Baby In His Cradle

by Diana Whitney

  The woman complied, then sucked in a wheezing gulp of air. As she collapsed exhausted against the pillows, a whining Baloo leapt onto the mattress and frantically licked her face. Samuel dropped the towels, grabbed the animal’s collar. “Get down, leave her alone.”

  Seeming undisturbed by the damp remnants of canine concern glimmering on her cheek, Ellie managed a smile. “Maybe he thinks I need panting lessons.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t need to be drooled on,” Samuel muttered. He yanked the dog away from the bed, pointed toward the living area. “Go lie down or I’ll tie you to the kitchen table.”

  As Baloo slunk off, the woman’s eyes fluttered shut. “You’re a hard man,” she murmured. “Remind me never to tick you off.” Her hands flew back beside her head. She gasped, clutched the sides of her pillow. “Ooh...”

  Samuel checked his watch. His heart sank to his toes. “How long have the contractions been this close?”

  “Ah-h-h-h!” She gritted her teeth, thrashed like a hooked trout for nearly a minute before the agonized wail burst forth like the death wail of captured prey.

  Outside, the storm raged with demonic fury. Across the room Baloo threw back his head and howled while Samuel rushed around with practised efficiency, checking the woman’s pulse, monitoring the fetal heartbeat, gauging dilation and cervical effacement. He slipped easily into the past, detaching himself from the woman’s pain with objective professionalism. Emotions interfered with the job. Empathy bred fear, fear created chaos, chaos was failure, and failure was death.

  So Samuel blocked out the woman’s terror and her agonized screams. He blocked out the rumble of the raging storm, the howl of the worried hound. He blocked out everything except the whisper of his own mind.

  “Help me. Please, help me.”

  Images erupted from the past, swallowing him whole. Dark eyes, wide with terror. An outstretched hand. A plea for help.

  Fear crawled into his belly.

  “Help...me.”

  The desperate voice filled his head, reverberated through his skull, fed his darkest nightmare. He froze, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to control the paralyzing flood of memories even as chaos exploded around him. The storm raged. The woman screamed. The dog howled.

  Samuel heard only the whisper of his mind. And he was terrified.

  Chapter Two

  Pain pummeled her, unrelenting, unmerciful, twisting, crushing, clenching her ravaged body in a convulsive fist that left her shaken, terrified. Alone.

  For the first time in her life, Ellie Malone couldn’t run away from her fear, couldn’t escape the torturous grasp of something larger than herself, something utterly beyond her control. The pain was an inconvenience but the loss of control was terrifying. She was helpless. Helpless.

  And she was alone.

  The woman needed him. Samuel saw it, felt it, tasted it along with the metallic fear that flooded his mouth. He couldn’t move. Need. Desperation. Life and Death. He held these things in the palm of his hand. Again.

  He didn’t want any of it. He didn’t want to be needed. He didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to fail. Again.

  Her eyes opened, dark and pleading. She reached out. Her lips moved. No sound emerged, but Samuel recognized the words she was too weak to utter. He’d heard them countless times before. Help me.

  His eyes watered as if stung by a cold wind.

  Help me.

  His ears roared with remembered sound, the boiling rush, the choppy thrum. And a whisper.

  Help me.

  It rose above the cacophony of noise, the pandemonious din, a simple plea that had always touched his heart, committed his body, controlled his mind. He’d always heard, always responded, always done his best.

  Now Samuel had no choice but to respond again, do his best again. He prayed that this time it would be good enough.

  She felt the warm palm at her brow, heard the soothing murmur of encouragement. “You’re doing good, Ellie, very good. Everything is fine.”

  Something cold and wet touched her lips. She turned greedily toward the ice he held, emitted a thin moan of pleasure as the sweet moisture dripped into her parched mouth. The joy lasted only a moment before her lungs spasmed and her body coiled into convulsion.

  But it was different now. Samuel was with her, whispering softly, telling her not to be afraid. “Don’t fight the contractions,” he was saying. “Imagine that each one is a friend, a companion to embrace your baby in loving arms, hugging him, nurturing him, protecting him on his journey into a brand-new world.”

