The Blizzard Bride

by Susanne Dietze

  Dash froze, and not because of the icy temperature. Answer a question with a question. “Sir?”

  The mayor chuckled. “I have a proposition for you. Come with me.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Abby snuck off the sofa an inch at a time so as not to awaken Willodean and Patty. They’d fallen asleep beneath the shelter of her arms while she read to them from Mark, the Match Boy. Patty’s lips puckered around her thumb, whereas Willodean’s mouth opened wide. Neither usually napped in the morning, but the past four days had been exhausting. Abby could easily curl up for a rest herself.

  Instead she covered the girls with a white crocheted blanket before tiptoeing to the kitchen. It was so quiet, maybe Hildie had fallen asleep too.

  Instead, Hildie paced the kitchen rug, hand at the side of her protruding stomach.

  “Hunger pains again?”

  “No.” Hildie stopped walking, grimaced, and held her breath until she turned red.

  The baby was coming. Abby’s heart stopped, then sped off like a six-horse team. “Sit down.”

  “Standing’s better,” Hildie answered through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll fetch the doctor.”

  “Bynum said he’s out making house calls. Frostbite and such. But there’s a—ohhhh.” She gripped the back of a chair.

  “Then I’ll go get Bynum.” Wherever he was. He was helping someone. With something. Every thought fled.

  Hildie’s head shook, back and forth like a horse’s. “The girls need you.”

  “They’re asleep.”

  “For now.”

  “But you need help and I don’t know how to do it, Hildie.”

  Hildie couldn’t talk for a while after that. Her stomach grew taut under her dress. What on earth? At least Abby had one of her questions answered. It did indeed hurt to have a baby.

  Like a gift, a knock rapped on the front door. Thank You, Lord. “I’ll ask whoever it is to fetch Bynum and the doctor for us.” Hildie didn’t respond, just clutched the chair back. Abby hiked her skirt to her knees and ran to the front door.

  Baskets over their arms, a woman and boy stood on the porch, noses and mouths wrapped in scarves. Abby would recognize their eyes anywhere, though. “Geraldine, Micah. Come in, please.” She waved them in and shut the door.

  Geraldine tugged her scarf down to her chin. “We brought you some treats to thank you for all you did to protect Micah and the other children. Food, but I also sewed you an apron. I’ll make baskets for Mr. Lassiter and Mr. Crabtree too, but without the aprons. I’ve never met Mr. Crabtree, but every man can use a handkerchief, can’t he?” Her smile fell. “You don’t want an apron.”

  “Yes. No. Baby.” Abby rubbed her forehead. “Hildie’s having the baby. Right now, I think.”

  Micah whistled. Geraldine set her basket on the little table by the coat tree. “Sounds like we’d best be on our way, then.”

  Micah looked up at his mother. “You said I could play with Willodean and Patty.”

  “This is an inconvenient time for them, Micah.”

  “Not at all. Your visit is well timed indeed,” Abby protested. “I don’t know what to do. The girls and I are alone.”

  “You need the doctor?”

  “And Bynum, but Hildie doesn’t want me to leave. Now that you’re here, though, I have a better idea. You’re a mother. Would you assist Hildie while I get help? Micah can keep occupied with the girls.” It was a perfect solution. Geraldine had experience in these sorts of matters, and Abby had none. Abby reached for her bonnet on the coat tree peg.

  Geraldine gripped Micah’s shoulder to hold him back. “Oh, I think she’d be far more comfortable with you here than me.”

  “I think she’d be more comfortable with someone who knows what to do.” Abby wound her scarf around her neck and ears, but it didn’t muffle the sound of Hildie’s groan in the kitchen. “I’ll return as quickly as I can, I promise.”

  Geraldine froze, as if she’d been left outside during the blizzard. “I … I don’t—it was a long time ago. I hardly remember it, so it will be far better for her if you stay. I shall ensure the doctor is found and sent here at once. Come, Micah.”

  “Aw.” Micah sounded just like Coy. “I wanted to play.”

  Geraldine opened the door and pulled him outside with her, shutting the door herself.

