Baby In His Cradle

by Diana Whitney

  “Good Lord.” Samuel swayed in surprise, then leapt forward to grasp the rigid woman around the waist A lumpy backpack dangled over one of her shaking shoulders. Firming his grasp on the shivering woman, he slipped the pack off, tossed it into the cabin. “You’re going to be all right,” he whispered, urging her forward. “It’s warm inside.”

  Her glazed eyes stared straight ahead, gave no indication that she’d heard, but she dragged one foot forward a few inches, flinching at the effort.

  Realizing that her feet must be numb from the cold, Samuel wrapped her free arm around his neck, supporting her weight on his own shoulders. “Just a few more steps,” he murmured, reaching down to unfurl her frozen fingers from Baloo’s collar. “We’ll have you thawed out in no time.”

  Assuming, he thought grimly, that her extremities weren’t completely frostbitten. When released, Baloo trundled into the cabin, his saggy eyes bright with concern while Samuel scooped the exhausted woman up in his arms, and was staggered by her weight. Grunting, he kicked the door shut behind him, struggled to the sleeping area where he deposited her on the bed, grateful that the effort hadn’t snapped his spine. The frail-faced woman was heftier than she looked. “Just relax,” he told her. “You’re going to be fine, just fine.”

  She blinked up in confusion as Baloo hoisted his paws to the mattress. Whining, the animal licked the woman’s face while Samuel checked her pupils, took her pulse, then pulled off her leather shoes and soaked cotton socks, scrutinized her skin for discoloration associated with frostbite. Relieved to find none, he carefully wrapped her icy feet in a towel that he’d retrieved and warmed on the woodstove, then turned his attention to the jacket she was wearing.

  It was one of those colorful rayon things, with quilted padding designed more for fashion than function. He unzipped the garment, stumbled back a step and nearly fainted on the spot.

  The woman was pregnant.

  Not just kind of, sort of pregnant. She was very pregnant, fully-ripe-and-ready-to-burst pregnant.

  Her eyelids fluttered. As she focused on Samuel, a perplexed frown creased her brow. Samuel swallowed hard, slipped an arm beneath her, lifting her slightly so he could remove the wet jacket. When he’d done so, he tossed it aside, lowered her back onto the pillows and covered her with a warm blanket.

  She blinked up at him.

  “Do you know where you are?” he asked.

  Her lips parted but no sound emerged. She shivered violently, laid trembling hands protectively over her swollen belly. All at once her eyes widened in sheer terror. “Ah-h-h...” Gasping, she clutched at her abdomen, curled her head forward until her chin brushed the white cotton collar protruding from her bulky knit sweater. Her lips formed a frantic O, then stretched thin as her teeth clicked together.

  Stunned, Samuel squatted beside the bed, sat on his haunches and prayed that he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was seeing.

  A moment later, the woman fell back against the pillow, panting. She licked her lips, emitted a soft groan of relief. Her eyes fluttered open, focused on Samuel. “A cramp,” she murmured weakly. “Don’t... worry.”

  Samuel fervently hoped that was true. “When is the baby due?”

  She shifted, brushed a shaky hand through her tangled hair. “In three weeks.”

  “False labor contractions are common during the final month of pregnancy.” He stood, retrieved his medical kit from a curtained corner of the sleeping area that served as a closet. “They’re frequently associated with extreme stress or strenuous physical activity. You picked a lousy time for a nature hike.”

  “Yes,” she said, and fell silent.

  Samuel draped the stethoscope around his neck, turned toward the bed and saw that she’d levered up on one elbow to study his movements. Her gaze settled on the thermometer he held. “I’d like to check your temperature,” he explained.

  She considered that a moment. “Are you a doctor?”

  “No.” Samuel sat on the edge of the narrow mattress. “But I’ve had some medical training. Lean back, please.” When she settled back against the pillows, he extended the thermometer. He noticed the caution in her eyes before she finally parted her lips and allowed him to tuck it beneath her tongue. Her eyes were well focused now, dark and wary, exotically shaped. Quite lovely, although Samuel was more interested in her vital signs than her vital statistics. He checked her pulse again, found it stronger, but still thready. “What’s your name?”

