Maude heard the familiar buzz of conversation as she entered the boardinghouse kitchen through the back door. But when she proceeded into the dining room, she saw Mrs. Meyer wasn’t presiding over the long rectangular table, and the boarders were taking full advantage of her absence to leave their manners by the wayside, grabbing huge portions and wiping their mouths on the tablecloth. The serving platters were already empty.
Delbert Perry looked up from the biscuit he’d been buttering. “Evenin’, Miss Maude. Mrs. Meyer said you was t’come upstairs soon’s you got in—somethin’ about the little mother havin’ a fever.”
Fear seized Maude’s heart with fingers of ice. April Mae was so weak after the birth. If a fever set in strongly, would she have the energy to fight it? Without saying another word, she turned and dashed into the hallway then fairly few up the stairs without pausing to acknowledge what Perry called after her— “Th’ doctor’s been sent for.”
Little Hannah slept in the cradle, a thumb firmly planted in her mouth.
Mrs. Meyer looked up from where she was bent over the bed, a cloth in her hand. “Oh, Maude, I’m so thankful you’re here. Sarah Walker thought her husband might be home any minute now, but—”
If the older woman finished her sentence, Maude wasn’t aware of it. Her eyes flew to April Mae’s flushed cheeks, her overbright eyes and the pearls of perspiration beading her pallid forehead. Her heart sank at how fragile and exhausted the girl looked already.
“She’s burnin’ up with fever,” Mrs. Meyer said unnecessarily. “And every so often, she starts shakin’ fit to rattle the bed frame apart.”
Maude didn’t have to reach out a confirming hand to the new mother’s forehead to believe it. “April Mae, when did you start feeling ill?” Maude asked, careful to keep her voice calm, even though her spirit quailed within her. Childbed fever—the dreaded sequel to so many births, the cause of so many deaths among new mothers. She thought back to the few preparations she had had time to do in the too-brief span of minutes from the girl’s arrival to the delivery, procedures her father had always insisted were essential—washing her hands, placing clean linens under the laboring girl, boiling the knife that had cut the cord in a pot of water...
Had she done enough? Had she left out some essential step that would have protected April Mae from the fever that racked her now? She couldn’t think of any precaution she’d omitted, but it had been a long time since she’d assisted at a delivery and her memories of those births were not as crystal clear as they had once been. The thought that she might be in some way responsible for the state that April Mae was in left her feeling sick herself.
“I started havin’ chills this mornin’ after you left for the café, Miss Maude,” April Mae said. “Then I got so hot...an’ my belly hurts...”
Maude kept her expression blank. “Then we’ll just work on getting that fever down. I’m sure Dr. Walker will have something to make your belly feel better, too, when he gets here.” She couldn’t remember her father ever having lost a patient to childbed fever, or Dr. Walker, either, though, so she didn’t know what that “something” would be. Laudanum? And what about Hannah—what did this all mean for her? Would it be safe for the baby to continue to nurse while her mother was battling this illness, especially if April Mae was given laudanum?
Telling the girl they’d be right back, she motioned for Mrs. Meyer to follow her out into the hall.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” the boardinghouse proprietress said.
Maude nodded. She felt like a fool for having gone to work at the café as usual. She should have known this was a birth prone to such an infection, what with April Mae’s youth and her long, hard journey to reach Simpson Creek. She should have remained at the boardinghouse and stayed vigilant.
“Mrs. Meyer, do you know of any woman around Simpson Creek who might be nursing a baby right now?”
The older woman’s eyes grew wide at the implication of her question. “You think she’s going to die.”
Maude shook her head. “I hope not, but I don’t know if it’s safe for the baby to nurse if Dr. Walker gives April Mae a sedative.”
Mrs. Meyer pursed her lips. “No, I can’t think of anyone...”
Just then they heard the door open below. A glance over the stair railing brought the welcome sight of Dr. Nolan Walker entering the house.
