Families and neighbors gathered in informal knots in the churchyard waiting for the bell to call them to worship. Again, soft greetings called to them, and Esther and Ava bravely bent their heads in return.
A grizzled old farmer and his wife nodded as Esther and Ava passed by. Then the man was holding out his hand.
As Esther took his, the farmer cleared his throat. “Glad t’ see yer doin’ ok, miss.”
Esther nodded. “Thank you.”
Another family waited at her elbow. She reached her hand toward the one held out to her.
“Jest wanted t’ say . . . we don’t abide with anyone hurtin’ one o’ our own,” the weather-worn gent growled. “Made me plumb mad t’ hear it, it did. We’re mighty grateful ya didn’t come t’ harm.” His wife smiled and squeezed Esther’s arm.
One of our own?
The man peered at Esther’s bruised face. “Shooo-ee! Them’s some fine ’uns! Don’t fret none ’bout thet color, though. It’ll go quick. Why, my mule kicked me in th’ face once, and my face were a shiny purple fer three weeks!”
Another couple had drawn near. The woman whispered in Esther’s ear, “We bin prayin’ fer ya. Don’t lose yer courage now, hear?”
Esther sobbed once and nodded; it took all she had not to break down. The woman patted her gently before she and her husband moved off.
The rest of the morning blurred for Esther. Looking back, she could recall no details of the service except one moment that etched itself in her memory. She and Ava were standing in the dim light of the church’s small vestibule, searching for open seats.
“Miss Esther?” Connor McKennie appeared beside her. He took her hand. For a moment he struggled to find the words he wanted to say, and they both stood there, mute.
Finally, he whispered, “I didn’t understand.” He hesitated again before adding, “You are a brave woman. I . . . I’m proud of you.”
With that and a nod, he went to join his family.
O’Dell gaped at the copy of the Denver Post Parsons had just slapped on his desk. He grabbed it up and raced through the headline article.
What? Judd had found Esther! Had died trying to take her from RiverBend!
“Put your eyeballs back in your head, O’Dell,” Parsons growled. “Judd has gone to his reward, and I gotta say, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
O’Dell didn’t answer; he didn’t trust himself to speak just yet.
Thank you, Lord! No more worry about Judd’s revenge; no more looking over my shoulder! And no more avoiding Denver for fear of leading Judd straight to Palmer House!
Thank you, Lord, for sparing Esther and the other girls! Thank you for . . . removing this threat forever.
Midmorning, days later, O’Dell slit open an envelope. A clipping of the same Denver Post article he had already read fell out onto his desk. O’Dell plucked a letter from the envelope—it was just a note, really—and scanned it twice.
“Boss?” O’Dell stood in Parson’s office doorway. “I’m taking a week off.” He already had his derby in one hand, his cane in the other.
“What in blazes? O’Dell, you won’t earn a week off for another two years!”
“Sorry. It’s family business.”
Parson’s expression darkened further. “You don’t have a family.”
O’Dell grinned and flipped the bowler neatly onto his head. “Yes I do, and it’s in Denver. See you in a week.” Out of habit, he patted his breast pocket for a cigar—empty!—and laughed at himself.
He strode down the hall toward the door, his thoughts fixed on those dear to him: Liáng and Bao; Mei-Xing and the baby daughter he’d not yet met; Rose and Breona; Billy, Marit, and Will; Mr. Wheatley; Grant and Joy and the baby soon to be born.
I’ll be on the afternoon train. The people I love are asking for me and I can, at last, go to them. Thank you, Lord!
~~**~~
Chapter 16
Joy woke in the night. She lay quiet but alert, listening to Grant’s steady snoring and the sound of the machine that helped him.
What is it that awakened me?
She listened but heard nothing out of the ordinary. She closed her eyes and began to drift back to sleep only to abruptly waken again. She glanced at the clock near their bed.
It is still the middle of the night! Maybe a glass of warm milk will soothe me, she decided.
She scooted until she reached the edge of the bed and dangled her feet over the side. When they touched the floor, she rolled and was able to sit up.