  She shifted the thermometer with her tongue, mumbled out of the corner of her mouth. “Ellie.”

  “That’s a nice name,” he murmured, reverting to the calm voice and efficient professionalism that was protocol for soothing frightened patients. “I went to school with a girl named Ellie. Her full name was Eleanor, but she preferred Ellie. Is your name Eleanor?” The question was posed as he retrieved a small penlight from his pocket.

  She reared back.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m simply gauging the reaction of your pupils to the light.”

  The thermometer vibrated. “Why?”

  “To make sure you haven’t suffered any head trauma.” He flashed the beam at each eye, was satisfied when the pupils contracted normally. “What were you doing out in the storm?” He retrieved the thermometer so she could answer.

  The woman shifted against the pillows, her gaze skittering around the room. “I guess I got lost I was heading for a friend’s cabin.”

  After noting that her body temperature was below normal but not dangerously so, Samuel recased the thermometer. “Another hour out there and you’d have probably died,” he said bluntly.

  She flinched, said nothing. On cue, Baloo hoisted his forepaws on the bed with a worried whine, and received a thin smile for his trouble. “My hero,” she told the animal, who wagged his tail at the praise. She managed to stroke the dog’s sleek head once before her hand dropped away, as if the exertion had been too much. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her breath shallowed.

  She was pale, Samuel thought, too pale. White as death. He hooked the stethoscope around his neck, laid a questioning hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Ma’am, ah, Ellie, I’d like to examine you, if you’d permit it.”

  She opened one eye. “Examine?” she repeated as if she’d never heard the word before.

  “I’d like to listen to your baby’s heartbeat, just make sure everything is okay in there. Is that all right with you?”

  A cautious frown creased her brows. She studied him for a moment, as if trying to determine if he was worthy of trust. Air slid from her slack lips a moment before she issued a feeble nod.

  Samuel lowered the blanket, raised the hem of her bulky sweater, and pressed the stethoscope against the cotton shirt stretched tightly over her bulging abdomen. He shifted the device several times, searching for the soft, rhythmic swish of a fetal heartbeat.

  Beneath Samuel’s probing fingers, the woman’s abdomen tightened like steel. She reared up, emitted a choked cry. Her eyes were huge with terror and disbelief. She didn’t seem to know what was happening. But Samuel knew. A bad situation had just become interminably worse. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  Ellie thrashed in her mind, crawled through memories of bitter cold, numbing terror. Around her snow swirled with white death. Pain sawed her spine, gripped her belly like a barbed garrote. She stumbled forward, grasping branches that whipped in the wind. Every tree looked the same, every rock looked like another. Her ears rang from the howling wind, ached from the freezing cold. She couldn’t feel her feet.

  It was over. She knew it. She felt it. Her life, her hopes, her dreams of happiness for the child nested in her womb, it was all over now.

  She couldn’t go on.

  The angel appeared out of nowhere, a living angel radiating warmth, nudging her forward with amazing strength. She grasped the apparition, allowed it to pull her onward, guide her through the terrifying maze of forest, weeping trees with storm-gnashed boughs, grasping branches that sl
apped and scratched.

  In the distance a curl of smoke coiled above the trees. The angel led her toward the smoke, a sanctuary of warmth, of safety. Almost there.

  She could see the glow of windows, feel the radiating heat. Almost there.

  She stumbled against the steps, rough planks scraping her soles. Almost...

  The door creaked. A sliver of golden light sprayed through the swirling snow.

  ...there.

  The door opened slowly, slowly. Slowly. She trembled.

  A face appeared, shadowed in backlight. Fear gnawed the base of her spine, an encircling throb gripping her slowly, slowly. Slowly.

  Squinting into the brightness, she focused on the face of her rescuer. He smiled in welcome. The smile broadened into a grin, teeth flashing white as ice. A laugh. Familiar. Evil.

  Terror twisted her belly, sliced like a blade. He had found her. This time there was no place to run.

