“I’ll never forget your kindness to A–Anna.”
“I did nothing for her!”
Emily stared at him. Her eyes held an ache he could barely stand to see. His voice sounded rough as he asserted, “You don’t need to make any decisions right now. Stay here—at least for a few months.”
Emily shook her head. “You’ve been more than generous. Even if Edward lied, you showed great personal honor to provide grandly for our Anna. He duped us, but that’s all in the past now. Duncan and I never expected Anna’s husband to take us on. I have to face the fact that a man who wouldn’t even claim his own wife won’t have anything to do with her relatives. He’ll certainly never want a thing to do with a child he sired on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Don’t you even think—”
“Oh, I’ve thought long and hard, Mr. Newcomb. My mind is set. I refuse to be a burden, weighing you down. We’re not your responsibility.”
“What if I want you to be my responsibility?”
“My brother and I will care for our own.”
“You can’t take care of yourselves, let alone a babe!” He scowled. “Besides, Timothy isn’t just your nephew; he’s my nephew, too!”
Emily’s eyes shot fire. She gave her brother’s arm a little squeeze. “Go check the nappies on the line to see if they’re dry yet.”
Duncan picked up on his sister’s surge of emotions and hastened out the door. Emily watched him leave, then turned back to John. Her arms tightened around the babe. “You said the marriage wasn’t valid. You never once recognized Anna”—her voice cracked as she said her sister’s name—“never acknowledged her as Edward’s wife. You have no reason or right to step in now and claim this babe.”
“I was wrong.”
“Well, you can just stay wrong! Don’t you even think about calling Timmy your nephew!”
“We both know he is.”
“You have no proof,” she stated implacably, turning the tables on him.
John stared at her and tried to conquer his impatience.
Emily stared right back at him. Something in his eyes frightened her. All night she’d thought matters through. It was for the best that she move now. His reaction only proved it. She repeated herself. “No, you have no proof at all.”
“Your Bible has the marriage listed!”
Emily cranked her head to the side and choked back a sob. How could he, of all people, bring that up now? “You yourself said anything could be written in a Bible.”
John quietly closed the distance between them. He sat beside her on the settee. His closeness disturbed her, but she stayed still. Part of her wanted to leap up and dash away from him; a greater part of her wanted to lean into him and borrow his strength and consolation. She couldn’t allow herself such weakness—especially now when he was suddenly changing his tune and making claims on Anna’s wee babe.
John cradled her chin with a calloused hand and turned her face to his. “I know what I said, and I regret every word of it. You’re old enough to understand that people sometimes say things they don’t mean.”
“Oh yes. I’ve learned that.” Her laugh sounded bitter, even to her own ears. She moved away from his touch. “Whoever he was, that scoundrel told lies aplenty and pledged a false marriage vow with his hand on that very Bible. I don’t need you to tell me men say things they never intend to honor.”
“You’re ripe for the plucking, Emily, and there are many men out there who would take advantage of you. Stay here. Let me provide for—”
“Your offer is generous, but I’ll not be a kept woman.”
Impatience tinged his tone. “I had no scurrilous intentions! All I wanted was to make sure you could care well for my nephew.”
Her heart clenched, and she bolted to her feet. “Anna went to her grave, shamed to the core of her soul. How could you even think to speak these words now? A week ago they would have helped. She admired you, and had you but even hinted you believed ‘twas your own brother’s child—” Words failed her. Emily took a few deep breaths to try to tamp down the violent storm of emotions raging in her breast.
His brows furrowed. “Emily—”
“It’s too late now. It’s much too late for you to change your mind.” Unable to contain herself any longer, she darted to the bedchamber and shut the door behind her.
John could hear her weeping. He paced back and forth a few times, unsure of what to say or do. Every single word out of her mouth had been true. Worse—she’d not flung them at him in spite. She’d said them out of the brokenness of her grief.
