He laughed and grabbed another spoon. "We can make more:"
They sat on the sofa and ate that bowlful and another as the fire crackled in the hearth. Molly couldn't remember a more enjoyable evening, or a more desirable man.
Telling herself not to, she couldn't help imagining what it would be like if he were able to somehow forgive her of everything, once the baby was safely born. Once she'd told him. Would there ever come a time when, after he knew all her secrets, he could look at her as the woman he cared for, or possibly even loved, instead of a woman who had borne a child out of wedlock?
Later that night, she lay in bed on her back in the dark, thinking about the evening they'd spent together. The heat from the bed warmer radiated from the opposite side of the mattress, and she soaked it up, praying the families in Little Italy were sheltered and warm, and that they had enough to eat. She stretched and curled onto her side and drew up her legs, and felt an unmistakable twinge.
She paused. Maybe she'd moved in the wrong way or-
There, she felt it again. Something similar to butterflies. Only more so. Like there was one very large butterfly. And an overzealous one, at that.
Holding her breath, she waited, completely still in the darkness, palms pressed flat against her rounded belly, the ticktock of the mantel clock in the main room counting off the seconds. And she felt it again. She laughed softly. "My baby.. " Oh, God, thank you....
This was what Dr. Brookston had tried to describe to her, her baby growing and moving inside of her, a miracle of life she didn't deserve but would spend the rest of her life trying to be worthy of.
"Students, please take out your slates and work the problems on the board. And no discussion this time:" Molly threw a glance at Amanda Spivey, who had been "all a twitter" this week, as the girl put it, excited over the announcement of auditions for the Christmas program. "This is a chance to work on your own and to show me-and the other teachers with us this week-what you've each learned:'
Molly moved to the stool and sat down, still following Dr. Brookston's orders to a T. The events of the past month, coupled with the changes in her body and the baby growing inside her, had left her exhausted inside and out. But she was also greatly encouraged by the progress.
Three more teachers were visiting from Denver, all women younger than she, with an insatiable desire to improve their skills. They'd asked excellent questions, which spoke well of their abilities. As soon as school was dismissed, the teachers would meet Mr. Lewis and take the stagecoach to Sulfur Falls, then would catch an early-morning train with plans to be home in Denver for Thanksgiving the following day.
With the teachers shadowing her, Molly checked the students' slates and could sense each child's eagerness to begin their brief Thanksgiving holiday. Though she doubted they looked forward to it as much as she did. She had something very important planned and couldn't wait to get started on it.
She saw the teachers off to catch the stage, then walked back to her cabin, unlaced her boots, and fully clothed, lay down on her bed and pulled up the covers, smiling into her pillow. She was asleep within seconds.
She awakened sometime later to darkness and to the wind howling through the aspen trees outside the window. She nestled deeper beneath the covers, drifting on a cocoon of warmth, until she awakened again. This time with the irrepressible need to visit the chamber pot. While up, she ate a hunk of bread and cheese, drank a tall glass of milk, then returned to bed.
And slept through to the following afternoon when she awakened famished but rested, feeling better than she had in weeks.
"I insist on helping with the dishes, Rachel." Molly retrieved a clean cloth from the kitchen cupboard. "Since you made practically the entire meal!"
Rachel grabbed the cloth from her hand, feigning an affront. "You'll do no such thing. It's snowing harder and James is already harnessing the horses. So unless you want to be stuck here for the night"-she gave a playful smirk-"I suggest you bundle up and let my brother take you home:"
Molly had noticed Rachel eyeing her and James during the Thanksgiving meal. She didn't have a brother or sister, but she'd gotten the definite impression-was certain, in fact-that Rachel was encouraging James to pursue a relationship with her. She'd even caught a wink Rachel had thrown him, but then had acted as if she hadn't seen.
And just now, in Rachel's playful banter, Molly sensed that "encouragement" again. While she appreciated Rachel's "approval" of her for James, she knew that approval wasn't valid. Not when it was rooted in a falsehood.
