by Martha Hix
Now that he thought about it, he realized that he should have never suspected Matthias of cavorting with Lisette. The German loved her all right, but his feelings were honorable. And Gil got the impression that he had been tricked over that marriage business . . . tricked to open his eyes.
They were open.
Now what should he do? What was it Matthias had advised? To quit fighting himself over Betty? How could he do that? By washing away the past, forgetting it ever existed. Impossible. Learn from the past. That would work, provided he concentrated on the positive.
His time with Betty had been hell, but they had had a few good moments. There, that felt better. He hoped she was doing all right, had found peace. This felt even better still.
He hoped he could give Lisette peace. With all his heart, he loved her, and that made the difference between her and Betty. It was, and always would be, Lisette in his heart.
Yes, she could have been in the family way when desperation had driven her to him, but she had proved to be a good and dear wife, supportive and loving. And Matthias had been right: it was the day-to-day that made a father.
Gil recalled two nights before, when he’d had a chat with young Hermann about disturbing his mother. The lad hadn’t heeded Lisette’s pleas, but he’d behaved when Gil had put in his two cents. A child needed a father.
“I’ll be that for Hermann.”
If Lisette would give him another chance.
He walked to the horse trough. Almost there, he caught sight of his grandmother.
“How is my wife?” he asked worriedly.
“Gilliegorm, it’s . . . I’m sorry.” Maisie dabbed her eye with a handkerchief. “She’s not going to make it.”
“Noooo!”
A light from the end of a tunnel. It was hazy here, calm and peaceful. She floated through the channel. A specter appeared, clothed in a gossamer gown. A gentle breeze soughed, ruffling the hem of that fabric. “Mutti.”
“Daughter, if you give up, the child will die with you.”
We have no one; it would be best if he is with us.
“You have Maisie McLoughlin. You have Matthias Gruene–he could make a good father to your child.”
It was Gil I wanted.
“If you still want him, fight for him.”
I tried.
“Don’t give up, my little one.”
I am not little, Mother.
“You are not. You could expel a child with no problem.”
Another form floated forward. Olga. Olga, as beautiful as she had been before the Comanches had taken her. Lisette tried to reach for her sister, her hand drawing empty air. I’ve missed you, sister.
“You will have eternity to miss your husband,” the young girl chided. “The Scotsman’s resting place won’t be with us.”
He’s going to hell?
“Yes. Unless he heals the chasm of his heart, which I’m thinking he has ideas to.” Olga sighed. “Lise, you must save your child.”
Mother drifted closer. “Listen to your sister, Lisette.”
But I have no more strength.
“Yes, you do. Draw in your breath–and push!”
“It’s a girl!”
Smiling despite his fears, Gil lifted his head from the bedside. “A girl. I always hoped so.”
Doctor Koch handed the squirming mass to Maisie, then bent to cut the cord. “Luck’s given your wife a second chance. Pray it holds.”
“I’ve been praying.”
“You need to leave, Mister McLoughlin.” The doctor shooed him away. “You’re in the way.”
“I’ll go. But first,” Gil leaned over his wife, “if you’ll give me a chance to prove my love, you’ll never regret it. I don’t care who gave you our daughter–she’s mine. And I’ll raise her as such.”
He felt the tiniest movement against his hand. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” his wife whispered weakly.
“Lisette, my darlin’, I will never again let you down.”
“Get out, man!”
Turning to the doctor, he asked, “May I hold my daughter first?”
“Later.”
He kissed his wife’s forehead. “I’ll be downstairs.”
She convulsed.
“What is it going to take to get rid of you, man? We’ve got a problem. When you get to the lobby, send up the manager’s wife, Mrs. Hocker.”
It took all Gil’s strength to leave that third-floor room. No . . . to leave his wife. He trudged down the corridor and descended the staircase. What was the problem that had turned the doctor’s face ashen?
The desk clerk brought a cup of coffee; Gil didn’t drink a drop. The hotel manager’s wife answered Doctor Koch’s summons, then returned to fetch supplies. Three times she made the trip.