The whole while she’d clutched the babe as if he were ready to snatch him away. Didn’t she understand he wouldn’t cause her any further sorrow? Any fool who spent five minutes with her would plainly see her bottomless devotion to the babe. The way her face softened, the color of her eyes deepened, and her small body curled lovingly around little Timothy sang eloquently of how she cherished him. Clearly, to take the child from Emily’s keeping would shatter her.
John’s only motive was to make things easier for her, to ease her lot in life and make it possible for her to continue to mother her little nephew and Duncan without having to work herself into utter exhaustion. An inner voice whispered, But how was she to know my reasons and plans?
John looked about the tiny cottage. She’d considered it such a splendid home. She’d scrubbed and bustled and filled it with sunshine and laughter. For a few days, these plain walls hadn’t been big enough to hold in all the love in Emily’s world; now they weren’t strong enough to contain the grief in her anguished heart.
Her crying continued. Every moment he fought the urge to go comfort her, but John feared he’d only make it worse.
Chapter 12
Shuffling footsteps made John turn around.
Duncan held a stack of nappies against his chest. “These are dry now.” Once he heard his sister’s weeping, his already lackluster face clouded over.
“Would you like me to take those to her?” John asked quietly.
Duncan’s lower lip quivered. He stared straight ahead as he blinked. “I’m ‘posed to be strong ‘cause I’m the man of the family.” His small shoulders lifted and dropped from a big sigh; then he turned a bit and gave John a defeated look.
John closed the distance between them, set aside the nappies, and pressed Duncan snug against his leg. “How about if I be the man, and you’ll be my assistant? We’ll make fine partners.”
“We will?”
“Aye,” he said, using his most definite tone. “We want good things for your sister, don’t we?”
Duncan somberly nodded and blinked back tears.
“Emily is a special woman—a very special woman. She deserves the best we can do for her.” He jostled Duncan gently and gave him a serious look. “I need your help. I’ll see to Emily, and you take care of Timmy. Can you do that?”
“Yes sir.”
The boy’s bravery pulled at John’s heart. He’d never spent time with children other than the occasional cabin boys aboard ship. They all counted a few more years to their short lives than this lad. Grief stricken as he was, he’d not misbehaved a bit. He’d followed Emily’s example and tried to see to obligations far too heavy for him to shoulder.
John led Duncan to the doorway and let him open it. His heart lurched. She knelt beside the bed, her face buried in the blankets on what had been Anna’s side. Her shoulders shuddered with her sobs, yet the baby lay securely in the bend of one of her arms upon the mattress. Her other hand clenched the blankets.
Just standing in the room brought back the sad memory from a few days ago when Emily had held Duncan tight to her side and whispered one last desperate prayer. Dr. Quisinby had looked over their bowed heads at John and subtly shook his head.
Sweet Emily had borne too much, and John knew he’d foolishly spoken the truth far too late and caused her more heartache. Quietly he knelt beside her and called her name. He picked up her hand and rubbed it. For an instant her
fingers curled around his. He closed his hand around hers before she could reclaim it. Her hand fit in his perfectly—small enough to be fully protected, yet capable enough to partner him in whatever they eventually decided to do with the baby.
Slowly her head turned, and her lashes lifted just a bit. He couldn’t be sure she’d even seen him through the tears.
Bless his little heart, John thought as Duncan went to her other side and cuddled close. “Are you praying, our Em?”
John stretched his other arm across and tucked them both into his embrace. “Prayer is always a good idea.” He bowed his head and gave Emily’s hand a light squeeze. “Heavenly Father, we’ve come to kneel at Your feet in the time of our greatest sorrow.” As he continued to pray, Emily’s crying tapered off, and she curled her fingers back around his hand.
When he finished praying, John patted Duncan’s back. “Tuck the little fellow under your arm and carry him off to the main room. Most likely he needs one of those nappies you just brought in.”
“Yes sir. What are you going to do?”
John gently smoothed his hand over Emily’s hair. “I’d like to talk to your sister.”
Emily let out a choppy sigh and started to rise.
