“Plenty of cookies don’t require cookie cutters.” Chris scowled as he motioned behind his back to make Duncan put away the ironing board. Until Mercy took a mind to bake cookies, she’d ironed every shirt in the house twice.
“But those are everyday cookies.” Mercy dumped two cups of sugar into the mixture. “Guests should receive special cookies.”
“Anyone paying a visit to a house with a new baby ought to be bringing the cookies.” Duncan paced from one end of the kitchen to the other. During his third transit, he tucked away the ironing board. “Aye, no doubt about it; they should be bringing the cookies. I distinctly recall Ma taking food when she went to a home where there’d been sickness or death.”
“I’m neither sick nor dying.” Mercy looked suitably appalled at his comment.
Chris mopped his brow. “But you’re going to be the death of us, trying to have this babe with no help at hand.”
“Don’t you insult my dear friend that way.” Mercy waved a wooden spoon in Carmen’s direction. “She’ll help me. Won’t you, Carmen?”
Though her apprehension far outweighed her confidence, Carmen nodded. After all, her friend needed her, and loyalty demanded she be a staunch ally.
Duncan pulled Carmen from the kitchen. “Some kind of help you are! You were supposed to get her to the clinic, not to the oven!”
“I had a choice to make—either I make you happy or I comfort my friend who happens to be in labor.” Carmen stabbed her finger into the center of his broad chest. “I didn’t think I’d have to listen to a grown man whine—especially when a woman under his roof is in labor and has yet to let out a single cry.”
“I dinna whine!” He looked thoroughly affronted. “I’m reminding you of what’s important. Cookies willna matter a whit if she or the babe dinna get through the ordeal.”
“You need to have more faith,” she whispered. “Now go on over to my house. Ismelda just used the cookie cutters yesterday. They’re in the orange box to the left of the sink.”
“This is it, woman. I’ll not be humoring any more of these ridiculous requests.”
Carmen pretended she didn’t hear him. Truthfully, for the last couple of hours, Carmen had concocted a variety of tasks for Chris and Duncan to accomplish. It kept them from hovering, at least part of the time.
Duncan shook his finger at her. “Dinna feign innocence. You ken full well what I mean.”
“You could cooperate. Staying busy has kept Mercy from panicking about the fact that Robert’s not here.”
“He’d best better hie on home.” Duncan’s brows knit. “Chris sent Connant after him over an hour ago.”
“We have to stay calm. You go get the cookie cutters. I’ll set the table.” Carmen returned to the kitchen. Mercy urgently motioned to her, and Carmen headed her way. With every step, she promised God she’d do any number of good deeds as long as she didn’t have to deliver this baby on her own.
Mercy pulled Carmen close. “I’ve done it now.”
Chapter 2
Carmen clamped her lips together to hold back a moan.
“I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t just add sugar to the cookies. I added a whole cupful to the mashed potatoes!”
Disbelief forced Carmen to laugh. She tightened her apron strings. “I’ll add a few eggs to make them hold together, then fry slabs.”
“Like potato pan–caaa—” Mercy curled forward and lost the last part of the word. When the pain ended, she fretted, “I wanted this supper to be perfect.”
“You’ve talked the men into wearing their kilts, Chris brought in a log that could burn for a month, and the pewter candlesticks are at least a half inch shorter after you set Duncan to polishing them. It’ll be a supper they remember for a long time.”
Mercy let out a doleful sigh. “I was talking about the food.”
“The roast is big enough to feed everyone for three days.” Carmen cast a quick look at the door. “Duncan and Chris are so worried that I don’t think they’ll taste a single bite they wolf down tonight, anyway.”
“It’s taking Robert a long time.”
“You yourself said it’ll be hours yet.” Carmen hoped with every fiber of her being that her words were true.
“Ja. You work on the potatoes. I’ll start rolling out the cookie dough—oh, and put the apple cider on the back burner. I want to mull some spices in it and serve it with dessert.”
“I think,” Carmen glanced about furtively before continuing, “we ought to have Chris and Duncan take the cookies over to the clinic to bake.”
“They’ll burn half of them.” Mercy grinned.
