by Caroline Lee
…which was good, because they had a visitor. A horse was waiting in front of their house, and a large man was just swinging down, carrying a brown sack. He had to have heard them coming, but he focused on juggling the sack and tying the horse up to the railing.
Ash pulled the horses to a stop with a gentle “Whoa,” and Peter woke up. “Home, Mommy?”
She squeezed him, her attention still on their visitor. “Home, honey.” There was only one man as big as Ash in the area, and it had to be…
Yes, when he turned to greet Nate, who was helping Wendy and Annie down off the back of the sleigh, Molly saw that her guess had been right. “Cam McLeod, you’ve come calling?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice; their neighbor was building a cattle ranch that backed up to the Selkirks’ spread, and he pushed himself so hard that he rarely visited.
He smiled, and she liked the way it lit up his whole face. Unlike her husband, Cam couldn’t hide his feelings if he tried. His happiness always made her chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his hat to her, and she rolled her eyes at his formality as she let Ash help her down.
When her husband went to shake their neighbor’s hand and welcome him, she called out “You’re welcome to stay for supper.”
He nodded gratefully, and as she ushered Peter and Annie into the house—Nate and Ash could handle the horses alone—she saw Cam draw her husband’s attention to the sack he carried. “I got that Christmas present you were asking about.”
She saw Ash’s eyes cant towards her furtively, and became suspicious enough to shoo her sister and son through the door and turn to face the men. With her hands on her hips, she raised one brow, silently asking her husband what all this was about. With a rueful smile, he glanced at Nate, who was standing forehead-to-forehead with Wendy, both of them looking down at Noah. Ash sighed and shrugged, and then jerked his chin towards the front door, inviting Cam inside.
It took a while to get them all in, and the snow stomped off their boots, and their wraps hung up by the fire, and Peter’s questions about when they could decorate the tree answered. Tonight it would wait out on the porch to dry off and then tomorrow they’d all spend the day inside decorating. It was the day that Molly looked forward to the most during the Christmas season, but it took a lot of prep work on her part.
Finally, she turned to Cam, who was still cradling the brown sack in one bent arm. “You’ll stay for some of my stew?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Molly. Da and I are getting’ tired of my cooking.”
She smiled. “Well, you’ll have to bring him next time, then. For Christmas, maybe?”
Shrugging, he said, “You know Da. He doesn’t leave the Open Skye if he can help it.” Molly nodded distractedly; when Cam had shrugged, the sack in his arms was moving, and was still moving.
Staring pointedly at it, she spoke to her husband, whom she could feel moving up behind her. “Ash? Is there something that you two want to tell me?”
His long arms snaked around her middle, pulling her against him. “Now, Molly, don’t be mad…”
“Any time anyone starts something with ‘Don’t be mad’ I know I’m going to be mad.” She felt his chuckle through his chest, and glanced over to make sure that Annie was distracting Peter. “What’s in the bag, Ash?”
Cam answered instead. “One of Da’s dogs whelped last month. I showed ‘em to Ash last time he was riding near the Open Skye.”
“I thought that Petey might like them.” Ash didn’t bother to keep his voice down, and she almost groaned when she saw her son perk up at his name.
“Them?” Oh, she was irritated, alright. Her husband had decided to get their son dogs?
“Well, only the one, Molly. Ash isn’t stupid.” Cam’s grin told her that he was teasing his friend, but she was too annoyed to care. Squatting, their neighbor placed the sack on the ground, and tilted it sideways.
Out tumbled the most adorable brown-and-white pup, a tangle of floppy ears and gangly legs and drool. With a squeal, Peter came tearing across the room and threw himself in front of the animal. Molly opened her mouth to caution him to be careful, but Ash squeezed her tightly to cut her breath—and her warning—off.
“I told Cam to pick the gentlest of the litter, sweetheart.” His warm whisper tickled the curls around her ear. “I didn’t plan on him bringing it over here right away. I was going to go check his pick out.”