  “Here, drink this.” Samuel slipped his arm beneath Ellie’s shoulders, touched the rim of the soup mug to her colorless lips. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  She sipped delicately, curled her trembling hands around the warm mug, and sipped again. After a moment, she turned her face to signal that she’d had enough.

  Samuel set the steaming soup aside, lowered her to the pillows, and smoothed a dark tangle of hair from her face. “You need nourishment.”

  “Not hungry,” she whispered, forcing a thin smile. “But it was very nice. Thank you.”

  A puff of breath escaped her slack lips as her eyes closed. Her breathing deepened. She was drifting off to sleep again. That was good. The ordeal in the woods had exhausted her. She’d need strength for what was to come.

  Samuel continued to stroke her soft skin, her dark hair, separating the disheveled snarls with his fingers. It was thick hair, rich and slightly waved. He imagined how a hairbrush could polish it into a glossy, glowing mane, with alluring tentacles caressing sculpted cheekbones a model would envy. Her skin was pale as creamed buttermilk, flawless except for the bruiselike crescents beneath her eyes.

  Under normal circumstances she would have been beautiful, Samuel thought. Her bone structure was perfect, her lips so full and lush that he half wondered if they’d been surgically enhanced. But her eyes were her most exotic feature. When open, they were coffee brown, almost black, with an alluring tilt that made her look surprised, amused and seductive all at the same time. There was something unique about her, something innately fascinating.

  Even as Samuel was drawn to her vulnerability, a peculiar sense of foreboding prickled his nape. He was not a fool, and didn’t for a moment believe that a woman in her delicate condition would have chosen to walk in the woods during the onset of what was predicted to be one of the worst storms on record.

  Something had driven her into those woods, perhaps the same terror that made her whimper in slumber, thrash through dreams. Or nightmares.

  Samuel knew all about nightmares.

  The muted click of doggy toenails on polished pine heralded Baloo’s arrival from the kitchen, where he’d just washed a kibble dinner down with half a bowl of fresh water. The animal yawned, laid a soggy chin on Samuel’s knee and focused worried eyes on the sleeping woman.

  Samuel scratched a floppy ear. “What do you think, ’Loo?”

  Baloo whined, shifted, curled one forepaw over his muzzle.

  “You’re right, it is strange that she’s never asked me to call anyone.” Not that he could, since the cabin had no phone, but it was nonetheless peculiar that she hadn’t made the request. “There must be someone out there who’s crazed with worry about her. Friends, family—” His gaze settled on her swollen stomach. “—a husband.”

  Baloo swung his head around, issued a soft yip.

  “Yeah, I know. I was thinking the same thing. Maybe that’s who she was running from in the first place.” Irrationally angered by the thought, Samuel stood, raked his hair, and gazed down at the sleeping woman. She didn’t seem the type to tolerate a bully, let alone make a baby with one.

  Granted, he didn’t know much about his unexpected house guest, but Samuel’s profession demanded the ability to judge character quickly, with a high degree of accuracy. When he’d looked into Ellie’s eyes, he’d seen fear, yes, but he’d also seen extraordinary strength of will.

  That was good. Samuel knew that she’d need all the strength she could muster. And she’d need it soon.

  The pain started slowly, crept along her spine so gently she barely noticed. Like pulsing fingers, it massaged its way around her belly, pressing harder, deeper, until her breath caught and her lungs felt as if they would explode.

  “Breathe, Ellie. Breathe.” From a great distance, the voice settled around her like loving arms. “That’s right. Take short breaths, quickly, quickly, just for another few seconds. There, that’s good, easy now, easy.”

  The pain dissipated as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a relaxed tingle of supreme well-being. Sleep rolled over her, swaying gently, whispering in her ear until she gave herself to the warm, sweet darkness. And for a few precious moments she felt safe again.

  Samuel alternately paced and warmed his hands by the woodstove. Ellie’s contractions came faster now, every eight minutes at last count, and they were strengthening. Outside, the storm raged with chilling intensity, with wind so fierce that the cabin shuddered under the assault and snow thick enough to bury the blackness of night in a blanket of solid white. There was no way in, no way out. Not for Ellie; not for him.