“Fine. We’ll have to mix up another batch. That’ll keep them occupied a little longer. I’ll hurry and start boiling rice. It’ll go with the roast and gravy.”
Chris and Duncan fought over who got to go bake the cookies. It was then Carmen fully appreciated just how terrified they were that they might have to help with the delivery. She sent both. They’d return to the house only long enough for Mercy to plop the next round of cookies on the sheets, then run off to the clinic oven again.
“That’s the last of them,” Mercy announced as she handed her brothers-in-law the cookie-laden sheets. “Chris, you and Duncan, when you’ve baked them, change into your kilts, and we’ll have supper on the table when you come back.” She waited until they were gone, then pled, “Can you haul me out of this chair? I’m not moving so good.”
“Sure.” Carmen helped her up.
Mercy stood, curled forward, and moaned with the next pang. When it was over, she straightened and said, “The table looks beautiful. I wish my husband were here to see it.”
“I’m sure he’ll get here soon, Mercy.” He’d better. I’m starting to get as nervous as Duncan. Well, I’m not going to let Mercy see that. If she can stay calm, so will I. “The only thing left is for me to make the gravy.”
“I can do that. Will you get some honey from the pantry?”
“Sure.”
The door opened, and Ismelda came in. Holding the plate with the destroyed flan, she gave Carmen an uncertain look.
“Oh, flan!” Mercy sounded truly thrilled over the mess. “I love your flan.”
Ismelda asked, “¿Olvidó de traer este?”
“Yes,” Carmen answered her sister in English, “I forgot to bring that. I was excited because Mercy’s in labor.”
“How wonderful!”
“Tell that to Duncan and Chris.” Mercy’s wry smile slid into a grimace.
By the time they sat down to supper, Carmen tried not to fault Chris and Duncan for seating Mercy, then hastening to the chairs farthest from her for themselves. After all, they were gentlemanly enough to pause long enough to seat Ismelda and her on either side of Mercy. Folding his hands, Duncan said, “I’ll ask the blessing.”
Carmen bowed her head. Duncan’s prayers never ceased to touch her. He spoke to the Lord in a way she’d never heard a man pray—with a rich blend of reverence, respect, humility, and love. Tonight’s prayer ought to be particularly special.
“Lord, the food looks good, but the only blessing I’m asking tonight is for You to help our Mercy through and for the babe to be all right. Amen.”
“ ’Men,” Chris chimed in.
While Carmen blinked in astonishment over the prayer, Chris picked up the carving knife and proceeded to hack a picture-perfect roast into an assortment of chunks spanning every possible shape and size. Carmen consoled herself that the irregular hunks would hide how lumpy the gravy was. And the gravy would add moisture to the rice, because it turned out a tad dry. Those paltry facts were lost on the men, who inhaled the food with blinding speed.
Mercy barely picked at her plate.
“What’s wrong?” Chris squinted at her.
“Nothing.” Her lips thinned, and she went silent.
“Nothing?” Chris threw back his head and groaned. “If Rob doesna walk through the door in the next five minutes, I’m goin’ to skin him alive.”
“You will not.” Mercy let out a small sigh and pushed away her plate. “I’m just being choosy tonight. I wanted to save room for dessert.”
“Me, too!” Carmen hopped up. As she and Ismelda cleared the table, Carmen seriously questioned her own sanity. Mercy had accidentally thickened the apple cider instead of the beef broth and drippings to make “gravy.” In order to salvage the situation, Ismelda turned the broth to gravy and Carmen “fixed” the cider.
“What’s for dessert, Mercy?” Chris sounded hopeful. “You said you had something special planned.”
“I’ll bet you’ve never had this before,” Ismelda murmured.
“That’s right. It’s a new recipe.” Carmen slapped the fried, sweetened mashed potato slabs onto plates, added diced apples, spooned blobs of flan atop them, and then topped the whole affair off with a mulled, spicy apple “glaze.”
Mercy attacked hers with gusto.
Chris gave his serving a dubious look. “What is it?”
“Happenstance,” Carmen blurted out as she picked up her fork.
“Probably another Texas dish,” Duncan said. “There’s not been one yet I haven’t liked.”