"Rachel-" She and Rachel were alone in the kitchen-the Birches and Mullinses had already left-but still Molly lowered her voice. "I appreciate what you're trying to do ... between me and James, but. . " How to say this in a way that would accomplish the desired outcome without offending Rachel or slighting James? "But I'm simply not interested in ... pursuing a relationship with a man right now. Even as fine a man as your brother." Witnessing a spark in Rachel's expression, Molly rushed to bolster her explanation. "I'm about to have a child, Rachel. And I'm about to lose my job." Her sigh came without force. "I'm in no position to make a commitment to anyone:"
"Actually .. " Rachel tied an apron around her slender waist. "I'd say that your current circumstances would suggest quite the opposite. Remember what I told you when you first arrived? Things are different out here. We don't hold to tradition like back home. You don't have to wait, Molly. Especially being with child:"
Molly briefly looked away. This wasn't going as planned. Perhaps coming at it from a different angle would be better. "Your brother means a great deal to me. I'm especially thankful for his friendship, but I simply don't think-"
"His friendship?" Rachel's eyes sparkled. "Come now, Molly;" she whispered, her tone sweetly conspiratorial. "We both know that he hardly looks upon you as a friend. But since you're asking, in a roundabout way"-she smiled-"for me to mind my own business, I'll do my best to not try and help things along. Now, come on" She looped her arm through Molly's. "Let's not keep him waiting:"
After saying good-bye to Mitch and Kurt, Molly slipped into her coat and followed Rachel to the front door. They hugged, and Molly glanced down at her protruding belly coming between them. She rolled her eyes. "Do you still think I need to gain more weight?"
Rachel patted her rounded tummy. "I think you're beautiful, and that you're carrying a healthy baby who'll be ready to join us in another couple of months:' She frowned. "And you're not nearly as big as I was at this stage-either time. So I don't want to hear any complaining!"
Grinning, Molly pulled on her gloves. "Thank you again for agreeing to be with me during the birth. I can't tell you how much better that makes me feel, to know you'll be there:"
"I wouldn't miss it!"
Rachel followed her outside to the front porch, where the snow was flurrying heavier than before. The stairs the boys had swept clean three hours ago were piled high again.
Molly pulled her scarf higher around her neck. "I wish Dr. Brookston could've joined us today. I know he would've enjoyed it:'
"Yes, well .. " Rachel stared at some distant point. "When James mentioned having invited him, I knew the chances of the doctor showing up were slim. Doctors aren't exactly the most dependable people in the world:"
Hearing a tone in Rachel's voice, Molly silently questioned it. James had explained at dinner that Dr. Brookston's services were required today at Deputy Willis's home. Mary, the deputy's wife, was in labor. So it hardly seemed fair to label Rand Brookston as undependable due to that. "I'm not sure I'd-"
"Take care, you fair lassies!" In full Scottish brogue, James pulled the sleigh up beside the porch stairs. "A wicked storm's a brewin'!"
Molly's train of thought derailed as he climbed the icy stairs and slipped an arm around her none-too-tiny waist. She felt about as big as a barn these days.
"You best hang on to me for all you're worth, Molly girl!" He winked. "With both hands, if you'd like:"
Giggling, Rachel raised a discreet
brow as if to say, "Friendship?" "You be careful taking her home, James"
Molly did hold on tight to him, unable to see her feet these days without peering over her belly. Glad when they reached the safety of the sleigh, she settled in, pulling the blankets up, and James gave the reins a flick. The horses responded and with seeming ease cut a path through the freshly fallen snow.
Boughs of evergreens, laden with white, lined the trail as James guided the sleigh down the mountain. The air was pure and sweet, and Molly knew without question that she would remember this day-and this man beside her-for as long as she had breath.
The town of Timber Ridge was ghostlike, its stores and businesses closed up for the day, half hidden beneath a thick blanket of winter white.
They arrived at her cabin, and James assisted her up the stairs and slid the key into the lock. When he opened the door, a drift of snow built up by the wind gave way and avalanched inside.