I can scarcely get out of this bed! she grumbled. And where are my slippers? She looked down but could not see past her distended belly. Turning this way and that, she glimpsed the elusive slippers and, with her toes, dragged them toward the bed where she could sit and, by touch alone, maneuver her feet into them.
Joy gasped as a stream of warmth gushed from between her legs and puddled on and around her slippers.
“Oh, my!” When she stood up, more fluid trickled down her legs.
“I am having a baby,” she whispered in amazement.
She waddled to a cupboard and found clean towels and a fresh nightgown. With a little effort, she did a credible of job of sopping up the fluid and changing into the clean gown.
“What are you doing?” Grant’s whisper startled a shriek from Joy.
“You scared me!” Then she laughed; she giggled like a girl. “I’m having a baby, I think.”
“It’s about time.” Grant started to get out of bed. “I haven’t been able to sleep this past month worrying and wishing this were over.” He turned up the gaslight and grinned across the bed.
“Grant Michaels! You take that back, right now! Just five minutes ago you were snoring so loudly you didn’t even know I’d gotten up, let alone mopped up the floor and changed my gown.”
He kept grinning but then Joy’s demeanor went still and she frowned.
“Has it started?” he asked. “What can I do?”
“I-I don’t know. Nothing just yet, I think.” She stayed quiet for a few seconds longer. “That one is over. If I understand correctly, when the pains get close together, that’s when we should call the doctor.”
“Close together? What does ‘close together’ mean? How many minutes apart is close together?”
“Oh, Grant!” Joy laughed and set the kettle on the stove. “I’m sure it will be a while. I’ll just make myself some chamomile tea. And I’ll make you a pot of coffee.”
At daybreak Grant opened their cottage door and picked up a handful of pebbles, stopping to catch his breath afterwards. One at a time he tossed the gravel stones against the window of Billy and Marit’s little house, not far from theirs.
After six or seven pebbles pinged off the glass, Marit looked through and spied Grant. Seconds later she opened their door.
“Vat is it? It is Miss Joy’s time?”
Grant was relieved to see Marit; Joy had taken to their bed half an hour ago. “Yes. Would you send Billy to fetch Joy’s mother?”
He did not have to wait long. Rose, who looked as though she had thrown on her clothes while racing down the stairs, bustled into their cottage; Breona was fast on her heels.
Grant was more than ready for Billy to help him into the house when he came—Grant did not want to hear any more of the groans Joy tried so hard to smother. He collapsed at the kitchen table and began to pray.
No one disturbed him; the girls came and went, mindful of his presence, and breakfast preparations went ahead. Marit placed a cup of coffee near his elbow. The aroma pulled him from his prayers and he sipped it with gratitude but soon returned to lifting his wife before the Lord.
O Father, after all this time, you have blessed us with a child. I know you are with Joy right now, strengthening her and giving her hope. Hope! Lord, if our child is a daughter, Hope would be a perfect name. But, you know that if the baby is a son . . .
He prayed on, pausing to finish the cup of coffee gone cold and to greet Dr. Murphy as Mr. Wheatle
y showed him through the house and out the back door toward the cottage.
“Well, you’ll have a fine son or daughter before long, I expect,” the doctor assured him. “Joy is from strong stock and will not have difficulty birthing this child.”
About that time O’Dell passed under the scrutiny of Gresham’s men and rang the doorbell to Palmer House. Mr. Wheatley, his hair more disheveled than ever, shuffled to the door and welcomed him inside.
“Mr. O’Dell, you are a sight for sore eyes,” the old man wheezed. “Got us quite a commotion today, too.”
“Oh?” O’Dell frowned.
“Miss Joy’s havin’ her baby right now. Doctor Murphy went back there to their house ’bout an hour ago.”
O’Dell’s stomach lurched at the thought of Joy laboring to birth a child. “And Mr. Grant?”
“Why, he’s been in the kitchen all morning, just praying.”
“If you think it all right, I would like to join him.”
“Mr. O’Dell, you’ve come!” Grant had never seen a more welcome sight. He struggled to stand and held out a welcoming hand.