Duncan’s fork practically created sparks on the plate, he ate so fast. Chris matched him bite for bite.
Carmen exchanged a look with her sister. “Ismelda, why don’t we share mine? I made a plate for Robert, but if Connant comes back with him, we wouldn’t want him to go without.”
“Connant could have Rob’s, and Rob could go hungry,” Chris growled. “ ’Twould serve him right for leaving his kin in a time of great need.”
Duncan nodded as he pushed to his feet. “Food was good. Filling. You ladies worked hard cooking it, so Chris and I’ll do the cleanup.”
“Yeah.” Chris rose. “And since nothing’s keeping you here, Mercy, Carmen and Ismelda can take you over and settle you in the clinic now.”
“I can’t go to the clinic!”
Chris scowled at Mercy. “And suppose you give me a good reason why not?”
“She’s not in her nightdress,” Ismelda replied.
“You can jolly well change once you’re there.” By now, Duncan and Chris bracketed Mercy like a pair of menacing gargoyles.
Suspecting they were about to pick up Mercy’s chair once again, Carmen tapped her fork on the edge of her dessert plate. “Once Ismelda and I finish our…uhh…happenstance, we’ll be happy to help Mercy change. Won’t we, Sister?”
Ismelda looked at the dish, and Carmen had the sinking feeling her sister was going to either use this as an excuse to get out of eating the mess or offer to help Mercy and allow Carmen to eat it all by herself. Alarmed at either possibility, Carmen gave her little sister a behave-yourself look.
“You take a bite, then I’ll take one.”
Relief flooded her. Carmen assessed the dessert and decided the safest thing to do would be to isolate and eat each item independently. She speared an apple and popped the slice into her mouth.
It seemed Ismelda came to the same conclusion. She took a miniscule dab of flan.
“You’ll be here until the Second Coming, eating that slowly.” Chris drummed his fingers on the back of Mercy’s chair.
“My friends are ladies, not field hands.” Mercy’s voice went up in volume, then petered out on the last word.
“Another one? She’s having another one.” Distress tainted Duncan’s voice. “I’m not liking this one bit.”
“What aren’t you liking?” a voice asked from the door. “And why are the lamps on over in my clinic?”
Duncan bellowed at his brother, “ ’Tis far past time you showed up!”
Robert set down his medical satchel. “I’m sorry I’m late for supper. It couldna be helped.”
“You should have had your sorry hide home hours ago,” Chris grated.
Maddeningly casual, Rob crossed the room, pressed a kiss on Mercy’s temple, and said, “Aida and Stuart had a wee little boy tonight. Mother and child are right as rain.”
“What were you doing there?” Chris bristled. “You were supposed to be at the Stuckys’. I sent Connant there to fetch you.”
“I said I was going to Stu Key’s.” Rob hadn’t straightened up. He stayed down close to Mercy and said softly, “I take it you’re planning to make me a father tonight?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Now then, that’s a fine piece of news. And ’tis plain to see you’re faring well. Since the day we knew you to be with child, I’ve prayed ‘twould go easy on you. God is faithful.”
Duncan stared at his brother. Clearly, he didn’t understand just how serious this was—either that or he was demented. “Mercy’s been having pangs for hours now,” Duncan intoned, trying to get Rob to comprehend the gravity of the situation.
Rob crooked a brow. “Have you, now?”
“Only since noon.” Mercy’s smile faltered, then disappeared entirely.
“Noon!” Chris roared. “And you didn’t tell us then?”
Rob wheeled around and stood nose to nose with his oldest brother. “Dinna raise your voice at my wife!”
“ ’Tis you I’ll yell at. She needed you, and you were off with another woman!”
“Stop this!” Mercy’s eyes filled with tears.
“Now look what the both of you did.” Duncan swiped the napkin from Mercy’s lap and blotted her face. “Upsettin’ a wee mother-to-be. Shame on ye.”
Carmen rose. “I’m sure you gentlemen will excuse us.”