  “But—” Abby stared at the door. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Hildie let out another low groan. Lord, have mercy.

  “Miss Bracey? Is Mama sick?”

  She spun. Willodean stood in the threshold, rubbing her eye.

  “No, sweetheart. The baby’s coming. I need your help with Patty. Will you stay with her in the parlor so I may care for your mama?”

  Willodean nodded. “We’ll play with Patchy Polly.”

  “Good idea. Thank you, big girl. What a helper.”

  Abby paused before entering the kitchen to take a breath and whisper a prayer. It seemed she was about to learn more than she ever expected about childbirth.

  At least Geraldine had been true to her word. Within the hour, Bynum had returned, a curly-haired woman in tow. He gave Abby the briefest of glances. “Doctor’s still out, but Edna Sweet here is a midwife. I’m going to get the horses out of the cold and be right back.”

  Almos and Berthanne’s mother was a midwife? She’d no idea, and frankly, midwifery wasn’t paramount on Abby’s mind when she saw the woman. It wasn’t the proper time, but Abby’s heart raced again. “How … how are Almos and Berthanne?”

  “Oh, they’re well.” Mrs. Sweet shrugged out of her voluminous coat.

  “After the storm? They’re really all right?”

  She’d stayed away, after the way Mr. Sweet had shouted at her. She assumed the Sweets hated her for sending their children out before the blizzard.

  She didn’t know she’d shed a tear until Mrs. Sweet swiped it from her cheek. “They were smart enough to go to the first house they found. The Reinharts spoiled them to death, feeding them cocoa and cookies. My children want to go back and visit, although the skunk is not welcome, according to Mrs. Reinhart.” She laughed.

  “I was so worried. If something had happened, it would have been my fault.”

  “What foolishness is this? Nobody knew about that storm. One minute we had that breeze from the south. The next minute, well, none of us will soon forget it.”

  “Can you forgive me, though?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. But if it makes you feel better, then yes. Now, I’d best tend to Hildie.”

  “Of course. She’s in bed now.”

  “She should be walking,” Mrs. Sweet muttered as she mounted the stairs.

  “She was,” Abby called after her.

  Relief didn’t fill Abby—it was more like a plug had been pulled, sapping her strength. Help had arrived, but also, Mrs. Sweet had forgiven her for sending the children into the storm.

  Forgiveness was easy for everyone but her, it seemed. Dash had apologized and explained his actions of six years ago, which was more than she ever hoped to receive from him, but the wound of his rejection still stung. Would it heal, if she forgave him? Maybe she could forgive him for being young and listening to her father—someone else she needed to forgive.

  You forgive me, Lord. Your Word says so. I want to be forgiving, because I want to obey You. Show me how.

  The only answer was the cheery sound of the girls giggling in the parlor. Why didn’t God answer her? Why did He leave her alone to figure things out?

  Maybe He hadn’t, though. The girls’ merriment was a sound of life. Soon there would be another little cry coming from upstairs, a new baby, full of promise and hope. More evidence that God was active in the lives of His people. She mustn’t give up so easily.

  Bynum returned, pausing to greet the girls before hurrying upstairs. Abby fed the girls lunch and made sandwiches for Bynum and Mrs. Sweet. Nothing for Hildie, as instructed. Then she started supper simmering on the stove and played doll
s with the girls on the parlor floor. They all looked up at the sound of footsteps descending the staircase.

  Bynum entered the room, shaking his head. “Nothing yet.”

  Really? It was coming on late afternoon now. How long did these things take? “Care for some coffee?”

  “That’d be most welcome.”

  “I’ll bring it up to you and Mrs. Sweet, then.” She stood, stretching out the kinks in her back while he patted the girls on the head and then returned upstairs.

  As she put the pot on the stove, an unfamiliar horse pulled up outside the window. She recognized the rider, though. Dash was here, and in an all-fired hurry. She opened the door before he could knock.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked instead of saying hello.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I heard a doctor was needed here.”

  “Yes.” She ushered him into the foyer, which had seen more traffic today than in her entire stay at the Elmores’ thus far. “Hildie’s ready for the baby.”

