“Please, have you no pity? Don't you care?”
He tethered his horse before following her into the homestead, scowling as he did so. He wanted Jo to suffer, didn't he? “Mumma Mumma”, the wailing of a child met them inside, but the agonized screams had him running.
The bedroom was small and sparsely furnished he noticed before turning his gaze to the figure writhing on the bed. Jo's hair lay in all its burnished glory against the pillow, those startling green eyes he had so often admired were glazed with pain, tears glistened on the tips of her lashes.
“How long has she been like this?” he asked frantically.
“Since yesterday.”
“Why the hell didn't you get the doctor?”
“We haven't got any money. I couldn't leave her alone. The baby must be stuck. It was moving before, now it's stopped.”
For the first time ever, Luke saw fear on Jo's beautiful face. This was a different Jo than the one who had defied and taunted him. His heart rose up in his mouth before crashing against his rib cage because she was so distressed, like a wounded animal caught in a trap it could not escape.
“Luke, you came.” Her voice sounded croaky, barely audible.
“Can you stand up?”
“Of course she can't,” Fiona shrieked. “She's exhausted.”
He ignored her. “You're not doing any good for yourself lying in bed. Native women often give birth standing up.”
Jo stared at him, gritting her teeth to cut off a cry of agony as another contraction ripped through her. “I can't move.”
“Yes you can.” Two paces brought him to the side of the bed, and with a flick of his wrist, he threw the covers back. “Get up.”
“I can't.”
“Please yourself. If you want to die and the child with you, stay there.” He purposely made his voice harsh to galvanize her into action.
She struggled into a sitting position, by pushing herself up with her hands. Clinging to the bedclothes, she awkwardly swung her feet to the floor.
“Stand up now,” he ordered.
Gritting her teeth, she tried to rise, but the pain and weakness proved too great and she flopped back on to the bed.
“Help me, Luke, please.”
He hesitated for a moment before grasping both her shoulders. “Get some hot water and soap,” he instructed Fiona. “I need to wash my hands.”
Fiona darted away.
“Don't push until she gets back.” Campton men never showed their innermost thoughts. It was a form of weakness, so Luke disguised his vulnerability to Jo’s plight with cruelty. “Or it might drop on the floor.”
“Why do you have to be so vicious, Luke?”
He didn't answer, but turned his head away so she wouldn’t see his face and read the anguish in his eyes. The thirst for revenge had reduced his brave, willful Yankee woman to this pitiful state. He wanted to apologize, but didn’t know how. Wanted to make it up to her but didn’t know how to do that either.
When Fiona came back with a dish of hot water, he dunked his hands in it and scrubbed them with the soap. “You kneel down so you can catch the baby and pull the nightgown out of the way. Jo, when the next pain comes, hang on to me, and push like hell.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck she threaded her fingers together and clung to him.
“Push.” He stood like a rock, taking almost the whole of her weight without flinching. Nothing happened. “Try again. Please Jo, for the sake of our child.”
“Go on,” Fiona, kneeling beside her, pleaded.
Even in her pain-racked state, Jo knew her strength was ebbing. When the next contraction came, even though it nearly ripped her apart, she pushed with all her might.
“It's coming.” Through a mist of pain and exhaustion Fiona's relieved voice came to her. “It isn’t breech thank goodness. The head’s crowned.” “Come on. Push,” Luke commanded.
“It's a boy,” Fiona cried.
Jo’s head flopped against Luke's chest. As her legs crumpled, he supported her, rubbing her back with the palm of one hand.
“Once you’ve cut and tied the umbilical cord, I'll look after the child, Mrs. Morrison, you see to Jo.”
Jo was hardly aware of Luke lifting her on to the bed but she felt his finger tips gently brushing the damp tendrils of hair away from her face. The baby cried lustily as Fiona handed him over to his father.
“He's a big, beautiful boy. No wonder you had such trouble.” Fiona's voice trembled with emotion.
Luke carried the screaming infant wrapped in a towel out to the kitchen and laid him on the table. With a cloth soaked in warm water, he wiped the birthing blood and mucus from the baby's face. The child had a head of thick black hair.