“You got him a dog, Ash Barker, without consulting me?” She knew that she was hissing at her husband, but didn’t care.
“Not yet, I hadn’t. I’m sorry Cam beat me to it, but here the thing is, and you gotta admit that Pete looks pretty darn happy.”
She sighed, easing against him. He was right. Their son did look happy, wrestling on the floor with a pup the same size as him. He was giggling and the dog was licking him all over. Cam and Nate stood over them, laughing, and even Wendy and Annie were watching the joyful scene with smiles.
A puppy. A puppy for Christmas. “Don’t you think I have enough to handle around here?” They were still whispering to each other, doing their married-couple-arguing-in-front-of-the-family act, and as always, everyone else pretended they couldn’t hear.
“You do, hon. But we’ll all help with the dog, and this way Pete will have a friend to play with. Someone to occupy him and get him out of your hair sometimes.”
Put like that, there really wasn’t anything to object to. Peter needed a friend.
“Fine.” She sighed, and then sighed again when Ash squeezed her. “Fine. It can stay.”
“He.” Cam’s smile said that he’d known she’d give in.
Molly tried to make her smile as sincere as possible—she was still irritated with her husband, although she knew this was a good choice for her family—as she thought of decorating the Christmas tree with a jubilant puppy and a wild little boy. Oh Heavens, what am I getting into?
“What are you going to name him, Peter?”
Her son stopped rolling around, and lay draped across the dog, one arm around his neck. Both dog and boy looked up at her, and then at each other. The puppy let out a little bark, and licked Peter’s nose and eye, and he giggled.
When Molly saw the smile that grew across her son’s face, she knew that she’d do anything to keep it there. “Scooter. He’s my friend.”
She exhaled, and wrapped her arms around her husband. Things were going to be all right.
Spring Fever
April, 1885
“Honey?” Nate pushed open the door to the small second bedroom. He’d built the house years before he’d ever thought Wendy would marry him, but it’d always been in the back of his mind that it would make a good nursery. Wendy agreed, but she’d been using it as a place to write over the last few years, instead.
The room was stuffy and still; in the early spring they opened all the windows and doors and let the cool breezes whisk away the winter staleness, but in the room the windows were still tightly latched. Wendy sat at her little desk, the one Nate had moved in front of the window so that she could see the blooming flowers and watch him work with the horses. Normally she’d be bent industriously over a notebook, scribbling away, but she hadn’t touched a pencil in weeks. Instead, she sat with her hands folded on her lap, staring at nothing.
“Honey, you need…” Nate wasn’t sure what he should say. What he could say that would pull his wife out of this funk. Every night he held her, and she melted against him willingly enough, but he could tell that she was holding part of her heart back. Part of her back. He cleared his throat. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?”
Before this miscarriage, they would’ve gone over to Ash’s for their midday meal, but lately Molly had just been wrapping up some food for Nate to bring home. He knew that his sister-in-law worried about Wendy, but didn’t know what to tell her. Hell, he was worried about Wendy, and didn’t know what to say to make it right.
He crossed the room, and put the bundle of food on the desk beside her
. The movement seemed to draw her attention, and slowly, she turned her blank gaze to his face. It nearly broke Nate’s heart, to see her looking at him that way. Like he wasn’t there.
So he sank to his knees beside her, gathering her hands in his. “Honey, you need to eat. To get strong.” The midwife had told her she could get out of bed, could resume her normal life, but she hadn’t. She just sat here, alone, while spring was happening all around her.
“I’m not hungry.” She spoke like that now, hollow and empty, in short sentences. She hadn’t left the house, hadn’t written a word, hadn’t enjoyed the new season.
“You might not think you’re hungry, but you still have to eat to stay healthy.”
“What’s the point?”
Nate’s gut clenched. “Because I need you to be healthy, honey. I need you to be healthy so that you can come back to life with me. The colts are coming, Wendy. Your sister is birthing at least one a day this week. The flowers are blooming in our meadow. There’s… bunnies and stuff. Come on, Wendy. Come back to me.”