John sprang to his feet and helped her up. He kept hold of her elbow and led her back out to the settee.
Emily barely waited until he sat down. She wove her fingers together and whispered, “I flung words at you in anger, John Newcomb. I’m giving you my apology, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting you get your hands on the babe.”
“It was never my intent to take Timothy from you. You have my word—I’ll never take him from you. That being said, I’ve earned your anger, Emily. So much of this is my fault. All this time I believed I knew Edward. I was so sure, but I was wrong. I grew so busy with work that I failed to take time as I should have to be my brother’s keeper.”
“No, John. I’ll not have you blame yourself for the wrongs he did. They were his doing and his alone.”
“But Emily, even so—I should have known him well enough to suspect he was capable of this. Think of how close you are to Duncan. You’d know in an instant if he were up to mischief.”
She gave him a sad smile. “But Edward fooled me just as much as he did you, John. You told me to stop punishing myself. I’m thinking you ought to pay heed to your own advice.”
He reached over and gently twirled a few of her wispy curls around his finger. Delicate, yet strong … feminine, but fiery. He shook his head. “Dear little Em, what are we going to do?”
“You just prayed for God to lead us. I’m not overly good at waiting, but I’m supposing that’s what’s next.”
He chuckled and drew her head to his shoulder. To his satisfaction, she rested her cheek there as if she belonged nowhere else in the world. For a spell he simply sat and cradled her in his arms. This moment of peace betwixt them felt right. Aye, it did, and that bore some reflection—but later. For now he’d simply relish these few minutes when she finally found respite from her sadness in his arms.
She stirred a bit, but he tenderly murmured, “Shh, sweetling. Rest.”
A short while later, Duncan tiptoed up. “We did good, Mr. John. We are good partners! Look—you got sis to sleep, and I have Timmy dry as a brick in an oven.”
“Nicely done,” John praised him under his breath. He wondered if Emily would stay calm if he carried her to bed. In the past she’d startled awake so violently. Then again, he just needed to shift her a bit and slip an arm behind her legs. “Em, everything’s right as rain. You just keep dreaming,” he murmured softly as he lifted her into his arms and rose. The reassurances worked. She didn’t so much as wince.
After he tucked her in and shut the door, he went in search of Duncan. The lad was hunkered into a small heap on his cot near the kitchen. The babe lay bundled in Emily’s old cut-down blankets in his lap. Duncan awkwardly tried to coax a spoonful of fluid into the infant. He looked up at John and wrinkled his nose. “Our Em is better at this than I am.”
John sat down next to him and scowled at the way the babe let out a noisy howl. “I’ll hire a wet nurse.”
“Em won’t like that. She loves babies and wants to care for him herself.”
The baby let out another wail. John tentatively reached out and took him. He’d never held the babe. In fact, he realized as he fumbled to hold little Timothy, he’d never once in all his years held a single babe. Emily made it look so easy. He remembered how she carefully supported the head, so he curled his long fingers to cup the little fellow’s skull. A shift here, an adjustment there—an awkward moment, then Timothy let out a bellow to make it clear he wasn’t happy in the least.
“Eh, now. He’s got his toes stuck in your watch fob,” Duncan observed.
“Oh.” John remedied that minor problem and murmured, “There. That ought to suit you, man-child.”
Timothy wailed more.
John frowned. He cast a quick glance back toward Emily’s door. Common sense said he needed her to come rescue him from his incompetence; pride made him want to master this minor debacle—both to prove to himself he was equal to the task and to allow Emily to nap.
Half an hour later, John sat on the cot in his shirtsleeves. He’d shed his suit coat quickly enough. Next, the slate blue silk vest had joined the coat on the table since the baby’s little toes had kept getting tangled in the fob. He’d dropped the cloth Duncan used to mop Timothy’s messy face, so he’d untied his crisp, white cravat and used it to dab at the streak of milk slipping from the babe’s little mouth into his neck creases. That concoction of milk, and goodness only knew what else, smelled sweet enough, but Timothy had a knack for spitting out as much as he swallowed. The sleeve of John’s shirt had an ever-increasing damp spot from all Timothy managed to eject. No wonder Emily is so tired. She’s waking up at night and going through this ordeal.