Within moments he had been introduced to April Mae, washed his hands and examined her, his expression becoming more and more grave as he went on. “You’re giving her willow bark tea to reduce the fever?” he asked Maude.
“I did,” Mrs. Meyer said, “an hour ago.”
“Good.” He turned back to April Mae. “I’m going to give you a mild dose of laudanum to help you sleep.”
Once he’d done that, he indicated that Maude was to follow him from the room. They descended the stairs and went into the parlor so that April Mae couldn’t overhear.
“She’s very seriously ill,” he said. “I think you know that.”
Maude nodded. She had known, but to hear Doctor Walker say so, and see his solemn expression, stole her breath. She had hoped that the doctor’s knowledge and expertise would offer some easy solution that was out of her grasp—some way to make April Mae’s situation less tenuous.
“As you probably know, there’s not a whole lot we can do but treat the fever and try to keep the patient taking in fluids—and pray,” he added. “All of which you’re doing already, I know.”
Walker’s faith in her warmed Maude, but she had no time to take comfort in it.
“What about the baby, Dr. Walker? Is it safe for her to nurse from her mother, especially with the laudanum April Mae has taken?”
Walker rubbed his chin. “It would probably be better if she didn’t, until—unless—this infection starts to get better.”
“Do you know anyone who could...feed the baby?” Maude said. Men and women ordinarily didn’t discuss such intimate things, but she’d grown up with a doctor as a father and she knew this was no time to be prim. The baby’s well-being was at stake, and that was more important than some silly notion of propriety.
Walker looked thoughtful. “I’ve just returned from the deathbed of a young man, a Tejano who lived just outside Simpson Creek—that’s why I wasn’t able to come when Miss Horvath’s baby was born. His unexpected demise sent his wife into labor just after her husband died, and unfortunately her child came too early and was stillborn.”
“How awful!” Maude said, feeling a rush of sympathy for the unknown girl as she tried to imagine surviving the loss of husband and baby in the same day. “Would she... Do you think she would agree to come and feed April Mae’s baby? Would she be able to—would she have milk?”
“There’s one way to find out,” he said. “The widow just happens to be Deputy Menendez’s sister. He and their mother are at his sister’s home with her right now. I could send Sheriff Bishop out to ask if she would be willing to come into town and provide for this baby. I’ll go do that, and let my wife know I’ll be attending Miss Horvath tonight, then I’ll be back.”
Silently, Maude sent up a quick but grateful prayer, thanking the Lord that Doctor Walker knew someone who might be willing to serve as a wet nurse, and also that the doctor would be helping her care for April Mae tonight. She felt the sensation of a great burden sliding off her shoulders.
Just then a thin infant wail drifted down from upstairs. Maude felt her heart go out to the baby, so new to the world and yet so alone in it, and silently promised herself that the tiny girl would not lack for care and comfort in the next few days, no matter what happened to Hannah’s mother. Maude herself would see to that.
* * *
Despite all their prayers and Doctor Walker’s skill, April Mae Horvath slipped into eternity two mornings later.
“God rest her soul,” murmured Juana Benav
ides as Doctor Walker closed April Mae’s eyes. Dressed in mourning, she was the young widow who had—to Maude’s enormous relief—come to nurse little Hannah two nights ago.
“I’ll let the undertaker and Reverend Chadwick know on my way home,” Doctor Walker said, straightening.
By tacit agreement, Mrs. Meyer saw Dr. Walker out while Maude, carrying the sleeping baby, and Juana went next door to a room vacated by Felix Renz. The other drummer boarding in the house had departed just that morning. He’d promised to keep an eye out for Felix Renz as he made his rounds. Unfortunately, they had no clear idea where to look for him, specifically. April Mae had never recovered sufficiently for Maude to be able to ask.
Maude settled herself onto the room’s only chair, while Juana sat on the bed.
