all residue of the dream. Even so, seeing him made her feel better—and a little foolish for her panic. She took a breath. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I think Howard is sick. He’s awfully hot. And he’s been fretful all day and is more so tonight.”

  A frown creased his forehead. His hand brushed against her face as he placed it on Howard’s tiny cheek. “You’re right. He has a fever. And he’s trembling.” His face took on that frozen look she’d grown to hate. “Take him to your dressing room and undress him, but don’t let him get chilled—keep him wrapped in his blanket. I’ll be right there.”

  She swallowed back a dozen questions, hurried to the dressing room and worked quickly, cooing comforting words to Howard as she undressed him beneath the cover of a blanket. His little chin quivered. His small body shuddered. “You’re going to be all right, little one...yes, you are. Trace will make you all better...” Please, Lord...

  She wrapped the baby in his blanket and held him on her shoulder, rubbing his tiny back—at a loss as to what to do next without Trace’s guidance. She snatched at that thought to hold back the worry tightening her chest. Why did Trace always seem to know exactly what to do? Where had he learned to treat the sick and help the injured? And how did he know so much ab
out babies?

  Footsteps. She sagged with relief and fastened her gaze on the doorway. Trace stepped into the dressing room wearing trousers and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Her pulse jumped, steadied. She held her silence and watched him fill the baby’s tub and spread a towel on the bottom.

  “You’re giving him a bath?”

  He nodded and reached for Howard. “I’m hoping to bring down his fever. And make him more comfortable.” He slipped the baby into the warm water. His forehead creased in another frown. “I don’t like his trembling. I’m hoping to prevent any seizure—”

  “Seizure!” Her stomach clenched. She looked down at Howard lying in the tub, crying. He usually wiggled and kicked his legs and waved his arms. “What’s wrong with him?” She forced the words past the lump of fear in her throat.

  “I suspect he’s got the flu that is going around.”

  “But we’ve been so careful! I use the alcohol and—”

  “Sometimes being careful and doing all you know to do isn’t enough.”

  His words were weighted with bitterness. She jerked her gaze to his face. All expression was gone except for some tightness around his mouth and eyes. His eyes! Pain shadowed them like a dark curtain. She bit down on her lower lip and clenched her hands at her sides to keep from offering him comfort.

  “He’s stopped trembling. A minute more and you can dry and dress him. But again, don’t let him get chilled. Is everything ready?” He glanced up at her.

  Their gazes met. She nodded, willed her hands to stay steady and held out a towel. He lifted the baby into it and quickly wrapped the excess around him. Her breath caught when his hands touched hers.

  He stepped back, rolled down his sleeves. “While you put his nightclothes on him, I’m going to add coal to the fire in his room. I prefer he stay warm without being bundled in blankets.”

  “He sleeps in his cradle in my bedroom.”