“It’s the season of new life, Nate.” Her voice was a whisper. “I… can’t.”
With a sigh, Nate let his forehead drop down to her knee, and was gratified to feel her fingers through his long hair, a familiar touch that had started when they’d been kids. Good to know some things hadn’t changed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” He’d been out working with the horses when Wendy had lost this baby, and by the time he got home, there was nothing he could do but hold her and cry with her.
“It’s not your fault either, Wendy.” He sat up, squeezing her hands and willing her to understand. But she just blinked and looked away. “Wendy!” No response, so he squeezed harder. “Do you understand? It’s not your fault.”
When she still didn’t say anything, still didn’t look at him, Nate cursed, low and long. He couldn’t stand this, the way she was shutting him out. He hated the thought that he’d lost a part of his wife along with the baby. He pushed himself off of his knee, and gathered her up in arms. Before she could react, he’d swept her across the room and sat them both down on the small bed he’d moved in there after their nephews had outgrown it. The bed that he had once hoped his own kid would use.
She was still holding onto his arms, and he was glad that she hadn’t been able to stay apart from him. With one palm on her cheek, he held her gaze. "Wendy. What is it? Tell me.”
It damn near tore him in half, to see those lovely blue eyes tear up behind her spectacles. “It is my fault, Nate. It is. It’s my fault you’re never going to have a son or daughter. I can’t give one to you.”
It took every ounce of his self-control to keep from crushing her to him. He’d held her body enough while she mourned—this was the first time he’d held her attention. “I don’t know why we keep losing the babies, Wendy—” This was her third miscarriage in as many years—“But I know it’s not because of anything you’ve done. It’s just part of God’s design.”
“He’s punishing me, for praying to lose my first…” Her tears were flowing freely, now, and Nate had to fight from joining in. Years ago she’d given herself to a man who scorned her, and when she’d discovered that she was pregnant, she’d prayed that she wouldn’t be. She’d lost that baby, and despite Nate’s best efforts to convince her otherwise, was still half-convinced it was God answering her prayers.
“You know that’s not true. It can’t be true.”
A sob wrenched free of her throat. “Why, then?” she wailed, and he could almost be happy that she was finally—finally!—showing some real emotion.
“I don’t know, honey.” He gave into the overwhelming urge, and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t know, but I know that we’re strong enough to live through it.” He shuddered in gratitude when her arms wrapped around his middle, hoping that little response meant she was willing to live again.
“So many, Nate. So… many.”
The midwife had said, each time, that she was healthy and could resume her normal duties, and that they could keep trying. It’s what had kept them hopeful over the last years. But Nate wasn’t willing to do anything to risk Wendy. “We don’t have to keep trying, you know. We’ve got Pete and Noah and Rose, and the rest of our family. I don’t want you to think that I need a baby, because I don’t. I love you just the way we are.”
She sniffled against his shoulder, and they were still for a long moment. He felt her tears soaking through his shirt. “But I want to be a mother, like Molly and Tess.” Their neighbor was due in a few months with their third child. “I want the little nappies and the cradle and the… the feeling of being a mother!”
He stroked her back, trying to offer what comfort he could. “I know, sweetheart. But we can still have kids, you know that. There are kids out there just like me, who need parents…”
She pulled away slightly, still holding him. There were silent tears pouring down her cheeks, and if he could’ve made himself let go of her for a second, he would wipe them away. “I love you, Nate Barker. More than anything in the whole world, I want to meet your son or daughter. I want to carry that baby, I want to help you raise him or her.”
“We can become parents another way, Wendy, if you want to add to our family.”
She gave him a little shake. “I know. But I want a baby who is part of you. The best part. The part I carry in my heart.” She pushed her cheek against his shoulder again. “I love you.”
There was nothing he could do but kiss her forehead. “I love you too, honey.”
