“Mom!” The cry was scarcely out of her mouth when she felt a strange pop. A warm, damp spot spread on the quilt beneath her.
In spite of how quickly her contractions had progressed, her labor had been long and intense and shadowed by fear because it was several weeks too early. But now that Daria held the reward of her travail in her arms, all the agony quickly faded into nothing.
Natalie Joan Camfield looked up into her mother’s eyes with a gaze that surprised Daria with its intelligence and awareness. The tiny infant had a full head of almost-black hair and navy blue eyes.
Daria couldn’t help but laugh at her daughter’s two grandmothers. As the older women stood by Daria’s hospital bed, cooing over the granddaughter they shared, Margo Haydon declared, “You just watch, Daria. In a few weeks her eyes will lighten up and be as blue as yours.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Vera Camfield argued. “Her eyes are exactly the color Nathan’s were when he was born. You can already see a bit of hazel in them.” Vera’s own eyes brimmed with tears, and Daria tried desperately to think of something to say that would bring her back to the present.
“Vera, do you remember how much Nate weighed when he was born?”
“How could I forget?” she said, smiling sadly. “He was nine pounds, fifteen ounces.”
“Almost ten pounds!” Daria exclaimed. “Ouch! And I thought Natalie was big at six and a half pounds.”
“Be thankful she came early,” Margo said with a grimace. “She might have been ten pounds if you’d gone full term.”
“Both my babies were big,” Vera said with pride. “Betsy was almost as big as Nathan. Of course you’d never know it now.”
The two grandmothers continued to compare stories and imagine family resemblances in their new grandchild until Daria was worn out with their banter.
But in spite of the commotion of the hospital and the constant stream of visitors, Daria felt as though she and her daughter were in a world of their own, held together by a bond that only they shared. In some ways, the baby’s arrival had rekindled her grief for Nate, yet ironically it had provided healing for that grief as well. And though she couldn’t look at Natalie without being reminded of Nate—in her eyes, in the tiny cleft of her chin—it was a comfort to know that in a small way, her husband lived on through his daughter.
She smiled through her tears and thanked God for this six-and-a-half-pound bundle—Nathan’s final Valentine to her.
Daria sat in the well-worn recliner in the Haydon living room, wrestling with a fussy, hungry infant. Her mother hovered like a honeybee over a freshly opened peony.
“Are you sure you don’t want to give her just a little formula? I’ve got it all ready.” She held out a warm bottle filled with the strong-smelling brownish liquid.
“No, Mom,” Daria said evenly, ignoring the proffered bottle and struggling to control her frustration. “Thanks anyway, but she just needs to nurse some more.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like she’s getting enough milk. Some women just don’t produce enough, you know. There’s no shame in supplementing with formula once in a while, honey. After all, you were raised on it.”
“Mom, please!” The words came out more forcefully than she’d intended. She softened her tone. “Could you just leave us alone for a few minutes? I think she’s a little distracted.”
Margo set the warm bottle on an end table. “I’m just trying to help,” she said, hands on hips.
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“I don’t mean to interfere. But after all, I did raise two babies myself.”
Daria ignored her mother, and finally Margo sighed and took the bottle back to the kitchen.
For the first few weeks of motherhood, it had been wonderful to have her mother’s expert help with the baby, to have all her meals prepared and served, and to have a free roof over her head. But now that Natalie was two months old and Daria was beginning to feel confident in her role, she was feeling desperate to have her own space.
Natalie finally fell asleep at her breast. Daria eased out of the chair and headed upstairs to put the baby down for a nap. As she passed her father’s desk, she grabbed the morning paper with her free hand.
Natalie opened her eyes the minute Daria laid her on the crib mattress, but she didn’t protest when Daria left the side of the crib and went to sit cross-legged on her own bed, spreading the newspaper out before her.
Daria had secretly pored over the classified ads every day for the past two weeks, growing more frustrated as she realized how under-qualified she was for any job that paid enough to provide for a single woman with an infant. A teaching job would be perfect. If she couldn’t be home full time, at least she could have summers with Natalie.
But going back to college seemed an impossibility. She was angry with Nate for allowing her to quit school, even though it had been her own idea to drop out and go to work to help put him through medical school. “I don’t even know why I’ve stayed in school this long,” she’d told him back then. “It’s just a waste of money. It’s not like I’ll need a degree in Colombia.” But she thought now that he should have insisted that she finish, that she get a degree of some kind.
She was angry with Nate, and she was angry with God for letting him die. It didn’t make sense that a loving God would allow someone as caring and giving as Nathan Camfield to die just as he was beginning a life dedicated to serving others. How could God have let them—both of them—sacrifice so much, work so hard toward Nate’s goal of becoming a doctor? How could he have called them to the mission field, only to take it all away, leaving her alone and ill prepared to support their daughter? She would never understand it.
Sighing, she forced away the angry feelings and turned again to the classified section of the paper. With a growing feeling of desperation, she folded back the page and began scanning the columns.
An item under the “Help Wanted” section caught her eye: “Receptionist for veterinary clinic in small town. Full-time position with flexible hours, benefits. Will train.”