O’Dell’s eyes were sharp, and he did not like the way his friend looked. He was thinner than the last time he had seen him. Thinner and . . . too pale. He did not miss the slight tinge of blue about Grant’s mouth . . . or the odd-looking cup he held . . . or the hose that led from the cup to a tank of some kind topped by gadgets.
O’Dell hid his dismay. This is what Joy would not tell me when I was here last, he realized. He shook hands with Grant and took the chair offered to him.
“Mr. Wheatley tells me you are about to become a father,” O’Dell smiled.
“Thanks be to the Lord!” Grant grinned. He breathed from the cup he held in his hand and added, “The doctor just came. I hope it does not take much longer.”
It was past lunchtime when Breona bounded into the kitchen. “Mr. Grant! Coom! Coom, ye mus’ be coomin’ now!”
If possible, Grant paled further. “Is she all right? The baby?”
“Ye jes’ be coomin’ now,” was all Breona would say, but she was grinning and, spying O’Dell, she winked.
O’Dell knew then that all was well with Joy and the child. “Need some help with that contraption?”
“Yes, I would be obliged.” Grant caught O’Dell watching him and saw the questions he had not spoken. “I would like to talk to you later,” he said quietly.
O’Dell, while also managing his cane, rolled the tank to the back door, down the steps, and along the brick walkway to Grant and Joy’s cottage. Grant followed him, breathing from the cup.
When they reached the cottage door, O’Dell felt he should not go inside and intrude on such a hallowed moment, but it was obvious that Grant was in no condition to haul the machine inside on his own.
“I apologize,” Grant whispered, “but could you help me inside?”
O’Dell took a deep breath. He hauled the tank through the doorway ahead of Grant. O’Dell peered down a short passage and saw Rose Thoresen, her face glowing, standing beside a bed that was around the corner.
“Mr. O’Dell! I am so delighted to see you! Thank you for helping Grant.”
He wheeled the tank close to the bed and then backed away toward the door, wondering what happiness awaited his friend Grant beyond that corner.
O’Dell stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Then he heard the squall of a newborn through the door and he went still with wonder.
Joy is a mother!
With Rose’s help, Grant maneuvered himself and the breathing apparatus so that he could perch on the edge of the bed. The doctor was packing his bag and Joy was sitting up, a small blanketed bundle in the curve of her arm.
The bundle squawked and squalled; Joy and her mother both laughed.
Grant stared at the blanketed baby and then scanned Joy’s face; she appeared exhausted and elated at the same time. “Are you all right, my darling?”
“Right as rain,” Joy answered, her smile growing.
With awkward movements, she lifted the bundle and held it toward him. Grant sucked in a breath and took the now jiggling bundle. Joy lifted a corner of the blanket away and he stared into the very red face of a crying newborn.
“Meet our son, Grant. We have a son!”
“We have a son . . .” He was going to weep; he did not know how he could prevent it. The moment was too full of wonder.
The baby stilled and looked straight at him. Grant had heard that newborns could not see, but the baby seemed to be aware or listening. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, almost black.
Peeling the blanket back a little more, Grant saw wisps of light brown curls. “You are perfect, my son,” Grant whispered. His voice caught and Joy brought her hand up and clasped his.
O’Dell returned to the house where everyone there had already received the news from Breona that Joy and Grant had a baby boy. Marit, as exuberant as O’Dell had ever seen her, set about making him a late lunch.
While O’Dell waited, little Will clambered up his leg and into his lap to tug on his mustache. O’Dell studied Will’s clear eyes and happy, toothy smile and was more content than he could remember.
Mr. Wheatley had already eaten his lunch, but he sat with O’Dell as Marit served him, and Breona joined them, taking Will from O’Dell’s lap so he could eat—and eat he did with an appetite.
“Sure an’ ’tis good t’ be seein’ yer face again,” Breona sighed. “You’ve heard th’ news ’bout Cal Judd?”
“Aye, that I have,” O’Dell answered, copying her accent perfectly.
She smacked him playfully on the arm. “We canna help boot rejoice. Th’ weight o’ th’ worl’, ’tis lifted from our heads.”