  Ellie clenched her teeth, concentrated on the gentle touch, the soothing voice. She floated above the pain, recaptured her coveted control. The man beside her was the key. Without him, she’d be lost in an abyss of agony and fear. He kept her safe. She needed him.

  She needed him.

  “Push, Ellie. Push!”

  “I...can’t.”

  “You have to. Your baby’s coming. He needs your help.” The voice was strong now, determined. “You can do this, Ellie. I know you can.”

  She could do this. She had to do this.

  “Push now!”

  A low moan evolved into a strangled wail. Ellie knew the sound was coming from her, but ignored it, ignored everything but the insistent male voice and determination of her own will. Her baby was almost here. Her baby needed her.

  Her fingers flexed into the mattress, her chin dug into her chest. Red and yellow stars collided in her mind. Her belly exploded.

  She fell back, panting, deafened by the frantic gush of blood roaring past her ears. In the distance a choked mewing sound captured her attention. She struggled to lift one eyelid, absorbed the spray of gray dawn light, a blur of movement at the foot of the bed. A dog whined, barked. The tiny mew rose into an indignant wail.

  Ellie squinted, too weak to lever herself up. A moment later, Samuel was leaning over her, his blue eyes gentle and proud. “You have a son,” he whispered, cradling the wrapped infant in her arms. “A beautiful son.”

  Ellie stroked a trembling fingertip across the baby’s soft red cheek. “His name is Daniel,” she said softly. Then she smiled, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  Time slipped away in a blur of floating weariness. Small snatches of awareness wakened Ellie gently, captured her senses for a few fleeting moments as her baby suckled at her breast, or while her gentle protector held liquid nourishment to her lips. Then reality undulated back into the blessed warmth of a deep and healing slumber.

  Her surroundings met her there, in the distance of her dreamlike state. It was there she could study the moments, savor their meaning and intensity. In the clarity of her mind, she remembered the gentle man with clear blue eyes tearing sheets into diapers, then tending her child with such tender reverence that it brought tears to her eyes. She recalled everything, from the savory smells wafting from the kitchen as he’d stirred a pot on the stove, to the shiver of icy air as he’d ducked out into the storm, then returned ladened with firewood and whiplike branches of fragrant cedar.

  In the filmstrip of her mind, Ellie remembered everything about the rugged stranger who had saved her beloved child. Roughened fingertips tingling her brow with tenderness; eyes the color of a spring sky, crinkling at the corners with his smile; a voice like raw honey, sweetly coarse and satisfying.

  The scrape of his boots across the planked pine floor. The scent of his damp leather jacket, a flash of its woolly lining as he shook off the snow. And through it all, the wonderful scent of cedar permeated each jog of consciousness.

  To Ellie it was all a dream. A wonderful dream. It would be days before she realized that it had been real.

  Samuel studied the sweep hand of his watch, counting the thready cadence of Ellie’s weakened pulse. He did so every hour, and was concerned by her dwindling strength.

  He was also concerned about the infant. Little Daniel was understandably tiny but surprisingly well developed for a preemie, and was probably closer
to full term than his mother had believed. Still the baby was frail, and the stethoscope had revealed a worrisome gurgle in the boy’s tiny lungs.

  Outside, snow piled in drifts halfway to the windows, and the wind continued to howl like a rabid wolf. He wondered when the weather would clear enough for him to hike to the fire tower and contact help. Days, perhaps even weeks. All Samuel could do was pray that he could keep both mother and child alive that long.

  He tucked Ellie’s hand beneath the bedclothes, smoothed an errant strand of hair from her face. She looked so peaceful, almost angelic. She smiled in her sleep. Samuel found that startling. For him, sleep was an enemy. For Ellie, it was clearly a cherished friend. Her dreams must be sweet, he decided, and was cheered by the thought. After all she’d endured, she deserved sweet dreams.

  And she deserved to live.

  A feeble cry filtered from the makeshift crib Samuel had constructed in the living area. At the sound, Baloo instantly awakened, lumbered over to peer through the slatted rails of the chair that his master had propped beside the sofa. The animal regarded the fussing infant for a moment, then swung his head around, fixed Samuel with an anxious gaze. The dog barked once, then trundled into the kitchen. A moment later he reappeared dragging the ratty, threadbare sports blanket his master had rescued from a garage sale and used to pad his doggy bed.