And there they sat, wrapped around each other, with no way to resolve anything. Maybe there was no resolution. Nate knew that she wouldn’t be able to stand doing this forever, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet. Maybe they’d have a baby by next year… maybe they never would. He’d be right beside her, though, through it all. He’d hold her when she needed it, and they’d share in life’s ups and downs.
And as soon as he could make himself let go of her, he’d open the little room’s window to let spring in. Life was moving on around them, and Nate wanted to as well. But more than anything, he wanted his wife beside him again. Enjoying the season of rebirth.
Summer Lovin’
July, 1885
“Did your father come home last night?” Tess had to stoop to push eggs off the serving platter onto Mae’s plate, but was curious about her father-in-law.
Instead of answering, her husband turned to seven-year-old Jacob. “Did you see Grandda’s horse in the stables this morning?”
The boy nodded, his mouth half-full of eggs. “He was milking the cows for me, too.”
Cam winked at her, then. “Guess he made it back this morning, then. Use a napkin, Mae!” Her husband lunged for their daughter, handing her the square of material. Tess just shook her head, despairing of the four-year-old ever learning to wipe her hands anyplace besides the bib of her shirt. She was already wearing her older brother’s clothes, out of sheer desperation, because she got everything else so filthy. Still, when she smiled crookedly up at her daddy, Tess’s heart lurched, and she had to turn back to the biscuit she was buttering, to keep from tearing up.
Of course, these days she teared up over just about anything. She blamed the baby, and Cam agreed, although he was usually laughing when he did. Even after almost six years of marriage, Tess still wasn’t used to the way he could always wear his emotions so openly. Every booming laugh was a pleasant surprise, and he seemed to know it.
Speaking of which, he was chuckling now, at something Jacob had said. Their son had just discovered how to make puns, and would often make Cam laugh uproariously. Just last night he’d taken a big bite of her apple pie—Molly had shared the recipe—and said “I like apples. They have a-peel.” Cam had chuckled all evening over that one.
She focused on getting Mae to get most of her eggs into her mouth, and ignored the twinge in her lower back. The tightness had started last night, but she’
d been able to sleep. The baby wouldn’t be here for weeks, yet, so these were probably the practice contractions she remembered with Mae. But this one was tighter than the rest. Tight enough to make her inhale sharply.
When Cam glanced at her—it was so easy to read the love and concern in his expression—she just shook her head slightly. She didn’t want Jacob to worry; and she knew that he was a worrier. He got it from her. Still, her husband wasn’t going to let up about it either, so she tried for a distraction. “My beans are ready to be picked.” No matter how many years she planted a vegetable garden, she still loved the satisfaction of watching things grow to feed her family. “Guess what you and I are going to be doing after breakfast, missy?”
Her daughter, who loved any excuse to play in the dirt, beamed up at Tess. “Picking beans!”
She smiled and combed the brown hair out of the girl’s eyes. Her own hair was black and straight, of course, and Cam’s hair was blonde and curly. It was funny how their daughter’s ended up right in the middle—a light brown with waves that refused to stay in braids.
The back door opened with a bang, and her father-in-law stomped in. He was in the process of wiping the mud off of his boots when Ian caught his family looking at him, and scowled. “What?”
“Welcome home, Da. We were starting to worry.”
“No ye weren’t.” The older man grumbled over to the stove, where he heaped some eggs and a biscuit onto a plate, and slammed them down on the table beside Jacob. The boy knew his grandfather’s mood wasn’t nearly as grumpy as it looked, though, and he just smiled and made room.
Her husband, however, wasn’t done teasing his father. “Did you get waylaid somewhere? Or were Miss Agatha and Miss Agnes kind enough to let you bunk down there?”
Tess pushed her lips together, to keep from giggling at Ian’s angry glare. It was no secret that he was sweet on Miss Agatha Selkirk, in town, and that he often spent the evening with her and her twin sister. Sometimes he came home, sometimes he didn’t. Even though it was obvious Ian wanted his private affairs to remain… well, private, Cam did his best to tease his father mercilessly.