“No mistaking who sired you,” he muttered with satisfaction, before loosening the towel to check that he had everything a male child should have.
“What a boy you'll grow up to be, Jo's beauty and pride, coupled with my strength. You can cut out the bellowing now.” He lifted the infant up and held him in the crook of one arm. The roaring changed into whimpers as the little mouth opened, instinctively searching for the comfort of the breast.
“Your mother can have you in a minute.” He stroked the baby's plump cheek gently with one finger. “You're perfect. No man could want a finer son. Pity your father is such a bloody fool.”
Luke rocked the baby gently. He was so perfectly formed, so exquisite, unaccustomed emotion welled up in his chest. If he hadn’t got into a drunken stupor and compromised Cassandra, Jo would have been his wife, and this would have been the proudest day of his life.
“You're mine. What I have I hold. When it's time for you to leave your mother's breast, I'll claim you.”
Fiona heard the impassioned words as she entered the kitchen. “Jo won't let him go.”
Instantly he became defensive. “She'll have no say in it. I will have my son.”
He stood there, proud and arrogant, with the front of his shirt covered in birthing blood.
“Thank you for your help, Luke. They would have died if it wasn’t for you.”
He handed the baby over with reluctance.
“Don't you want to know how Jo is?”
“All right, if she's asking for him.” He deliberately hardened his voice. He dared not go in and see her, not with his emotions raw and bleeding. He couldn’t let her know the power she wielded over him. How he felt sick to his guts for what he had done to her. How the thirst for revenge and drunken stupidity had ruined his life.
“She’s endured a long, arduous labor and she's lost a lot of blood.”
“If for some reason she can't feed him, or you think she needs a doctor, let me know so I can make arrangements.” He frowned. “If anything happens to my son, I'll hold you responsible.”
Fiona cuddled the baby close to her bosom, until her shaking subsided. Slowly she made her way back to the bedroom.
“Here he is, Jo.”
“Luke?”
“He’s gone.”
Jo bit her lip to stop it trembling, but soon forgot Luke’s desertion when the little bundle of humanity lay in her arms. “He's beautiful.”
“Yes, he's got a good pair of lungs too, a strong healthy boy. You're lucky.”
“You've got Lucy.”
“I always wanted to give Ian a son.” Fiona’s hands trembled and tears started to well in her eyes.
“I think I'll call you Mark Ian.” She watched the baby who started drifting off to sleep. “I'm tired, as soon as I'm asleep, take him away in case I roll on him and he suffocates.”
***
Sunlight streaming through the window woke Jo up next morning. She must have slept for hours. Swiveling her head around, she spied Mark sleeping in his cradle, one small bunched-up fist under his chin.
“You're awake now. How do you feel?” Fiona asked with a cheerful smile.
“Sore, but all right. I'm as weak as a newborn lamb, though.”
“I'll give you a wash after we’ve eaten
. Maybe tomorrow we could start salt baths. It will help with healing. Bacon and eggs for breakfast, how does that sound?”
“Unbelievable. Where did you get it from?”
“Luke sent a man over with three sacks crammed full of supplies, ham, bacon, flour and sugar. The man says someone will be over every other day to attend to things and bring us fresh meat.”
“Were there any messages from Luke?”
“Not a word.”
Disappointment surged through Jo. Not for herself, of course, but for Mark, because his father showed no interest in him.
He was a strong, healthy baby who took to the breast well. She let him suckle frequently to encourage a greater supply of milk. On the third day, much to Fiona's horror, she managed to totter out to the parlor.
“It weakens you lying down all the time and I have to get strong quickly,” she said, resisting Fiona's pleas to return to bed.
No complications set in. Even though it had been a hard, arduous labor, by the eighth day, she got up, dressed and started pottering around the house.
The weather became so cold they needed to have a roaring fire in the parlor to keep warm. The amount of wood they consumed would have exhausted their own meager supply, but the neatly cut logs came from Kangaroo Gully in an endless stream.
Sometimes Luke sent over lamb, other times beef, even a leg of pork, but there was never any word from him.
The bloom of health returned to her cheeks and Fiona started to look better, less fragile. As for baby Mark, he thrived under the administrations of a doting small cousin, an aunt and his mother.