Gil collared her on the fourth. “How is my wife? How is my daughter?”
“Haven’t the slightest idea,” Mrs. Hocker replied. “Your grandmother cracks only the door when I go up there.”
A grandfather clock by the front desk ticked away the minutes, one turning into sixty of them. One hour turned into three, then four. They seemed like forty. Gil could stand it now longer. Damn it, Lisette had delivered the baby. What was the delay? Why wasn’t Maisie giving him reports?
“Why can’t I hear my daughter crying?”
“You’re out of hearing range,” replied the yawning desk clerk.
A few moments later, Dr. Koch descended the staircase, black bag in hand. “Your wife is recovering.”
Gil pushed the air out of his lungs. “Thank God.”
“I’d say He had something to do with it. Your wife says it was angels, though.”
“May I see her?”
“Not now.” With one of those stern physician scowls, Koch said, “She had a mighty rough time. She’s going to need a good deal of rest to get over this.”
“My daughter? Is she all right?”
“Doc, you want a cup of coffee?” the desk clerk asked.
“Yes, Roscoe, that sounds good. Pretty it up with some of that brandy you’ve got stashed in the desk.”
“Damn it, you can think about drinking after you’ve answered me. How is my daughter?”
“Couldn’t be better, all things considered. Ah, thank you, Roscoe.” The physician accepted the steaming cup and took a large swallow. Once again giving attention to the new father, he continued his discourse. “Awfully small, and they’ll need extra attention for a while, but I think they’ll make it.”
“What’s this ‘they?’ ” Gil asked skeptically.
“They’ve got your midnight-black hair.” Wilhelm Koch waved a finger at Gil’s head. “Black Celts, just like you and your grandmother, if I’m any judge of lineage, which I am. They were born a couple months too early, but their lungs are pretty strong. I’ve got hot water bottles around them.”
Gil stared up at the ceiling, wishing he could see into the third floor room, to the rear of this hotel, where his family had struggled so. “What’s this ‘they?’ ” he repeated.
“Didn’t I tell you? Mister McLoughlin, you’re the father of triplet girls.”
Triplets? By the Holyrood. Three of them. Gil felt the floor climbing up to meet him. Triplets! For the first time in his life, Gil McLoughlin fainted.
Chapter Forty
“I’ve been thinking of names . . .”
Bending over their common crib in the bedroom of the house Maisie had rented, Lisette gazed at heaven’s precious gifts. She turned her attention to the man who stood on the far side of the bassinet. Preacher Eli Wilson, wearing a black suit and a broad smile, murmured oohs and aahs at the infants.
“Good idea,” he said, “putting them in the same crib. It gives warmth as well as comfort.”
“I think so.”
Smiling with motherly pride, Lisette looked at her daughters. As yet unnamed, they were sleeping–for once, at the same time. How wonderful it was simply to gaze at them. My, they were beautiful. All perfectly formed, all raven-haired and
wing-browed, all decidedly Celtic. Like their father.
Their father, who had denied them. Their father, who stood below the bedroom window each night and played his damned bagpipes–and disturbed his daughters’ sleep.
The preacher clicked his tongue. “They’re growing by leaps and bounds. I can almost see them gaining weight.”
At six weeks of age, they were big enough to travel.
“They’re the spitting image of their pa,” Eli said.
“Yes.” Lisette fingered a wisp of black hair. “They look so much alike, I think they should have different-sounding names. In keeping with their personalities.”
Eli frowned. “Shouldn’t you ask Mister McLoughlin’s opinion? Why won’t you speak with him? I know he comes by here several times a day.”
“Gil did his talking in the Drovers’ Cottage.” At one point, hurt would have tightened her chest. There was nothing for him in her heart but the emptiness of broken dreams. She tightened the belt of her heavy wrapper. “Anything more would add insult to injury.”