  The tense line of his shoulders eased. “Oh. I won’t stay, then, but I brought you a gift.” He unfastened his coat and reached inside, withdrawing a black leather book. “Yates’s Bible. It was open on the table. You know what that means.”

  “Mr. Yates read it. Thank you, Dash. That is indeed a gift.”

  One of the most precious she had ever received.

  Why didn’t Abby take it from him? Dash extended his arm farther and gave the Bible a little bounce on his palm. “That’s not why I brought it. See, I told Mayor Carpenter and some other folks about your friendship with Mr. Yates. Not the details, of course. Just that you’d reached out to him and it seems like he responded—to you and to the Lord. The mayor looked at the front of this to see if it had a genealogy in it, but there wasn’t anything. We don’t know how to find his kin. So, barring the arrival of any relations, we all agreed you should keep this.”

  She took a half step backward. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “Who else should have it? The only friends he had were horses. I rode one here, by the way. Sweetheart of a mare. Wish I could figure out what he named her.”

  Willodean danced out of the parlor. “Hello, Mr. Lassiter.”

  “Hello, Willodean.”

  Patty tugged her thumb from her mouth with a pop. “Hewwo.”

  “Good afternoon to you too.”

  “We’re hungry, Miss Bracey.” Willodean’s arms folded, and Patty nodded.

  “I’ll get supper on, then. Play a little longer and then we’ll eat. Dash, come with me while I warm things.”

  He followed Abby into the kitchen, sniffing the tantalizing aromas of beef and onions. “Pot roast?”

  “Beef soup with barley.” She set the old Bible atop the table.

  “Can I help you?”

  “No, this is easy.” She bustled around the stove, cracking a brown egg into a bowl and mixing in milk and cornmeal. “I’m so glad you found that Bible open. I suppose since he’s gone, I’m not breaking his confidence telling you this, but his wife—Maggie—hurt him. She’s been gone a few years. I saw her stone in the cemetery, and their baby’s stone. Eugene. He died twenty-five years ago. Isn’t that sad? Mr. Yates’s brother, also named Eugene, is buried close by too.”

  “Do you know what happened between Maggie and Maynard?”

  “No. He said no one knew the truth but took her side anyway.”

  “And he never got over it whatever it was.”

  She poured batter into the pan, her face downcast. “Just like me.”

  “Not like you.”

  “I was well on my way, though.”

  That familiar stab of guilt pierced Dash’s gut. If he could change the past, he would, but all he could do was restate his apology. He’d apologize a thousand times if necessary. “I’m sorry for leaving, Abby.”

  “Thank you, Dash, but I know you are. You’ve already apologized. I think I’m ready to leave our … situation in the past. Father manipulated you, and while it still hurts, I’m not going to hold it against you anymore. Does that mean I’m on my way to forgiving you?”

  “I think so. I know it’ll take time.”

  She popped the corn bread into the oven and sat across from him. “Did I really not accept you for who you were, like you said? I thought I did, but I must have done something to make you say that. Make you feel that.”

  He’d regretted saying that to her, but they were being honest, weren’t they? “When your father offered me the bank job, you were ecstatic. I felt like you were so happy, you’d wanted it all along. For me to fit into your father’s life, not the life I wanted.”

  “I told you not to take the job, remember? I was happy my father was showing an interest in you. That’s all.”

  He’d muddled things in his mind, looked for ways to justify what he’d done. But she had indeed encouraged him to pursue his dream. “You’re right. I ask your forgiveness for that too.”

  She shook her head. “I was naive. Blind to my father’s cunning. I’m sorry for that.”

  “I forgive you, Abby. It’s all right.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes flashed with moisture. “That feels … nice. Being forgiven.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m glad things are clear between us. It’s like a burden’s been taken out of my hands.” She stretched her arms across the table to demonstrate, knocking the Bible to the floor between them, spine up, pages spread. A yellowed piece of paper skittered out. “What’s that?”

  Dash picked it up. “I don’t know. The mayor and I didn’t see that. Maybe you’d better read it.” If he tried, it would take all night.

  “Just a minute.” She stood, gripped a towel, and lifted the soup pot lid to stir the contents. Then she resumed her seat. “All right, let’s see. Oh, it’s a letter.”