"I'll get you a fire started before I head back:"
She grabbed the broom and swept the snow back outside. "You don't have to do that, James. I don't want you to get caught in the storm. And I'm capable of building my own fire." She motioned to the half cord stacked against the wall. "You brought in enough wood two days ago to last me for a week."
He did a poor job of curbing his grin. "You can never have enough wood come winter."
"I'm not so sure about that." She eyed the stack taking up half of her parlor.
"Okay, I'll go-right after I build the fire:"
He set to work and had her fire blazing in a matter of minutes. Only then did she remove her coat and gloves. She sat down on the sofa.
He claimed the place beside her and brushed her cheek with his fingers, his hand lingering. "You get prettier every time I see you, Molly Whitcomb:"
She laughed. "All right, now I'm sure of it. You did have too much of Ben's homemade wine."
He smiled and moved closer, the blue of his eyes deepening, and Molly realized his intent. Part of her welcomed his advances and wanted nothing more than to kiss him again, but she knew she shouldn't. Not knowing what was coming.
She rose quickly-too quickly-and a sharp jab poked her abdomen. She fell back on the couch, gasping for breath and laughing, holding her midsection.
James reached for her. "Are you all right?"
"Yes-" She laughed at the shock on his face. "I'm fine-" She took a breath. "I just-" The baby moved again, and a spasm rolled across her belly. Dr. Brookston had told her about this. "I just tried to get up too fast and am being ... scolded for it:' She put a hand on his arm. "The baby's moving, that's all:"
"Moving?" He looked down, his eyes widening. "Is that a good thing?"
"It's a very good thing:" She grinned. "I thought your father was a doctor."
"Well, he was. But ... this wasn't exactly a topic of discussion around our dinner table."
The baby turned inside her, and Molly took deep, steady breaths. "It's ... very normal ... for the baby to move. It just ... takes me by surprise ... at times:"
"Yeah.. " He shook his head. "I can see that:'
On a whim, she reached for him. "Here ... give me your hand"
He pulled away, his expression uncertain.
"It's all right," she whispered, seeing his eyes narrow. "Trust me, James." She took his hand, so strong and warm, and pressed it against her belly. "Shhhh;' she whispered. "Just wait:" She loved the anticipation on his face. "There! Did you feel it?"
His look of wonder already told her he had. He moved his hand, following the movement of her child, and slowly exhaled. "Thomas told me about this;" he said softly. `About how it felt before the boys were born:' He looked at her, his eyes misting. "This is .."
She smiled when he didn't finish his sentence. "A miracle. Yes ... it is:"
They stayed that way for a few moments, sharing the feeling of life inside her, the fire crackling and warming away the chill, casting a burntorange glow on the room.
Finally, the baby quieted, but James didn't move his hand away. He slowly slid it on around her waist and pulled her closer.
Molly felt herself responding to him. "James-" She needed to think of a distraction. For them both. "Would you ... like a cup of coffee?"
He nuzzled her cheek, laughing softly. "No ... I don't want any coffee." He moved closer to her, but with such gentleness, mindful of the baby. He brushed his lips against hers. "Thank you for sharing that with me:"
Oh, the way he did that. Kissing her while not fully completing the kiss. "You're welcome;' she whispered, finally turning her mouth to meet his.
He kissed her long and slow, his hands massaging her back, her shoulders. He edged the hair from her shoulder and kissed the curve of her neck. Molly closed her eyes. And she thought she'd had trouble breathing before! He kissed her mouth again, deeply and without a trace of reservation, as though she belonged to him. Which she wanted to, in every way.
Just when she determined she should discourage things from going any further-he drew back.
His breath heavy, he sat back on the sofa and brought her alongside him. "I love you, Molly," he whispered, combing his fingers through her hair.
Her head against his chest, she closed her eyes, able to hear the solid beat of his heart. "I love you too:' What should have been a completely happy moment wasn't. Not the way it should have been. `And I always will;' she whispered.