Lisette settled in a nearby overstuffed chair and looked up at Eli. On the afternoon she’d awakened from that third birth, she’d asked for him. For not the first time, she wondered if she’d made a mistake, taking the man of God into her confidences. Weren’t they enough, Maisie’s pleas? Both had urged her to hear what Gil had to say.
Even Matthias, before he’d left for California, had mentioned that Gil might be worthy of a second chance.
Phooey.
“Your husband comes to see me.” Eli retreated from the crib, and picked up a straight chair to set it beside Lisette. “A more repentant man, I’ve never counseled. It wouldn’t take but a minute or two to ease his mind.”
“His peace of mind isn’t my concern.” Her fingers curled over the top of the wicker bassinet. “And I must save my strength for my daughters. They are my life now. We leave tomorrow for Chicago. I’m going to open a millinery shop.”
“The Lord be with you.” Eli rubbed his forehead. “Will the old Mrs. McLoughlin go along?”
At that moment Maisie opened the bedroom door that had been left cracked. “I am not old! But aye, I will be living in Chicago with my girls. All four o’ them. Never had a daughter, never had a granddaughter. Lucky I am, though ’twould be nice t’ see my grandson with a settled look on his mug.”
Standing between Maisie and Gil was Lisette’s only regret; she ducked her head. “I ... I’m feeling rather spent, Eli. Maybe we could say our good-byes?”
They did.
“Good luck with your new church,” she said in parting.
“God is with us.” He smiled. “We break ground next week. And rest assured, Lisette, I’ll always remind the congregation of your generosity.”
“All I want is your prayers for my daughters.”
Maisie walked the preacher to the door; Lisette turned to her infants. One opened eyes certain to stay blue, and gazed up at her mother. Lisette’s heart expanded. Her time with Gil hadn’t been a waste, not by any means. She had her girls.
“Hello, Miss Shy Eyes,” she whispered, set on not waking the others until she had some time with this one, and obtained a coo in reply.
Lifting the babe from the crowded crib, she parted her wrapper and held the child to a breast. Little fists balled, pushed against the soft flesh as those precious little cheeks moved in and out.
“My darling, I’ll never let you down.” Not like your father did–I’ll never speak ill of him to you, though. “We’ll have a good life. I promise.”
Lightly, Lisette pressed her lips to the top of the tiny dark head. She heard the door hinges creak open and close, then the sound of boots moving slowly across the room. It didn’t take looking up to recognize the encroacher. And she felt his eyes on her as surely as if he were touching her face.
“You two look more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
“Don’t. Please don’t.”
“I’ve missed you, Lisette. I want you with me. You and the girls. Forever and always.”
“Go away,” she whispered, refusing to lift her head.
“I won’t until I’ve held my daughters.”
“Shhh. You’ll waken them.”
“I intend to. I damned sure want to hear them cry before you take off for Chicago. And not from outside a window.”
“So, Maisie told you we’re leaving.”
A slight shuffling of boots. A paper sack rattled. “Never fear. The Society of McLoughlin Women is intact. She didn’t say a word. Eli Wilson told me.”
Wanting to be angry with Eli for betraying a trust, Lisette found it impossible. Maybe, deep in her heart, she’d wanted a last word with the man who had given her these girls.
At last she lifted her head to see a dark suit, a white shirt, and a string tie ... and the tormented visage of Gil McLoughlin.
Oh, God in heaven, she didn’t hate him. The urge to ease his agony fought with the memory of the hurt he had inflicted. Damning herself, she wanted to revel in this moment . . . of a father seeing his children for the first time.
Oh, God in heaven, she still loved him. But what was love if she would always be in fear?
Stepping to the side, Gil bent over the bassinet. Into the arms that had held Lisette and had given her heaven on earth, he lifted a blanketed child. A measure of his visible agony diminished when he held the girl up for inspection.
“Lisette, she’s beautiful.” There was wonder in his voice. “She looks just like you.”
“I won’t argue the beautiful, but everyone–” No! She wouldn’t tell him what everyone, including herself, thought. “Yes, she looks just like me.”
