“Yes, Doctor?”
“Don’t forget Howard. Babies often have relapses...”
The pastor nodded, slapped his hat on his head then reached out and rested his hand on his shoulder. “The baby, too. None of you will be forgotten.”
Howard whimpered, let out a cry.
Pastor Karl smiled. “Your son is calling you.”
He nodded, stepped back and closed the door, puzzled by the odd feeling of comfort that had washed over him at the pastor’s touch.
“Katherine!” He rushed over to the cradle, grasped her by her upper arms, lifted her off her knees and carried her back and tucked her under her covers. “I told you to stay in bed.”
“Howard was c-crying.” Her eyelids slipped closed. “I c-couldn’t reach him.”
“So you climbed out of bed to go to him?”
“He’s my baby.”
Guilt shot through him. He didn’t mean to, but he had put Katherine in a position that would break her heart. “Go to sleep, Katherine. I’ll tend to Howard.”
A smile curved her lips. “I know. You’re g-going to be a w-wonderful father to him.” Her smile faded.
Guardian. Not father. The muscle along his jaw twitched. He looked around the room, stared at the door. He couldn’t leave. He was trapped by circumstances of his own making. He walked over and placed a bottle in the pan of hot water, picked up the baby and carried him to the dressing room. The bottle would be warm by the time he had finished changing Howard’s diaper and dressed him for the day.
He tried not to, but he couldn’t help tickling and playing with the baby who wiggled and squirmed and made soft little noises that seemed to burble their way up from his toes to his tiny mouth. He wrapped the dressed infant in a blanket and carried him back to Katherine’s bedroom to feed him. He would give Howard advice and supervision and all that money could provide as he grew to manhood. But he could not give him a father’s heart. He didn’t have one to give. His was buried in a grave in New York.
He sat in the rocker, started feeding Howard his bottle and glanced up at the clock. When would Ah Key bring Mrs. Zhong to apply for the position of nurse-nanny? She was his only hope until some woman answered the postings he’d placed in the New York and Philadelphia newspapers.
* * *
Her head didn’t ache. There was no pounding in her temples. No chills shook her body. Katherine opened her eyes to the dim glow of the oil lamp. Trace was asleep in the rocker. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him. He looked younger with his blond hair mussed and the tension gone from his face.
Thirst drew her gaze toward the pitcher and glass on the nightstand. She braced herself for the consequences and turned onto her side. No aches spread through her. Only that debilitating weakness.
Trace’s eyes opened. His gaze met hers. He leaned forward and touched her brow, nodded. “You’re better.” There was relief in his voice and eyes.
“Yes.” The word scraped its way out of her dry throat.
He rose, poured water into the glass then slipped his arm beneath her head and shoulders and held it to her lips. “Drink slowly.”
She held the first bit of water in her mouth a moment to let it moisten the dry tissue, then drank a few swallows. It felt wonderful. So did his arm holding her. She had a sudden wish that her hair was brushed.
“Do you want more?”
She nodded and finished the water. “Thank you.” Fatigue gripped her. Her eyelids slid closed, refused to open again. He lowered her to her pillows and pulled the covers up. His hand brushed against her face, lingered a moment and then moved away.
* * *
Katherine bent over the crib, caught Howard’s tiny hands in hers and clapped them together. “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man...” The baby smiled and kicked his legs, wiggled and cooed his baby talk at her. Her heart ached with love for him. She longed to pick him up and hold him, but it wasn’t safe for him in her weakened condition. Howard liked to bounce and to grab fistfuls of her hair. It was Mrs. Zhong who tended to him now. The Chinese nanny had proved very capable over the last few days. Howard no longer needed her to care for him. It was she who needed him.
“Time give baby bottle, him go sleep.”