“And from mine,” O’Dell replied. “I came as soon as I received Grant’s letter.”
The doctor entered from the back door just then. “All is well with Mrs. Michaels and I will be on my way,” he said, full of cheer. He waved Mr. Wheatley back into his chair. “No, I will see myself out, thank you.”
After the doctor’s footsteps echoed down the long hallway, O’Dell spoke again. “I have missed this house and this family and I have missed many happy times. I hope you will indulge me and just allow me to spend my day here? I hope to speak more with Grant later and, of course, I have not seen Mei-Xing’s baby.”
“Tosh! Ye are knowin’ yer welcome onytime,” Breona assured him.
“Care for a game of checkers after lunch?” Mr. Wheatley asked. He raised both brows hopefully.
“That, my friend,” O’Dell nodded sagely, “is jest what th’ doctor ordered, I’m thinkin’.”
Mr. Wheatley slapped his leg. Even Marit chuckled.
It is so good to be here, Lord, O’Dell prayed silently. I am grateful that you have blessed Joy and Grant with a child. Thank you for letting me be here to rejoice with them.
Joy stared at the baby in her arms, half blind from the tears that seemed to flow every time she looked at him.
Look how beautiful he is, Lord! she rejoiced. She took inventory again: The haze of light brown, curling hair on his head was from Grant; the pursed, rosebud mouth was from her. The tiny thumb jammed in his mouth—almost from birth!—was all his own. While he sucked his thumb, the fingers of his dimpled hand curved around his cheek, cupping his face in the most endearing manner.
Grant peeked over her shoulder. “How amazing he is! Perfect in every way.” They stared at the sleeping child, unaware of how much time was passing. It did not matter. They would treasure these precious hours all their lives.
“What will we name him, Grant?” Joy peered into Grant’s face, treasuring, too, the happiness she saw there.
Grant squeezed her hand. “I have a name in mind that I wish us to give him, Joy, but only if you agree and approve.” Gently, Grant shared his request with Joy.
Against her will, Joy’s eyes began to droop. Rose swaddled the baby and tucked him into the bassinette near the bed. Then she went to fetch Billy to help Grant
into the house.
Rose returned with Billy and determined to stay with Joy, even though Grant could see how weary she had become. He left Joy and the baby sleeping in the cottage and Rose nodding in the chair next to the bed.
I will ask Breona to come sit with Joy so Rose can go upstairs and take a nap, Grant thought as he and Billy made their way to the back door of Palmer House. And I hope Mr. O’Dell has not left yet.
He had not, of course.
After Grant sent Breona to spell Rose, he invited O’Dell to join him in the parlor where they could speak privately. O’Dell wheeled the tank into the room for Grant.
“Congratulations, Grant,” O’Dell murmured when the apparatus was situated and Grant was seated. Grant breathed deeply from the machine before answering.
“Thank you. We never expected such a blessing.” Grant was quiet, unsure how to proceed.
O’Dell, however, never one to stand upon niceties, had questions and wanted answers.
“I consider us good friends, Grant, but I have to say I was shocked to see . . . that, whatever it is, and you looking so poorly. You want to tell me what is going on?”
Grant sighed and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “The fact is, Mr. O’Dell . . . I am dying.”
O’Dell sat so still for so long that Grant became nervous and, on his own, kept talking. “The influenza last winter. Most of us in the house came down with it, you know. And then afterwards, Flinty . . .”
O’Dell nodded, mourning Flinty, missing his jokes and his tall tales, missing his wonderful, joyous spirit.
“What happened to you?”
Grant cleared his throat. “The doctor tells us that the influenza virus went into my heart and damaged it. It is not working well . . . and, well, it is getting worse.” Between sentences, Grant breathed from the cup he placed over his mouth and nose. “Eventually, it will not work at all.”
O’Dell studied Grant, again taking in his unnatural pallor. “That machine. What does it do for you?”
“It feeds me oxygen so I breathe better. For now.”
Stolen (A Prairie Heritage, Book 5) Page 16