Miss Shy Eyes had had enough milk; she relinquished the nipple and sighed. Gil’s eyes stroked the exposed breast, then the small face, and Lisette not only pulled her wrapper across her bosom, she scowled at him. “You have no right to gaze at us that way.”
Whipping his notice to the child in his hands, he said, “You know, she’s a dead ringer for you, except for my hair. And there’s no mistaking these eyebrows. They’re mine.”
It ought to be heartening, his admission of paternity, yet Lisette could not forget the insult he had placed on that child when sheltered in the womb.
“Put her down, Gil.”
“Yeah. I’d like a gander at her cribmate.” Gingerly, he placed his daughter beside another. “Good gracious, I can’t tell the differences.”
“There’s a difference, all right. You’ve been holding The Scamp.” A smile escaped, though Lisette tried to hide it. “I think she’ll be the one for troublemaking.”
Gil chuckled. “There’s one in every family.”
No comment passed Lisette’s lips. She settled her fed daughter on her shoulder, rubbed the sweet little back, and received a loud burp.
“Just listen to that,” Gil said, awe in his tone.
“I think you should leave. I’ve more nursing to do.”
From the look on his face, Lisette knew he wanted to stay and watch. He’d given up that right in the Drovers’ Cottage.
“Must be burdensome,” he murmured, “three of them at your breast.”
“It’s a burden of love.”
“You’ve been burdened by a lot of love in your life.”
Her teeth set, she replied, “It’s my life, and you have no say in it. Especially after our divorce is granted.”
“I don’t want one.”
Pushing to her feet, Lisette carried Miss Shy Eyes to the marble-top dresser. Her fingers shaking, she pulled away the wet wrappings and reached for a clean diaper. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gil picking up another daughter.
“Have you tagged a moniker on this one?” he asked.
“I call her The Thinker.” Lisette paused. “I swear, Gil, she studies everything as if she’s forming an opinion.”
He carried the child over to the dresser, placed her beside her sister, then stepped back to study the result of his seed. The Thinker met his gaze, and he laughed.
“Wife, I think you’re right.”
Lisette fastened the diaper. “I don’t lie.”
“I know.” He scooped the two girls into his arms, turned, and put them both in their crib. A trio of cries filled the bedroom, and waving his finger, their father demanded in a soft voice, “Hush.”
Amazingly, the howls ceased.
“They need proper names, Lisette.”
“Actually, I have come up with two. Shy Eyes, I’m going to call Olga, after my sister. The Thinker–she’ll be Margaret, after Maisie. And The Scamp . . . well, I don’t think she’d appreciate sharing a name. I haven’t decided what to call her.”
His brows furrowed, he gazed down into the crib. “Hmm.” A finger went to his upper lip. “I’ve got it.” He swiveled around. “Let’s give her a name that might make her think before she gets into troublemaking. Let’s call her Charity.”
“Maybe.” Lisette, her back to the dresser, clutched the marble of its top when Gil stepped over to her. “You’ve heard them cry,” she whispered. “Now go away.”
“I have another demand.”
One of his hands settled at her waist, the other moving to her nape. “Don’t,” she murmured, but he stepped closer. His body heat enveloped her, as did his presence. Lowering his head and parting his lips, he kissed her. Ach du meine Güte! He tasted so wonderful, so familiar. It was all she could do to break the embrace.
“I said go away,” she bit out, hugging the arms that yearned to tighten on him.
Disappointment sifted in his eyes. “I’ll leave, but before I do, I want to leave these for the girls.” He reached for the paper sack. In it were three miniature hobby horses. “I whittled them.”
“I ... I’m sure the girls will enjoy the toys.”
His fingers reached into a breast pocket and extracted a small velvet box. “This is for you.”
“I don’t want anything but a divorce.”
He opened the box. Three diamonds set in a heart-shaped pendant winked up at her.
“Our time together wasn’t hearts and roses. I wish it could have been, but it wasn’t. But the heart is mine–it’s a symbol of my love, Lisette.” He paused. “And the diamonds are for Olga and Margaret and Charity.”