Now that Rob was home, Duncan’s nerves settled. Asking Carmen to come had been a move of desperation. It wasn’t right to ask an unmarried woman to play midwife. Carmen hadn’t confessed to being worried, but Duncan knew she’d calmed tremendously since Rob arrived. He could tell because her accent grew thicker when she was upset. Suddenly, her tongue’s rich-sounding roll when she pronounced r’s and the softening of the t sounds weren’t as strong.
“You can’t go!” Chris went right back to yelling.
Clearly not intimidated, Carmen glared at Chris. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving her tonight. The only place I’m going is upstairs to help Mercy change into her nightdress.”
“That’s a fine plan.” Rob’s voice took on his everything’s-under-control flavor. He wound Mercy’s arm about his neck and scooped her out of her seat.
She turned her face into his neck and started to cry.
“There, now. There you are. Aye, lass. You needn’t worry a bit now.” Rob kept a steady stream of reassurances as he carried her up to their bedchamber. Even after they were out of sight, Mercy’s weeping drifted down the stairs.
“I’m thinkin’ you’re right. Mercy might want a woman’s help,” Duncan said quietly to Carmen.
Carmen nodded. Compassion shimmered in her deep brown eyes. He admired the woman. Others in the community hadn’t known how to react to Mercy since her child was conceived by an act of violence. They’d kept their distance; Carmen hadn’t wavered in the least. She’d been a stalwart friend.
He decided to repay her kindness. “Whilst you’re up there with her, I’ll dump out your happenstance. No use in all of us sufferin’ indigestion.”
Carmen’s eyes grew huge.
“Did you think we didna see Mercy put sugar in the mashed potatoes?”
Ismelda squeaked, “Why didn’t you stop her?”
“I couldna bear to rattle the lass.” He pulled out Carmen’s chair. Duncan fought the urge to carry her up the stairs. He’d already dented her pride by carrying her across the street earlier in the day. She did her best to get around and ignore the pitying glances folks gave her. Indeed, she managed life quite nicely. But if he offered her assistance, she’d likely take it the wrong way.
Carmen mounted the stairs methodically. Soon after she disappeared from sight, Rob appeared. Rubbing his hands together, he announced, “I’m hungry as a draft horse.”
“Eat dessert first,” Chris advised as he shoved some of the disastrous dish at Rob.
D
uncan swiped the plate right out of Rob’s hand. “We canna have him gettin’ sick. He’s got to deliver the babe.”
“Mercy’s never made anything that didn’t taste grand.” Rob reached for the happenstance again.
Ismelda giggled. “But Mercy’s never been in labor before.”
“How far along is she?” Chris dumped chunks of meat onto a plate. “How much longer?”
“I can’t say for certain.”
“You’re usually able to give a fair estimate,” Duncan said.
“Aye.” Rob shot a look at Ismelda, who’d taken the dessert plates to the back door to rid them of the monstrous concoction. Rob’s voice dropped to a confidential whisper, “But those women have been long married.” He paused a moment to choose his words carefully. “And they dinna suffer crippling modesty.”
Duncan grimaced. He rested his hand on Rob’s shoulder and gave him a powerful squeeze as a sign of his support. Rob told Mercy he’d been praying for her to have an easy delivery. I never gave much thought to how hard this will be for her—and for him, too. Lord, You hae the power to calm them and ease things. Please grant them that.
“You’re in your kilts.” Rob accepted the plate of roast and rice from Chris.
“At your wife’s request.” Chris grinned. “We may well be in Texas, but she’s showing promise. With time, she’ll understand the honor of marrying a Highlander.”
Rob ate quickly and cast a look at the stairs.
“You need to get her o’er to the clinic,” Duncan urged.
“She’s wanting to hae the bairn in our own bed.”
“Make her see reason.” Chris started pacing. He practically mowed over Ismelda. “It’s 1892. Modern women should avail themselves of the best medicine has to offer. Your clinic is the finest there is.”
“I promised my old-fashioned bride a solid half hour of privacy so she could wash up, change, and have Carmen help her with her hair. After that, we’ll see how she is.”
“Half an hour?” Duncan shook his head in disbelief.
“She’s rattled. Carmen has a knack for making Mercy feel better. Just you wait. I’d estimate that right about now, my wee wife’s calming down.”
Brides of Texas Page 12