She looked at the Chinese woman and smiled to hide the pain in her heart. Howard had grown too big and too active for his cradle. “Yes, of course.” She leaned down and kissed Howard’s little hands and his chubby cheek, forced words from her constricted throat. “Sleep well, little one. I’ll see you when you wake.” She straightened and made her way to her bedroom. Her borrowed bedroom. For how long?
The hem of her velvet gown whispered across the floor as she crossed to the writing desk. She picked up the letter from New York she had found on the floor and stared down at the address in feminine handwriting—“Mr. Trace Warren, Whisper Creek, Wyoming Territory.” Was this the one? Was this the woman who would replace her as Trace’s wife?
Her stomach knotted. She took a deep breath and slipped the unopened letter in her pocket to take downstairs to him. It was time to stop this charade they were playing for all their sakes. And her continued weakness from being ill was the perfect reason. It would be Trace’s explanation when she was gone.
* * *
The whistle echoed down the valley announcing the train’s arrival. Come and let me take care of you until you get your health and strength back. Katherine tucked Judith’s letter in her purse and looked out the window. Trace would be getting ready to dispense his medications to any sick passengers that came to his shop. Things were back to normal for him—but not for her. They would never again be the same as they were for her. She had fallen in love with her husband.
She leaned against the desk chair and watched the snow falling, the big fluffy flakes clinging to the wood grid that separated the small panes of glass and piling on the sill. Soft sounds came from the nursery. Mrs. Zhong was a quiet woman. Tears filmed her eyes. She blinked them away, buttoned on her coat, tied on her hat and hurried out of her bedroom and down the stairs. She had said her goodbyes to her baby, and if she saw him again she would not have the courage or strength to leave him.
She swallowed back her sobs, pulled on her gloves and went out on the porch to wait for Ah Key to bring the carriage around front—not to the back kitchen entrance where she’d waited every day for Trace to take her to town. She couldn’t bear to see the nanny rocker, or the table where she first sat and had coffee with Trace at night.
Trace. He wouldn’t be coming to the train station to say goodbye. She had asked him not to, and he had agreed. She opened her purse and looked to be certain she had the ticket to Fort Bridger he had bought for her. Her fingers touched the tin of fever and headache pills he had insisted she take with her in case of a relapse. Tears fell. The doctor was concerned about her leaving. The man didn’t care. She sagged back against the porch wall and fought to keep her knees from giving way.
* * *
The train whistle blew its warning signal of imminent departure. The last of the passengers that had come seeking medicine or advice hurried out the door. The bell jangled. Trace tore his apron off, grabbed his coat and hurried out the back door of his shop. The supply road was shorter.
The cold penetrated his shirt and vest, chilled his skin. He shoved his arms into the coat’s sleeves and yanked it over his shoulders, his long strides eating up the distance to the railroad station. He had told her he wouldn’t come to see her off, but he had to see her aboard that train. She was still so weak—
He broke into a run. A stone rolled beneath his foot, his ankle twisted and he fell to his knees. The train whistle gave its double blast. No! He surged to his feet, gritted his teeth against a sharp pain and ran. His ankle gave. He crashed to the ground, grabbed his ankle, felt for any misplaced bone. It was not broken.
Black smoke puffed into
the air. The train lurched forward then chugged off down the valley.
She was gone. He had got what he wanted. A safe, empty life.
He rolled to his knees, rose and hobbled back toward his shop.
* * *
“Katherine! Oh, Katherine, look at you!” Judith’s arms wrapped her in a fierce hug. “You’re so thin you feel like a stick!”
Tears threatened. She pulled out of her older sister’s arms and smiled. “Well, you look wonderful, Judith. Oh, it’s so good to see you again!” Her words choked off. She walked to the edge of the platform and looked out at the groups of buildings a short distance from the station to gain control. “That is Fort Bridger?”