  Samuel smiled. “A generous gesture, ’Loo, but I think the baby is warm enough.”

  Baloo spit out the blanket and whined.

  “I’m coming.” Samuel cast a final glance at the wan woman asleep in his bed before crossing the cabin to tend her tiny son. He gazed down at the wriggling infant, brushed his fingertip along the tiny, grasping hand. Minuscule fingers opened, quivered, closed into a small red fist. Samuel’s heart leapt in wonder. “Did you see that, ’Loo? He tried to grab my finger.”

  Baloo stood with a snort.

  “You don’t think so? Just watch.” Samuel repeated the process, and Daniel again flexed his baby fingers. “See?”

  The hound huffed, sat stoically with a so-what expression that made Samuel smile. “Just can’t stand to be wrong, can you?”

  Heaving a bored yawn, Baloo deliberately avoided his master’s gaze, so Samuel turned his attention back to the fussy infant. “What’s going on, little guy. Are you hungry again?” He unwrapped the wriggling child, chuckled softly. “Aha. Damp in the drawers, hmm? Nothing we can’t fix.”

  At the sound of his voice, the baby stopped fussing, blinked up with huge blue eyes struggling for focus. Samuel’s heart twisted as if squeezed by a giant hand. He’d seen babies before, lots of them, but he’d never felt this sense of attachment, this sense of protectiveness and wonder. Of course, he’d never had the responsibility of caring for such fragile life, either. There had always been someone else around to take over. Now there was only Samuel. That frightened him, but it challenged him, too.

  Determined, he set about the routine of tending his tiny charge, treating the healing umbilical with antiseptic salve, protecting the infant’s sensitive skin with cornstarch and talc that he’d mixed himself then poured into a sterilized saltshaker for convenience, and completed the changing chore using a fresh diaper fashioned from a clean, white bedsheet.

  The infant blinked, grimaced, heaved a burp loud enough to make Baloo perk his ears.

  “Whoa, that’s got to make a fellow feel better.” Samuel dragged the stethoscope from his shirt pocket, warmed it with his palm. “Let’s take another listen, buddy. You know the drill.” He positioned the instrument on Daniel’s little chest, heard the mild wheeze with each shallow intake of air, and was relieved to note that the sound hadn’t gotten any worse. In fact, the baby’s lungs actually sounded a bit clearer. Not a lot, but at this point, even a small improvement seemed like a miracle.

  Pleased, Samuel replaced the scope in his pocket, glanced at the pot of cedar bark simmering atop the wood stove, its fragrant steam permeating the cabin with the nostalgic aroma from his childhood. The remedy was one that his mother had sworn by for the relief of bronchitis and other respiratory infections. As a child, Samuel had been comforted by the warm tingle in his chest as he inhaled the scented steam. To this day, the smell of cedar brought back those carefree days of childhood, made him feel nurtured all over again, and made him feel loved.

  Perhaps someday Daniel would hike a mountain forest with the same sense of well-being, and a faint reminiscence of his first days of life when he, too, had been cherished and nurtured. And loved.

  “I won’t let you down, buddy.” Samuel brushed a gentle knuckle across the dark fuzz scattered across the baby’s velvety scalp. “You and your mama are going to be just fine,” he said, and was surprised to realize that he truly believed that.

  After covering the dozing child with a receiving blanket, Samuel returned to a kitchen table heaped with peeled twigs of smooth, pliable cedar and continued to weave a gift for the child with whom he’d already established a deep abiding bond.

  As he worked, his mind cleared, his heart warmed, and he quietly smiled to himself. For the first time since Ellie Malone had stumbled into his remote cabin retreat, Samuel was at peace.

  Samuel shifted in the hard-backed chair, started awake by the peculiar voice crooning clear and sweet, a gentle whisper floating through slumberous clouds. “Sweet baby boy with the sleepy eyes, Mama’s going to sing you a lullaby.”

