by Jan Watson
The weather conspired against them. The light carriage was no match for the mud. Soon they were stuck. The man got out and packed rocks around the offending wheel.
“We ain’t ever getting to the train station this way,” Timmy said.
“Shh,” Lilly reminded him.
With an oath the man got back in the buggy and flicked the reins. Lilly slipped off her offending shoes and changed positions on the seat. Her feet felt bruised and tender, and the stitch in her side had turned into a dull, constant ache.
After a few miles, the rain and the distant rolling thunder lulled Lilly nearly to sleep. She could hear Timmy’s snores and the baby occasionally making smacking noises; she’d want to be fed again soon. Lilly wondered if there was any milk left. It had surprised her when she’d found the bottle and clean diapers packed in with the baby, even though Anne had told her how good Cletus was with little Amy. Around every turn in the road, she expected to see Chanis or Turnip or someone coming to save them, but the road stretched out like a never-ending river of darkness. The horse trotted along as if he’d done this a million times, but when he should have gone straight, he suddenly turned left.
“What the—” the man yelled. The horse took off like there was a bucket of oats and a dry barn waiting. The buggy careened up a narrow trail. Cursing, the man pulled on the reins. “Whoa! Whoa!”
Lilly braced for impact as the horse stopped short. The buggy lashed side to side before it slid from the trail and smashed sideways into a tree. The man smacked against the front of the buggy with a thump and a sound like dry sticks cracking—or ribs. The momentum slammed him back against the seat and left his body in a slump.
Lilly pushed on the door. It was wedged against the tree and gave only an inch or two. She’d have to climb over the man and go out the other way. This was their chance to escape.
“Doc,” Timmy whispered, “are we ever gonna get there?”
“Oh, Timmy, is everyone okay back there?”
“I’m all right and Kip’s all right; we’re good bouncers. But the basket turned over. The baby’s under my feet.”
“Pick her up and hold her until I get out.”
The man sucked in air. “I’m all in,” he said.
Disappointment flooded Lilly. Forevermore, would this day never end? She could have cried. She wished she’d kept the knitting needle. “Open the door and let me out! I need to check the baby.”
He fumbled around on the floorboard and retrieved the gun before he opened the door and slowly slid out. He was obviously in discomfort, but she spared him no sympathy. He’d brought this all on himself.
“Do you have any kind of light? I can’t see what I’m doing.”
Favoring his side, the man shuffled to the front of the buggy and returned with the unlit running lamp. He struck a match to light it and hung it over the open door, then stood back as she examined the baby on the front seat of the buggy.
Lilly cuddled the whimpering child, glad for a pause in the rain. “There’s nothing broken. She’s only hungry.”
“Her mother wouldn’t feed her,” the man said bluntly.
“Pardon?”
“Her mother wouldn’t feed her. I feared she’d starve to death.”
Lilly felt a chill of apprehension—maybe the man was insane. She focused on the lunar moth that danced briefly in the lantern’s glow. Where had the beautiful creature been hiding during the storm? And what drew it to the light? Fallen leaves provided a slick carpet under her bare feet. Nearly overhead, an owl called for its mate, and in the distance a dog bayed. There was no moon, and it was not a night for hunting. She prayed the dog was searching for them.
“I’ve ruined everything,” he said. “I’m jinxed.”
The baby shivered in the cool night air. Keeping her warm was imperative. Lilly climbed back inside the buggy. Timmy was asleep again, and Kip was curled up beside him. After wrapping the baby in blankets, she propped her in the crook of her elbow and tickled her lips with the rubber nipple. There was not much left in the bottle. She hoped the milk hadn’t soured already. All Betsy Lane needed now was a run of diarrhea. Somehow Lilly had to get them all away from this man.
“She was born four weeks ago yesterday,” he said from just outside the open door. The light from the lantern distorted his face, casting him in macabre shadow. “How could everything go so far south in just four weeks?”
Lilly gathered her courage. She didn’t want to set him off. “Was Betsy’s mother ill?”
“I guess you could say so,” he said. “Sick in the head. She came after me with a boning knife. Man.”
Lilly watched him light a cigarette. He smoked in fast hits. If his ribs were fractured, it would be difficult to take a deep draw. After a minute he launched the cigarette as though it were a dart. Its glowing red tip arced in the dark. Then he got back inside and leaned against the door, turning to face her. He seemed more broken now than threatening.
“What’s wrong with Betsy Lane?”
Lilly would bet it cost him a lot to ask that question. “Do you want me to be direct?”
“Yeah.”
While Betsy nursed on the bottle, Lilly told him about the cleft in her palate that made her so difficult to feed and about the heart condition that caused her to tire so easily.
“That’s bad, right?”
“It makes things hard for her. If her heart gets stronger, then the cleft could be surgically repaired.”
“What about that other thing?”
Lilly thought about how to answer. These things were hard for a parent to hear—no matter what the circumstance. “You mean the things you read about in the book?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s just a circumstance. One doctor calls it mongolism, but what does that mean, really? The Bible says Betsy is fearfully and wonderfully made. You’re her father. Do you love her any less?”