“It is. That row of buildings on the right side is the officers’ quarters.” Judith came and slipped her arm through hers. “But you will learn all of that soon enough. For now, let’s get you home. You look exhausted.” She waved a hand toward a soldier standing by a wagon. “Private Durgan, get my sister’s trunk and valise loaded and take us home.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The soldier hefted her trunk onto his shoulder, carried it to the wagon and set it in the back. “Allow me to help you, miss. It’s hard to climb into these supply wagons.” Hard hands gripped her thin waist and heaved.
“Oh!” She grabbed for his shoulders. He swung her over the side onto the board seat, turned and helped her sister climb up by using the wheel. She shook out her skirts and made room for Judith to sit beside her.
The private tossed her valise in the back with her trunk and the other crates he had loaded, climbed to the seat, picked up the reins and looked at her sister. “I’ll go easy as I can, ma’am.”
She held on to the front of the seat as the wagon jolted and jerked along the short stretch of road from the railroad rails to the fort, then stopped in front of a rectangular log building with two windows and two centered doors.
“This is it.” Judith backed over the sideboard, put her foot on the wheel hub, hopped down and opened the door on the right. “Welcome, Katherine.”
She smiled her thanks to the soldier who lifted her down and followed her sister into the house. It was small and cozy. A warm fire welcomed them. The exhaustion that had plagued her since her sickness washed over her in a wave. She placed her hand on the back of the settee for support.
“In there.” Judith waved the soldier carrying her trunk and valise toward a door on the left. She tugged off her gloves, hung her coat on a peg by the front door and hurried over to her. “Let me take your coat and hat.” Her sister’s fingers undid the ties and buttons, draped her hat and coat over the back of the settee. “Now you are going to bed.”
“No, Judith, I’m—”
“Not to argue with your older sister.” Judith wrapped her arm about her waist and half carried her to the bed in the small room. “Now you rest while I make us some tea. And then we’ll talk while we unpack your trunk.”
The log-cabin quilt on the bed stole her protest. She lifted the corner, sat and brushed her hand across the fine stitching. “This is the quilt Mother made for you and Robert.”
Judith nodded, bent down. “One of them.” There were tugs on her feet and ankles as her sister unlaced and removed her boots. “The wedding-ring quilt is on our bed. It’s kept us warm on many a cold night. Now rest. And pay no mind to bugle calls and shouting and horses racing by. That sort of thing goes on all the time at an army post.” The door closed, and the room went dim.
She looked toward the door, considered following her sister out into the other room, but the bed was too tempting. She slipped her legs under the quilt, pulled it up over her shoulders and touched it against her cheek. It was almost like having her mother’s hand resting there. She sighed, wiped the tears from her cheeks and closed her eyes.
* * *
Trace’s footsteps lagged. Wind swooped down off the mountains, plastered the wet snow against him. He tucked his chin against his chest, tugged his hat brim down and stared out from under it at the house. The windows glowed with soft golden lamplight, but there was no welcome in them. She wasn’t there.
The band of heaviness that had squeezed his chest all day tightened. He firmed his gloved grip on the crutches and tried to close out the image of the train carrying her away. Her going to Fort Bridger to see her sister in the hope that her strength would return with rest and care was the best thing that could have happened. Mrs. Zhong was caring for Howard. Katherine had an opportunity to improve her health. And he had exactly what he wanted. Katherine had removed herself from his life. He was free of her company. He would eat his meals alone. Drink his coffee alone. And he had no reason to feel guilty. It had worked out perfectly. Except for the pain in Katherine’s eyes.
He sucked in a breath, coughing when the frigid air burned his lungs. He should have taken her to the station and put her on the train in spite of her request that he let her go alone. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so...troubled. Maybe he wouldn’t have this empty feeling gnawing at his gut if he’d taken the opportunity to tell her goodbye. And he wouldn’t have this sprained ankle.