  “To whom?”

  “Mr. Yates. ‘Dear Maynard,’ it says. Dated nearly twenty-three years ago.” She turned the page over. “From Maggie, his wife. I’m not sure I should read this.”

  “It could tell us if he has any other relations.”

  “Valid point. Here we are, then. ‘Dear Maynard, some things are easier to write down than speak face-to-face. That might account for my silence of late, so I’ll just say it here. You know I loved your brother Eugene. You did me a kindness, marrying me when he died and left me in a delicate state.’”

  “Of grief?” Abby rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  Dash didn’t have the best of feelings about where the letter was going next. “Maybe.”

  “‘When you claimed little Gene as your own—’” Abby flushed pink from mortification. “Oh. That sort of delicate state. Perhaps I should stop.”

  “It’s all right, Abby. Go on.”

  She cleared her throat. “‘When you claimed little Gene as your own I knew you loved me, but then baby Gene died, and you lost the last of your people in the world. I’m sorry the birth was so hard I couldn’t give you a child of your own to love. If I had, you’d have more people, someone to love you back, because I can’t be your people. My heart died with Eugene. I’ve got no love left to give. I’ll never ask you for anything but for you to lie me beside him in death. Until then, I will give you a good house and stay as your wife, Maggie.’”

  What a punch to the solar plexus this must have been. “Huh.”

  “He told me she never loved him. He was right.” Abby’s fingers went to her lips. “I guess she thought she was doing the right thing, with this letter. Just like you did by leaving. I’m not saying that to dredge things up for the hundredth time. Just saying he and I, well, were kindred that way.”

  “I’m sorry.” He’d be sorry until death.

  “I know. I’m sorry too.” Abby folded the page and returned it to the Bible. “But it’s over now. I hope he’s at peace.”

  Dash prayed so.

  A high-pitched cry of aggravation pierced the air. Too high to be Patty or Willodean. Abby’s wide gaze met his. “The baby.”
/>   He stood. “I should go.”

  Willodean and Patty rushed into the kitchen, though, grabbing his hands. “Did you hear the baby?” Willodean jumped up and down, shaking his arm.

  “We sure did.” There it went again, in fact.

  “You’ve got a new brother or sister.” Abby’s face shone with joy. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “I’m gonna kiss it wight here.” Patty pointed at her nose. “Seven times.”

  Heavy, slow footsteps sounded on the stairs. Little girls clutching his hands, Dash hurried with them into the foyer. Bynum’s shoes came into view, then his legs, and then all of him, grinning and carrying a bundle smaller than a loaf of bread. “Meet your brother, Stuart.”

  Abby hauled Patty into her arms to give her a better view of the bundle, so Dash did the same with Willodean. Bynum craned up his arm so they could better see the tiny, red face, capped with a shock of dark hair. The rest of little Stuart was bundled in a yellow blanket, except for his fists, which rested under his chin.

  Patty stroked the blanket over him. “He’s so pwetty.”

  “Boys aren’t pretty, Patty,” Willodean scolded.

  “Stuart is,” Abby countered. “All babies are beautiful, but Stuart is especially so. How’s Hildie?”

  “Perfect.” Bynum’s smile was like nothing Dash had ever seen, a concoction of relief and amazement. It must be the look of a father.

  Dash hadn’t thought about babies much when he planned to marry Abby, although he knew they’d come along someday. Since leaving Chicago, he hadn’t thought about babies at all. Now, faced with one in the flesh, he couldn’t think of anything else. Would he have a family someday? Could he, as an operative? Several of his fellow Secret Service members did, but near-constant travel around vast divisions kept them away from home most of the time.

  He shifted Willodean’s weight in his arms. How old was she? School age, so six? Seven? Not that long since she was Stuart’s size. People who said children grow too fast weren’t kidding. He wouldn’t want to miss a minute of it, with his own children.

  If he ever had any.

  “You all can come up to see your mama in fifteen, twenty minutes.” Bynum kissed his daughters’ hair. “I’ll take Stuart up now, but I had to show him off.”