  The baby was coming and there wasn’t a damn thing Samuel could do to stop it.

  Samuel huffed out a breath, tried to calm his trembling hands by reminding himself that he’d delivered dozens of healthy babies. Of course, the conditions had never been this primitive, but birth itself was a primitive process evolving eons before the advent of modern medical technology. This baby would be born not because of Samuel’s past experience, but in spite of it.

  He closed his eyes, crossed his arms to tuck his hands into the warmth of his armpits. Rocking back on his heels, he fought the terror burgeoning inside his chest. Familiar terror. Too familiar.

  Something butted his thigh. He glanced down to see Baloo gazing up helpfully. “Yeah, make it a double,” he told the dog. “Straight up, no ice.”

  Baloo yawned, padded over to the living area of the cabin and began sniffing something beside the maplearmed sofa that Samuel’s mother had purchased during her Early American furniture phase nearly three decades ago. The dog whined, scuffed at the object with his paw.

  “What have you got, ’Loo?”

  Lumbering back a step, Baloo swung a look backward, then returned his attention to the object that Samuel now recognized as the woman’s backpack. He’d forgotten all about it, and now realized with some anticipation that the pack could contain helpful clues about his mysterious guest.

  A prickle of guilt had him sneaking a covert glance toward the bed, where the woman dozed fitfully. Rooting through her things was an overt invasion of privacy, but circumstance dictated a certain entitlement, so Sam uel pushed his conscience aside and went to investigate.

  The first thing he found was a sweatsuit, plain gray fleece rolled into a compact cylinder. He set it aside, and pulled out a few personal items, including a hairbrush, a tube of lipstick and a small grooming kit, which he didn’t open. He also found some items of clothing, including a couple of adult-size T-shirts and several tiny infant gowns along with a partially knitted nursery cap still attached with knitting needles to a ball of yarn. He put the knitting aside, held up one of the miniature garments, relieved that the child could be clothed in something besides a clean flannel shirt. There were also two small receiving blankets.

  Clearly Ellie had been preparing for this baby with love and great anticipation. It was just as clear that this lumpy nylon duffel contained just about all of the woman’s worldly goods.

  From a wallet located in a zipped side pocket, Samuel discovered a California d
river’s license with a Sacramento address issued to one Eleanor Elizabeth Malone. The photo showed a smiling Ellie just as he’d imagined, with a glossy mane of sable hair swished around her lovely face, liquid eyes as soft and dark as a mountain lake at midnight.

  He studied the picture for a moment before tucking it back into the wallet. There was also a social security card and a few dollars in cash, but no credit cards and nothing to personalize its owner except a photograph of a smiling older couple and a pay stub from Sky Mountain Ski Lodge.

  Tapping the stub on his palm, he wondered if a woman in her condition could have possibly made the eleven-mile journey from the lodge. Of course, cutting across the woods would have shortened the trek by several miles, but the terrain was treacherous, difficult for even a seasoned hiker.

  Where she’d started her journey was beside the point, he supposed. She was here now, and with the worst blizzard in a decade raging through the mountains, there was nothing Samuel could do about that either.

  The scream awakened Samuel, who started upright in the chair, too groggy to realize that the horrific sound hadn’t come from his own nightmare. A second shriek raised him to his feet, wiped the sleep from his eyes and pumped adrenalin through his veins with jackhammer force.

  Across the cabin Baloo was barking, running frantic circles beside the bed where the woman continued to howl as if she was dying.

  Samuel lurched forward, dodged the woodstove and dashed toward the bed, snatching the stethoscope from a wooden nightstand while the woman writhed in agony. “It’s all right,” he murmured, more out of habit than conviction. “Everything is going to be fine, just fine.”

  “My baby,” she shrieked, then curled forward like a shrimp, her face contorted in purple pain.

  “Your baby’s fine, he just wants out, that’s all.” Samuel scurried to grab the clean towels he’d laid out, rearranged the privacy drape, and prayed harder than he’d ever prayed before. “Short breaths, Ellie, puff your cheeks and pant like a dog.”