“No. I figure I love her more. It’s a hard thing to describe.” He swiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. His pain flooded the space around them. “I only wanted the best for her. She’s just a baby.”
“Betsy Lane can be happy and loved,” Lilly said softly. “A life doesn’t have to be ordinary or long to be important and respected.”
His sigh was long and ragged. “I killed her mother.”
Lilly tamped down a momentary panic. “Did you mean to?”
“Things were never right between Noreen and me. She was a hairdresser. Did I tell you that?”
How strange this night had become. The buggy turned into a confessional.
“I told her and told her, ‘Don’t prop Betsy Lane’s bottle.’ The milk just leaked down into her bedclothes whenever Noreen did that.” He drummed his fingers against the seat and his knee jittered up and down. “That last morning, when I came in from the yard, Betsy Lane was soaked with milk and Noreen was just sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. I jerked the chair out from under her and told her she was not fit to be a mother. I told her, ‘Get your clothes and get out.’ She said, ‘Fine’ and started packing the baby’s things.”
He took a breath. “When I said, ‘It’ll be a cold day when you see Betsy again,’ she came at me with the knife, crazy as a june bug. I ran out the door and she followed me. She stabbed me twice before we got to the creek. Noreen was stronger than you might have thought. We tussled into the water, me trying to wrest the knife from her hand. When she raised it against me again, I hit her in the head with a rock. . . . I only hit her once, but once was all it took. She’s buried up there in the pear orchard.”
When he finally stopped talking, the silence felt palpable. His terrible words pierced Lilly’s heart like arrows. What could she say that would make any difference? She looked toward the light like the lunar moth had done and prayed for wisdom.
“A family is all I ever wanted,” he said. “And now I won’t even be able to raise my daughter.”
“What are you going to do?” Lilly asked.
“Let me hold Betsy
Lane one last time.”
Lilly turned on the bench and gave his daughter to him.
He held her for long minutes and kissed each cheek before he handed her back. “It seems there is no hope for me,” he said.
“Are you a believer?”
A weary sound escaped his lips—a long, deflating groan. “I’m not sure. What use would God have for a sinner like me?”
“We’re all sinners,” Lilly said. “The ground at the foot of the cross is even.”
The man opened the door. He seemed so lost to Lilly. Was there nothing she could do? The familiar Scripture came to mind: “Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?”
The Lord was indeed in Zion. And Lilly was a physician. She would be His balm.
“I think you cracked a rib,” she said. “I should bind your chest.”
She put the baby in the basket at her feet and tore diapers into long bands. Rain pattered on her head as she got out and wrapped the strips tightly around the man’s chest and tied them off. “This will give you some relief, but you should see a doctor when you get to where you’re going.”
“You’ll see that Betsy Lane gets the best of care?” he asked.
“I will,” Lilly said.
“Pray for me,” he said. And then he was gone into the storm.
She leaned against the buggy for a minute before crawling back in. She’d rest a moment before she woke Timmy. The night closed in as the stitch in her side, the one she’d tolerated all day, turned into a series of demanding, cramping pains.
“Timmy, wake up.”
The boy sprang up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Where’s he at?”
“He’s gone. I need you to go for help.”
“I told you already, I ain’t leaving you.”
Lilly bit back the dark tidal wave of pain that threatened to overwhelm her. “It will be okay, Timmy. I have to stay with the baby. You can take Kip and the lantern.”
“Really? All right, then. Which way should I go?”
“Go back up this trail to the road and head toward town. Hold the lantern high and make a lot of noise so nobody mistakes who you are.”
Once outside the buggy, Timmy slapped his leg and called for Kip. Kip whined, looking back at Lilly.
“Go on, Kip. Go with Timmy.”
She watched the lantern bob away before she gave in to the gripping pain. When Betsy cried, Lilly cried with her. There was nothing to do now but pray.
Chapter 30
Lilly wished the noise would stop. She was desperately tired and in such discomfort she only wanted to escape into sleep. But the barking wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t someone get up and let Kip outside? Why must she always be responsible?
Poor little Kipper. She put both hands against the bed, determined to rise, find her slippers and her robe, and put Kip on his leash. But the hard surface beneath her hands was not her soft and comforting bed. She fell back against the buggy seat and sobbed.
Suddenly a slobbering, baying dog pushed his long wet nose against her shoulder. She could hear the men behind him.
“Praise God,” Chanis Clay said when he found her. “Doc Lilly, are you hurt? Where’s Timmy?”
Lilly clutched his shirt. “I have the baby,” she said, barely recognizing her own wavering voice. She wondered how much blood she’d lost. “Timmy went to get help.”
“All right, come on. I’ll help you out.”
A wave of pain met Lilly’s efforts to move. She could see raw fear on Chanis’s young face.
“Okay, that’s all right, Doc. I’ll carry you.”
She held tightly to the baby as Chanis lifted her out. She was glad she’d padded herself well with the baby’s extra diapers.
“She’s too weak to ride,” Chanis said when Cletus Becker unhitched the horse from the wrecked buggy.
Cletus swung himself up on the horse’s broad back. “Give ’em here,” he said to Chanis. “You lead. Go slow.”