“Poor motherless child,” Maude murmured, staring down into the sleeping, innocent face of baby Hannah. “You don’t even know you’ve lost your mama.”
“You care about this baby very much,” Juana said with the quiet kindness she had exhibited since arriving at the boardinghouse, as Maude bent to kiss the little girl’s downy dark head.
“Yes.” Even while she had helped Doctor Walker fight for April Mae Horvath’s life, she had begun to love this helpless little life with more devotion than she had ever thought possible. She had loved before in her lifetime—her family and her friends—but something about Hannah’s helpless state made her feelings for the child deeper than any love she’d felt before, and it filled her with determination to guard the child from any further harm. With God helping me, I won’t let any more tragedy touch your life, she promised the sleeping infant.
“Perhaps you could be little Hannah’s new madre,” Juana suggested.
Maude blinked at the other girl. “But...but she has a father,” she stammered. “Even if we don’t know where he is right now, it’s not up to me to decide what is best for the child.”
Juana made a dismissive gesture, as if Felix Renz were no more than a bit of dust she had dropped from the palm of her hand. “Bah! Even if that worthless hombre is found, what kind of a life can he give her, a wandering seller of pots and pans? He did not even care enough for the little pobrecita’s mother to stay with her after he had gotten her into trouble.”
Juana hadn’t even met Renz, as Maude had, yet her assessment of the man was accurate enough, Maude thought. Felix Renz wasn’t wicked or cruel—if he was, Mrs. Meyer would not have permitted him to stay in her boardinghouse. But he was shiftless and irresponsible. Not the sort of man who could be trusted to take proper care of a newborn, even if the child was his own.
She gazed down again at Hannah’s sleeping face as Juana’s words began to take hold in her heart. She had conceived a fierce, protective love of this child from the first moment she’d held her, a love that did much to fill an empty place within her she hadn’t even known existed. Hannah needed a guardian and protector...while Maude needed someone to love. Yes. She wanted to keep this baby and call her her own.
Then she felt a pang of guilt, remembering that Juana had been the one who had been nursing this baby, despite her grief over her own lost child and husband. “But what about you?” she asked Juana. “Don’t you want to—” The infant in her arms gave a little squeak, and Maude realized her arms had tightened around her too much, in instinctive fear that the little one might be taken away from her. She relaxed them immediately, and Hannah resumed slumbering.
“I love that little dear one,” Juana said, nodding toward Hannah in Maude’s arms. “She has given me a purpose and kept me from despair after losing my Tomás and my little Tulio.” It was the first time she had mentioned her dead baby’s name, or her husband’s, since she’d arrived, though Maude often heard her weeping at night through the their common wall. “But she is an Anglo baby, sí? I love her, too, and I will stay with her as long as she needs me, but if I raised her as her mother, she might not be accepted in either the Anglo world or the Tejano one, do you see?”
Maude stared at her as the simple, stark truth sank in. However good relations were in Simpson Creek between the Tejanos and the Texans—or Anglos as the Tejanos called them—outside of it there was much anti-Mexican prejudice on the part of the whites, and resentment on the part of the Tejanos, who had settled this land first. A child caught between the two worlds would face the worst of both communities’ prejudices. Juana was right—it wouldn’t be fair to do that to Hannah—and it was all the more reason for Maude to keep her.
But if Maude kept Hannah and raised her—assuming Renz never returned to claim his daughter—she would need Juana’s help, and Juana couldn’t stay here at the boardinghouse indefinitely. Maude knew Mrs. Meyer well enough to know that as fond of Hannah as she was, the old woman was already fretting about the loss of rent from the room Juana was using. She’d had to turn away one customer already. And several of the men had lost no time in complaining about the noise of the baby’s crying.
Maude would have shared her own room with Juana gladly, but the room was tiny and the bed too narrow for two. Her funds wouldn’t stretch to the rent for two rooms. And that still wouldn’t resolve the problem of Hannah’s crying disturbing the other boarders. Even if Maude tried to arrange some deal with Mrs. Meyer to rent the two rooms, Maude doubted the woman would agree if having the baby on the premises drove away any of her other customers.