He scowled, stomped the snow from his boots as best he could, climbed the steps and crossed the porch. The nanny bench sat against the house wall, abandoned and sprinkled with snow. He closed his mind to the memories of Katherine rocking Howard or sitting with her feet drawn up under her long skirts and sipping her coffee and yanked open the kitchen door. The smell of food turned his stomach sour. The glimpse of the one place set at the dining room table did the same for his disposition. So much for the pleasure of dining alone. Was she dining with her sister? Or being entertained by a group of army officers?
That thought didn’t improve his mood. He shrugged out of his coat, jammed it and his hat on a peg, leaned the crutches in the corner and thumped his way through the dining room to go upstairs. He was in no mood for an inquisition from Ah Key about his leg. He strained against the silence to hear any sound. There was no laughter or baby cooing. No soft, husky voice singing a lullaby.
He fought the urge to go to the nursery and check on Howard, opened his bedroom door and flopped on his bed to rest his ankle until it was time to wash up for supper.
Chapter Fifteen
“Ooh, this blue silk is beautiful! I love the way this overskirt pulls up at the side.”
“It is pretty.” Katherine lifted a dark green taffeta dress from the trunk and smoothed out the lace on the bodice. The fabric felt stiff, the lace scratchy, but she didn’t have to think about the baby’s comfort anymore. She blinked and cleared the lump from her throat. “You take the dress, Judith. It will look wonderful on you with your blond curls and blue eyes.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. But I will borrow it for the Officers’ Christmas Ball.” Judith laughed, held the gown up to her and twirled around in the free space in the small bedroom.
Christmas. She would have to act happy and festive. Katherine forced a smile, hung the green gown on a peg and sat down to rest. “The gown is my gift to you—and Robert. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you. Not that he ever does when you two are in the same room.” Her voice broke. She looked down at the open trunk to hide her tears. Thank You, Lord, that Judith is so happy with Robert. Thank You, that she has her true love. Please answer the longing of their hearts and give them a child. A baby. Pain ripped through her.
“You’re too generous for your own good, Katherine.” Judith smoothed out the dress and hung it on a peg. “Tell me about this stranger you married for the sake of his baby.”
“I told you most of it in my letters, Judith.” Concentrate on the details, not on your feelings. “Howard is not Trace’s baby. He was born out of wedlock to the woman with whom Trace Warren had entered into an in-name-only marriage agreement.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“Nor had I.”
“But you signed such
a contract...” Judith lifted a ruffled petticoat from the trunk and shook it out.
“Yes. For the baby’s sake. Miss Howard had bequeathed custody of her baby to Trace, who had agreed to raise him as his own. But there was no woman in town to...care for an infant.” Her throat thickened. Please, Lord, no more questions. Judith’s arms closed around her, hugged her close.
“I’m sorry, Katydid. I know the way you give away your heart, and—oh, Katydid, I wish I could help you.”
She found the strength to drag up a smile. “You can. Stop calling me that horrid childhood name.” She forced a semblance of the old childhood threat into her voice. “You don’t want the soldiers on this base to call you Puffball, do you?”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, but I would.” They broke into laughter. The painful knots in her stomach eased. Perhaps she would survive after all. She smoothed out her blue quilted nightclothes and slid them into a drawer in a small dresser in the corner. “Is there more tea, Judith?”
“I thought you preferred black coffee.”
An image of Trace standing on the back porch, looking at her over top of his coffee cup, flashed before her. Tears welled. “Not anymore.” Her sister looked at her. She closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. “I find I don’t want coffee since—” she drew a breath to control the tears “—since I’ve been ill.”
Judith closed the trunk and took hold of her hand. “I think you’re working too hard, little sister. Why don’t we go and sit in front of the fire and visit?” She followed as Judith led her to the settee. “Robert is leading night patrol and won’t be home until late tomorrow afternoon. We can finish your unpacking after supper. Now, you were telling me about Trace Warren.”
She sighed. There was no point in trying to change the subject again. Judith would not give up until she knew the whole story. “What do you want to know?”
“When did you fall in love with him?”
Wedded for the Baby Page 18