He leaned back and searched her eyes. "I want you to be my wife. And I want to be your husband. There's nothing stopping us, Molly. I know you're afraid. I see it in your eyes. But I'll take care of you. And your baby. I'll love you both. I already do:'
She tried to look away, but he held her fast.
"Tell me what happened" He cradled her face, his own a mask of concern. "What did he do to you, Molly? Did your husband hurt you? Was he cruel?"
Tears coming, she shook her head, not ready for this conversation. Not until after the baby was born. She couldn't bear the thought of James being estranged from her. Not now. She needed him beside her. "It's not what you're imagining, James:"
"Then tell me. Help me understand:"
I will;' she said, trembling, feeling as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump off. Or be pushed. "I'll tell you, I promise. In time:" But she couldn't do it yet. "Just give me a little more time:"
She held him, and his strong arms came around her. She would tell him everything. Soon. Very soon. After the baby was born.
38
nd remember, children-" Molly whispered, overaccentuating every near-silent syllable, aware of the crowd of eagerly awaiting parents and friends packing the garland-strung church pews behind her. It was standing-room only for the school's first Christmas Celebration, and less than two weeks until Christmas itself. "Turtle doves don't screech or crow," she mouthed, looking pointedly at Kurt Boyd. "They coo. Softly."
Kurt smiled back at her, that ever-mischievous gleam having returned to his eyes. She'd managed to reach somewhat of an unspoken truce with him, and he'd finished strong the final days of class. Still, she raised a brow of warning in his direction, praying as she did. She needed this evening to go off without a hitch. No mice and no snakes. It was her last official duty as teacher, and she wanted this event to be a gift, of sorts, to the town of Timber Ridge for entrusting their children to her.
Excitement shone in the students' smiles and in the expectant looks on parents' faces. Molly shared it. But along with the excitement, she felt a melancholy. This evening also marked an end. An end to the most rewarding teaching experience she'd ever had, and the beginning of the end of her life in Timber Ridge.
She'd received a letter from Mayor Davenport earlier in the week, on behalf of the town council. More of an eviction notice, really, without one mention of the teachers who had visited from Denver. While the teachers themselves had expressed appreciation before leaving town, Molly hadn't received any feedback as to whether the administrators were pleased. But apparently that wasn't high on David Davenport's
list anymore.
Either that or his eagerness to see her gone had taken precedence.
The mayor had instructed her to vacate the cabin by the eighteenth. That meant she had the weekend ahead to finish packing and be moved by Monday. Miss Ruby at the boardinghouse had said she should have an opening soon. Until then, Molly planned on staying at the hotel.
She checked her pocket watch. Five minutes until they were scheduled to start. She glanced behind her to see people still arriving. Wreaths decorated the doors, and red-ribboned garland, its scent pungent and sweet, was strung from the pews and around the windows, giving the room a warm, festive feel.
James was seated on the right side, three rows back. He gave her a quick wink and then tactfully pointed to her, then back to himself, as if to remind her of their sleigh ride planned for later that evening. He'd said he had something important to tell her, but after what he'd said to her on Thanksgiving Day in her cabin, she feared it was a question he wanted to ask instead. She'd told him she would likely be too tired after the program tonight. But that had been an excuse and he'd known it, and apparently wasn't accepting it.
Sweet, stubborn man ...
Despite his private smile, she detected lines of worry around his eyes. Another cow had been stolen two days ago. The first such incident in weeks. Just one this time, according to Lyda Mullins, but Lyda had told her-having heard from Ben-that Mayor Davenport had been furious at the news and was attempting to use the situation to discredit James in the sheriff's election come spring, which was preposterous. James couldn't prevent every crime. And she had every confidence he would find those responsible, as he'd done before.
He'd offered her use of his bedroom at Rachel's house, volunteering to bunk at his office until she found a "permanent residence," but that was out of the question. Rachel needed his help at the ranch, but more than that, Molly refused to be indebted to him any more than she already was.
Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 02] Page 36