Cletus held Lilly in his arms as tenderly as he would have held little Amy.
“I’m sorry,” she said, barely finding the strength to clasp Betsy Lane. “Thank you.”
“Glad to hep,” he said and tightened his arms.
It was late morning before Lilly was truly awake again. Her mother stood at the bedroom window looking out. Lilly had slipped in and out of consciousness all night, barely aware of her mother’s tender care but grateful all the same.
“Mama,” Lilly said, “did I keep my baby?”
When Mama turned, Lilly could see the answer written on her face.
“Oh, sweet girl,” she said, climbing into bed with Lilly. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Lilly cried on her mother’s shoulder just as she’d done so many times as a girl. Finally Mama pulled back, wiping Lilly’s eyes and her nose with the handkerchief from her apron pocket.
“There’s something wrong with me, Mama. I don’t think I can carry a baby. Maybe I’m not meant to be a mother.”
Mama patted her cheek in her no-nonsense way. “I suppose we’ll find out,” she said, moving her hand to rest on Lilly’s belly. “I believe there’s another one in here.”
Lilly fell back against the bolster pillow. “I suspected twins . . . But are you sure? How can you be sure I didn’t lose them both?”
“I could find the one, but only one. I have a sense about these things, and you’re large for this stage, Daughter.” She took a brush from the nightstand and began to tease the knots from Lilly’s hair. “Let’s get you presentable. Your husband will be home soon.”
“Tern . . . and you, Mama—how did you know to come?”
“It seems Mazy is quite the expert with the telephone. I’m proud of her.”
Tears leaked from Lilly’s eyes. “I think my baby was a boy. I wanted him so.”
“I know, honey. Sometimes a woman’s lot is hard. And it’s very strange to grieve for one while being joyous for the other.”
“Did this ever happen to you, Mama?”
“No, not this particular thing in this particular way, but you recollect, I was carrying you when your own father died.”
“How did you stand it? How did you bear up?”
“You just do, Lilly; you just do. Your faith will carry you through.”
As her mother gently brushed her hair, Lilly thought of the night before and how God had answered her prayers. She told her mother about the man who had set all this in motion and about how she had felt called to minister to him. “I hope it made a difference,” she said.
“I hope so too,” Mama said with a final pass of the brush.
“Did you examine the foundling baby, Mama? Is she okay?”
“What a little scrapper,” Mama said. “Anne Becker says she’s been through a lot.”
“You don’t know the half of it. It is a miracle that she’s alive.”
Mama caught up Lilly’s hair with a length of blue ribbon. “We’ll talk about it later. For now you need to rest.”
Lilly was propped up against the pillows, her lunch tray on her lap, when she heard Tern coming. The motorcar was so unexpected that it couldn’t possibly be anyone else.
Mazy rushed into the room, clapping her hands. “There’s a car coming. Oh, Lilly, it’s so exciting. I’ll bet this is the first automobile ever in Skip Rock. People are running along behind it, and Timmy’s riding on the running board.”
“Lilly?” She heard Tern calling from the kitchen before his body filled the doorway.
Mazy took the tray and slipped out, leaving them alone. Lilly felt like she might burst with emotion. She choked on tears. “Oh, Tern, I lost our baby.”
He sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into an embrace. “Shh,” he said. “Everything will be okay. Just let me hold you for a minute.”
Tern was tender and sweet with her, but she could feel his anger just below the surface. “The sheriff filled me in,” he said. “I’ll never leave you alone again.”
“I hope you don’t mean that,” she sa
id.
“I do mean it! Look what happened because I wasn’t here.”
“Lots happened, Tern, but not because you were gone. What you do is as important as what I do. Lives depend on you.”
“But, honey, yours is the one that matters most to me. Please don’t be sad about losing the baby. We can try again.”
“I’ll need you to grieve this with me, Tern. You’ll have to stand some tears.”
“I expect I’ll shed some of my own,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
“We’ll cry together, darling Husband.” Lilly leaned into him, gathering strength. “I suspected there were twins, Tern. Mama thinks I’m still carrying one of them.”
“You mean another baby? I don’t understand. How can that be?”
“It’s not impossible. These things happen, but even if it’s true, I could miscarry again.” Her tears soaked the front of his shirt.
He kissed her cheek. “Well, seems like we can cry a little and laugh a little. If God intends for us to have this baby, we will. If not, we’ll still have each other, and we’ll try again.”
Lilly relaxed in his arms. His reasoning was exactly what she needed to hear. It was just what the doctor ordered.
Armina slipped away to her own house once she knew Doc Lilly would be all right. She needed to watch for Ned. The doc’s house was full of folks, and a public reunion was not on Armina’s list of things she wanted to happen.
She raised all the windows in the house, mopped her kitchen floor, and flung the rug from the front room over the clothesline. Dust thickened the air. She’d beaten it to a fare-thee-well with the broom handle and sneezed herself silly before she realized she had her full strength back. Well, how about that?
She raised the broom for one last whack.
“I reckon I’d better stay over here until you put that broom down,” she heard Ned say. “Then I’m going to claim a kiss.”
Armina nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw him standing there. La, she’d missed her fellow.