Well, it was far from the teaching field, but “flexible hours” and “will train” sounded promising. And the clinic was nearby in Bristol, where she had attended high school. She scribbled down the address, along with the phone numbers of several other job openings that seemed like possibilities. Then she went to her closet to see if she could find even one outfit she could squeeze into that would be suitable for a job interview.
She glanced down at Natalie, who was still awake but lying quietly on her back. A pair of bright little eyes darted back and forth, seeming to follow Daria as she moved from the closet to the full-length mirror and back, holding various skirts in front of her.
“Oh, Nattie, your mommy doesn’t have a thing to wear!” she cooed, as though the baby could understand every word.
She finally decided on a faded but still stylish, straight denim skirt. She could borrow a blouse from her mother to wear with it.
She hated even bringing up the subject of a job with her parents. Margo and Erroll Haydon had fallen in love with their little granddaughter. Natalie was a blessing, and a powerful antidote to everyone’s grief. But it was time for them to be on their own—past time. And Daria was ready.
Natalie began to squirm and fuss in the crib. Daria looked at her watch. “Are you hungry again, little girl? You must be in a growing spurt.”
In reply Natalie puckered her bottom lip and burst into tears. Laughing, Daria scooped the baby into her arms. She sat down in the rocking chair and put her daughter to her breast. The eager little mouth latched on, and soon she was almost choking on the rich flow of milk. They were slowly getting the hang of this breast-feeding thing, and with the rush of milk, Daria felt the familiar sense of well-being spread over her like a warm quilt.
“We’re in this together, kiddo,” she whispered. “You and me.”
The thick, dark hair Natalie had been born with had fallen out within weeks of her birth and wa
s slowly being replaced with silky, white-blond strands that made her look even more startlingly like Nate. Daria smoothed the flyaway hair with the palm of her hand and wished for the thousandth time that Nathan could have seen his daughter just once.
Daria smiled as the baby’s eyelids fluttered, then closed as she fell into a milk-induced stupor. Overcome with love for her daughter, Daria stroked the rounded curve of Natalie’s down-soft cheek. A tear rolled down Daria’s cheek and soaked into the warm blanket surrounding her daughter.
Set back from the highway, the Bristol Veterinary Clinic was at the edge of town. The unassuming office building in front was dwarfed by a modern, newly built barn that rose behind it.
Daria got out of the car and nervously straightened her skirt and smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse. She went around to the opposite side of the car and opened the back door.
Natalie slept soundly in her car seat. “Please, please, don’t wake up, sweetie,” she whispered under her breath. Spring had not quite arrived in Kansas and the afternoon breeze was brisk, so Daria threw a light blanket over Natalie, tucking it in around her.
She picked up her daughter, car seat and all, and walked into the waiting room of the clinic’s front office.
“Can I help you?” the girl at the desk asked through a wad of chewing gum. Daria guessed that she was a high-school student.
“Yes, I’m here for an interview about the receptionist’s position.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Hang on.” The girl meandered down a hallway toward the back of the building, reappearing a few seconds later. She handed Daria a clipboard with a job application attached.
Daria put Natalie’s carrier on the floor beside her, uncovered the still-sleeping baby, and sat down to fill out the information. When she was finished, she gave the clipboard to the girl, who disappeared through a back doorway with it.
She returned a few minutes later. “Dr. Hunter says to come on back.”
Toting the infant carrier, she followed the young woman through the door and down a narrow passageway.
“I’m Jennifer, by the way.” The girl offered Daria a shy smile. “Your baby is adorable.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “I hope it’s okay that I brought her with me. I lost my baby-sitter at the last minute. I called and spoke with someone here about it, and they—”
“Oh, yeah,” Jennifer interrupted. “That was me. It’s not a problem. Dr. Hunter is crazy about kids.”
The place smelled strongly of wet dog fur and disinfectant. Through open doors on each side of the hallway Daria could see rows of cages, several of which held dogs or cats. A high-strung poodle began barking as they passed and Daria winced, fearing the sound would wake Natalie. But the baby didn’t stir.
Jennifer showed her into a small office at the end of the hallway. She motioned toward a folding chair in front of a metal desk in the corner, then left, closing the door behind her. A few minutes later, the door opened again and a tall, sandy-haired man in a stained white coat stepped into the room.
He stuck out his hand. “Hello. Daria, is it? I’m Colson Hunter.”
Though his hair was beginning to thin and the corners of his eyes were crinkled, his smile made him look like a winsome ten-year-old boy. Daria liked him immediately.
Natalie stirred and stretched her arms.
Hoping the baby’s motions weren’t a prelude to crying, Daria put out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I-I want to apologize for bringing my daughter with me. I lost my baby-sitter at the last minute. My mom was going to watch her, but my dad’s tractor broke down, and he needed her to run to Wichita for parts.” She felt like a wayward student in the principal’s office. She’d been torn between rescheduling her interview and bringing Natalie with her. Neither made for a very good first impression.