  Blinking, he struggled to focus on the vision seated at the edge of the bed softly serenading the infant cradled in her arms. The melody was familiar, although she appeared to be creating lyrics as she went along.

  “A lullaby of hope and love,” she sang, carefully unwrapping the baby’s cocooning blanket to examine each tiny red foot. “Bright as a sunrise, soft as a dove.” She paused to kiss each tiny foot before continuing. “And when sweet Daniel wakes for lunch,” she crooned softly, rewrapping the blanket back around her sleeping son. “Mama’s going to hug him a whole big bunch.”

  Samuel stared at her. “A whole big bunch?”

  Now it was Ellie’s turn to be startled. She looked around quickly, flushed and emitted a melodic laugh that made Samuel’s chest flutter. “At least it rhymes.” Averting her gaze, she brushed a fingertip along the infant’s cheek, smiling when his tiny lips quivered. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  “Yes.” But not nearly as beautiful as the exquisite woman who held him. Awake now, with sparkling eyes and pinkened cheeks, she was without a doubt the most beautiful creature Samuel had ever laid eyes on.

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Last night?”

  She skimmed a glance up as Samuel stood and flinched as a painful kink twisted the base of his spine. “You had to sleep in that chair because a strange woman had commandeered your bed. It was pretty rude of me to drop in unannounced, turn your home into a delivery room and promptly fall asleep in your bed. You must be rather put out at me.”

  “Not at all.”

  Her smile flashed brighter than a Christmas star. “You’re a very kind man. If I knew your name, I could thank you properly.”

  “Samuel Evans,” he replied.

  “Pleased to meet you, Samuel. I’m Ellie and this is Daniel.” She caught herself, chuckled softly. “But then you two have already met, haven’t you?” Her smile faded, and Samuel saw a white flash as her teeth scraped her lower lip. “I remember you bringing him to me last night so I could feed him. I wanted to thank you, but the words wouldn’t come.” She glanced toward the window, studied the gray daylight misting above the snow-packed sills. “It’s Christmas Day, isn’t it?”

  Samuel hesitated. “Christmas was last week.” When her eyes clouded in puzzlement, he touched her wrist, found her pulse to be stronger, more rhythmic. “You’ve been very ill,” he explained. “Daniel was born six days ago.”

  “Six days?”

  Samuel released her wrist, steadied her shoulders when she swayed. “It’s not unusual for patients to lose track of time during a serious illness.
How are you feeling now? Any dizziness, nausea, pain?”

  Ellie shook her head, shifted the infant in her lap, looked so crestfallen that Samuel’s heart ached. “Six days,” she murmured. “You took care of me for six days.” Her eyes widened. “And you took care of Daniel, too. You changed him, you brought him to me, you walked him at night when he fussed. You gave me soup and warm tea and sponge baths and... and—” A crimson flush stained the hollows below her magnificent cheek bones. “It wasn’t a dream at all, was it? Those things really happened.”

  “Yes.”

  The color drained from her face as quickly as it had appeared. She sucked a quick breath, held it. “Does anyone know I’m here?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I had no way to contact anyone.” When her lungs deflated all at once, Samuel assumed she was upset by that news, and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “The weather is expected to clear sometime next week. Now that you’re feeling better, I’ll be able to leave you long enough to hike to the radio tower and—”

  “No!” The vehemence of her response was startling. “I mean, there’s no need for you to do that.”

  Samuel noted her evasive gaze, the dart of her tongue to moisten her lips. “Your family must be worried sick.”

  “Daniel and I have no family,” Ellie murmured, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on the receiving blanket.

  “Surely the baby’s father—”

  She interrupted angrily. “He’s not a part of my life.”

  “That’s too bad,” Samuel replied, pinching off a twitch of anger that the child would have no father. It was none of his business, of course. Still, it annoyed him. A boy needed his father.

  “Your friends then.” When she shook her head, Samuel narrowed his gaze. “You mentioned that you were trying to reach a friend’s cabin when you lost your way.”

  Ellie moistened her lips again, was clearly unnerved by the questions. “They weren’t expecting me. That is, the cabin is vacant. The owners are wintering in Palm Springs. They gave me a key, and asked me to keep an eye on things.”