Juana’s mother lived in town, and the girl had mentioned that she wanted her daughter to come home now that she was widowed, but if Juana took Hannah there, the child wouldn’t know Maude by the time she was weaned. And Juana was young and attractive. Men might not wait long to come calling. And if Juana remarried, she might move away and Maude would lose track of Hannah forever.
She thought of the little cottage on the grounds of Gilmore House, the sumptuous mansion where the mayor and his wife lived. They would have let Maude and Juana use it for nothing, and it would have been perfect for the purpose. But Ella and her new husband would be occupying the cottage until Nate could build their house behind the café, which might not be for months unless the winter was very mild.
What to do? Please, Lord, show me the way...
Just then a knock sounded at the front entrance below. She tensed, thinking she might need to answer it, but then she heard Mrs. Meyer’s steady, measured steps heading for the door. It was too soon to expect the undertaker, in all likelihood. Would Mrs. Meyer have to turn away another customer? Was there any chance it was Felix Renz? Had someone found him already?
Maude rose and pushed open the door of Juana’s room about halfway, so they could hear who it was. She saw the swift look of understanding in Juana’s eyes.
“Yes, sir. What may I do for you?”
“My name is Jonas MacLaren, ma’am,” Maude heard the newcomer say. “I’m here to see Miss Harkey, if I may?”
Maude’s felt her heartbeat lurch into a gallop. Could the Lord be answering her prayer already, just a moment after she had prayed it?
“You have a gentleman caller?” Juana asked, a small smile playing about her lips. “An amante—a sweetheart?”
“No, nothing like that,” Maude said. “Juana, do you want to go home and live with your mother?”
Juana Benavides’s reaction was quick and unmistakeable. “No, I do not. I love mi madre, of course, but her house is diminuto, tiny. And full. My abuela, my grandmother, lives there, and my brother Luis, and my younger sisters...I have been a wife, Maude. I do not want to go back and live like an unmarried daughter.” Her eyes were wistful and sad.
“How would you feel about living on a ranch, at least for a while, until Hannah is weaned?”
Juana’s lovely forehead furrowed with confusion. “You have a ranch? Then why do you live here?”
“No, I don’t own a ranch. But I have an idea. I’ll explain everything after I talk to the gentleman downstairs—if he’s agreeable.”
Chapter Four
Jonas watched her descend the stairs, regal as a queen, despite the fact that the dress she wore was everyday calico and the stair treads she set foot on were threadbare.
He stepped forward to greet her and she stopped on the last step, so they were at eye level. “Good morning, Mr. MacLaren. How nice of you to come calling.” Her blue eyes assessed him, as if daring him to admit right now that the reason for his visit wasn’t in the nature of a simple social call.
He’d take that dare, he decided. He didn’t have time to dance delicately around the matter.
“Good morning, Miss Harkey...” He hesitated, as one of the male boarders loomed suddenly over the railing, staring down at him curiously. Jonas’s gaze darted around the hallway. “Is there somewhere we could talk privately?”
Maude’s smile was serene. “I believe the parlor is free at the moment,” she said, leading the way and gesturing for him to follow her.
He chose a straight-backed, cane-bottomed chair, leaving her the more comfortable horsehair-stuffed sofa next to it.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. She just sat there waiting expectantly, while he searched for the right words, the right expression, that would ensure she gave him the answer that he wanted. He could brook no more delays in finding a companion for his mother, and he knew down to his bones that Maude Harkey was the right woman for the job. But could he make her see that?
He cleared his throat, which had become thick with apprehension. “Miss Harkey, when we met Saturday, you will recall that I asked you to consider a position as companion to my mother. At the time, you declined to consider it.”
Hill Country Courtship Page 4