Duncan watched in utter silence.
John glanced up at the lad, then nudged Timothy’s lower lip with the spoon. “What are you thinking, Duncan?”
“It’s a good thing you run a business better than you tend a babe; else you’d be a pauper, sir.”
John chuckled at that assertion. “I can’t deny a word you said.”
“Em is good with Timothy. Tender and careful.”
Something in the lad’s tone made John study his somber little features carefully. “Duncan, have I ever said a word about taking Timothy away from you and Emily?”
“No sir.” The boy then blurted out, “You can’t! He’s ours. Em said Edward is a scoundrel. She’s Timmy’s aunt—almost his mother, you know—and I’m his uncle. She said we’ve got to go ‘cause if Edward ever takes baby Timothy, he’ll turn our wee babe into a bad rascal. It’s our place to rear him right and to teach him about God. I don’t think Edward knows God, because he’s a bad man.”
John paused. Timothy let out an indignant squawk, so he quickly spooned in another dribble of milk. Duncan’s explanation shed considerable light on why Emily wanted to move immediately. It nearly broke John’s heart to see how she would willingly live in a dingy one-room habitation and suffer cold and hunger—all for the sake of her nephew’s soul. He needed to do something—but what?
Timothy let out a pitiful sound.
“That does it.” John stood.
Duncan scrambled to his feet. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to get this babe fed.”
Duncan scrambled along beside him. “Pardon me, sir, but you weren’t doing such a fancy job of it.”
John inexpertly held the babe over his shoulder. A second later, the babe rewarded that action with a sticky wet spot on his collar.
“You forgot the burp cloth.” Duncan grabbed John’s pant leg and tried to tug him to a stop by the front door. “Sir, I thought you were just going to walk him to calm him. You cannot take our baby away. Please don’t do that. He’s all we have.”
“We’re just going to get him fed and bring him back. You’re c
oming along, so you can stop fretting.”
John flipped a blanket over the babe, strode toward his home, and silently prayed that one of the women in the flock of cooks, maids, gardeners’ wives—someone, anyone among the lot of them—was suckling a babe and had milk to spare.
Late afternoon sun slanted through the windows. Whatever am I doing, napping the day away? Emily shoved off the blankets and got up. Someone tapped on the door. “Yes?”
“Supper’s ready, sis.”
Emily smoothed her hair and clothes, then went out to the main room. John and Duncan both stood by the table. She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Pardon me for being a sluggard.”
“The notion of you being a sluggard,” John said, “is almost as ridiculous as me setting sail across the Atlantic in a washbasin.”
Emily’s smile faded abruptly when she saw the table. Three place settings awaited them. John came to dinner only when she invited him, and she hadn’t done so now. The third place Duncan must have set out of habit—or his youthful hope that Anna would “come back.” Her heart leapt to her throat.
“I have an evening appointment, so we’ll need to talk while we dine.”
As soon as John finished the prayer, Emily looked around. “Where is Timothy? He must be starving by now.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry, Em.” Duncan smiled. “Mr. Newcomb made sure he got fed.”
Feeding Timothy was no easy feat. Emily looked at their guest in amazement. In her wildest imaginings, she couldn’t fathom how this huge man managed to hold a small feeding spoon in his great hands—let alone deliver it to a squirming, noisy infant. “You fed the baby?”
“I tried,” he confessed.
“He’s terrible at it,” Duncan declared.
John took a sip of coffee. “I met with little success, so I asked my laundress to feed him. He’s on a blanket behind the settee, if you want to be sure I brought him back.”
Emily stared at John and shook her head. “I don’t need to. You gave me your word you’d not take Timothy away from me. You’re an honorable man, and you’ve never once lied to me.”
Brides of Virginia Page 11