But Dr. Hunter immediately put his hands up as if to ward off her apology. “I grew up on a farm myself,” he assured her. “I know how it is.” His warm, casual manner instantly put her at ease. “I wonder if I know your parents. Do they farm around here?”
She nodded. “Five miles south of town. Erroll and Margo Haydon?”
He wrinkled his brow. “Hmm, that doesn’t ring a bell. I’ve only been in Bristol a couple of years, but I know most of the farmers around here by now.”
“Well, my dad doesn’t have livestock, just crops.”
“Oh, I see. And does your husband farm too?” he said, looking over her application, as though he might find the answer there.
She swallowed hard. “No. He—I-I’m widowed.” Oh, please, God, don’t let me cry.
He looked up from the papers in his hand. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” He looked as if he were going to say more, then, apparently sensing that she was close to tears, he turned the subject back to the interview. “I guess you know from the ad that we’re looking for a receptionist—someone to answer the phones, schedule appointments, handle the mail, some of the bookwork, that sort of thing.”
He glanced over her application again and asked her to clarify a few of her answers. His relaxed manner calmed her nerves, and she began to enjoy the interview.
“This is a small-time operation,” he told her, resting his elbows on the desk and tenting his hands in front of him. “I have a high-school girl who helps out after school—you met Jennifer.” He nodded toward the front of the building. “Then there’s Travis Carruthers. Dr. Carruthers just graduated from vet school last spring. And our technician is Carla Eldridge. She assists us in surgery and with all the medical procedures. We have a groomer, Doris Kline, who comes in once or twice a week, but that’s pretty much the entire staff. You’ll find we’re a very laid-back bunch. It won’t take you long to get the hang of it.”
She nodded, trying not to get her hopes up, but she couldn’t help feeling optimistic at the implication of his words.
“Your application looks good, Daria,” he said, looking directly at her and smiling. “If you’re interested, I’d like to offer you the job. I would want you to be here by nine each weekday morning, but as long as you get your hours in, we can be pretty flexible. You’d be free to take a late lunch or leave early if you need to. Jennifer works every weekday after school, so she’s here to answer the phone after three o’clock. As far as I’m concerned, you could even take some of the bookwork home with you. All I ask is that you let one of us know what’s up.” He mentioned a salary figure she thought she could make do with.
The baby began to squirm against the yellow blanket again, and Dr. Hunter, flashing his boyish grin, craned his neck to look over the desk at her. “How old is she?” he asked Daria. With a slight grimace he added quickly, “It is a little girl, isn’t it?”
She laughed. “Yes. This is Natalie. She’ll be nine weeks old tomorrow.”
“Wow. She’s so tiny.”
“My mother is going to keep her while I work,” she explained. “I-I’m living with my parents right now, but I’m planning to start looking for an apartment this weekend. I’m hoping to find something here in town or maybe over in Clayton.”
“You know”—he tapped a pencil on his desktop, thinking—“I just talked to someone this week who had an apartment to rent… Now, who was that? Oh, I remember. Kirk and Dorothy Janek. They’re an older couple who own a large home over on Maple. They rent out the upstairs. Real nice people. I think you’d like them. I’ll give you their number if you’d like.”
“Oh, thank you. That’d be great.”
He found the number in the phone book on his desk and scratched it down on a notepad that advertised worm medicine. He handed it to her, then rose from his chair. She followed suit.
“If you’d like to think about the job for a few days and get back to me, that’d be fine,” he told her.
“No.” She didn’t want to appear too eager, but she wanted this job. “I’ll take it. When would you like me to start?”
“If you want the truth, this very minute.” His smile told her he was kidding, but just then Natalie let out a howl.
> “She didn’t like that idea one bit,” he said, laughing. “I guess I’ll have to settle for next Monday morning then. Could you start that soon?” he asked, turning serious.
“I’ll be here,” she told him over Natalie’s protests. Daria reached down to take her daughter out of the infant seat. Immediately the baby quieted.
“Mind if I hold her?” Dr. Hunter asked shyly.
Daria was pleased by his request and quickly replied, “Sure.”
She started to hand the baby over to him.
“Hang on a sec,” he said. “Let me take off this dirty thing first.” He slipped off his less-than-white lab coat and draped it over the back of his chair. Then he went around to her side of the desk and reached out to take the baby in his arms as easily as if she were a newborn puppy.
Daria was taken aback by the sight of her daughter in a man’s arms. Unbidden, a vision of Nathan holding Natalie—cooing at her the way Dr. Hunter was now—popped into her mind. It was at once comforting and upsetting. Nate would have been such a good father. Oh, Natalie, how much you will miss not knowing him, she thought.
The baby began to squirm and fuss and turn her head toward Dr. Hunter’s chest as though she wanted to nurse.
Daria was embarrassed, but he spoke easily, “Okay, little one, I get the message. I’m not going to be able to help you out in that department. I better give you back to your mama.”
He handed the baby gently over to Daria. Their hands brushed as they made the exchange, and she found his touch strangely intimate. Heat rose to her face, but Dr. Hunter seemed not to notice.
Beneath a Southern Sky Page 6