***
One Monday, Glory, the painted madam of the local brothel called in on them. Squeezed into a too-tight gown of plum-color silk, she greeted them cheerfully. Fiona's grimace of shock behind the woman's back caused Jo to grin.
She was a cheerful, garrulous type, slightly on the coarse side, yet not as vulgar as Jo would have imagined. She brought an engraved silver eggcup with matching mug as a gift to Mark.
“You don't mind if I pick him up?” Before Jo could answer, Glory scooped him up from his cradle and rocked him gently. “He's a fine big boy, isn't he?”
“I think so.” Jo smiled. “Would you like some tea, Glory?”
“Don't mind if I do. No, you don't favor your Mama.” She patted the baby’s plump cheek. “You're a real Campton, like he said.”
“You've seen Luke?” Jo tried to hide her shock.
Glory laughed. “Been one of my regulars for years.”
Jo almost doubled over as a sharp, sickening pain knifed through her. Luke frequented a brothel? Had he gone there when she shared his bed? A lump of bile clogged her throat.
Glory gabbled on. “Not me personally, I'm too old.” She poked Jo in the ribs, and went into peals of laughter.
“I think it's disgusting.” Fiona pursed her lips.
“Why, Mrs. Morrison? His wife doesn't give him what he's entitled to, and a lusty devil like Luke Campton couldn't abstain for too long. I tell you this, Jo; he never once came over when you lived in his house.”
“It's so, well I mean, a…” Fiona obviously could not even bear to utter the word.
“Say it, go on, a brothel. I don't run a sleazy whorehouse. I run a legitimate business providing a service for which I charge. A man can get a decent meal or a few drinks at my place. If he chooses to avail himself of the girls who work there, that's his business.”
“I'm sorry, we’re acting like a couple of prigs,” Jo apologized. “Thank you for coming over.”
“Luke was a bloody fool not to have kept you when he had the chance. I know it and so does he. I suppose you heard his wife is unstable.”
“Yes,” Jo said. “I did hear something of the kind.”
“She's giving him a hell of a time. Mind you, he's arrogant and ruthless, but no man should be tied to someone like that. Spends most of her time locked away in her room.”
“He didn't have to marry her. She was his brother's intended, so I heard.” Jo tried to hide her bitterness
“True, but in a drunken rage, he did a stupid thing. When he sobered up and came to his senses it was too late. There would have been a shocking scandal, especially since her father's related to the Governor or something. The brother's a compulsive gambler, that's why he wanted Luke to marry his sister. A rich brother-in-law would be handy for a man always in debt.”
“How do you know?” Fiona asked.
“You'd be surprised what my girls know about some of the men in this town. Call it pillow talk, whatever you like. They don't only come to satisfy their male need, they like to unburden themselves verbally as well. Some of the pious, genteel ladies of this town who regard me as lower than a piece of shit, if only they knew their husbands were amongst my regulars. Bloody funny, don't you think?”
Jo gave a mirthless laugh. “Yes, it is. They treat me like a leper because Luke forced me to live with him. ”
“You've got guts, I like that. Don't let any of them put you down. Stare them straight in the face, spit in their eye if you have to.”
Jo grinned. With every minute that passed she liked Glory more and more.
“If you ever need money or a job, see me. I had a baby once.” The coarseness was softened by a wistful sadness. “I wasn't always like this. My husband got killed when my boy was three years old, that's how I started. Left on my own with a small child, I couldn’t find anything else to do. My husband's wealthy family disowned him for marrying me. I wasn't good enough for them.”
“Where's your son now?” Jo asked.
“Died of diphtheria two days before his fourth birthday.”
Jo reached out and picked up Glory’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Couldn't, I mean, couldn't you have taken some other kind of job then?” Fiona blinked back tears.
“Why? Too late to get back my respectability and I still had to eat. Besides, it kept me from getting lonely.” Tears rolled down the heavily rouged cheeks.
Impulsively Jo squeezed the fat bejeweled fingers. “You did what you had to.”
“Stay and have a meal with us,” Fiona invited.
Jo's mouth dropped open at her fastidious, rather straight-laced sister-in-law’s invitation.
“Well,” Glory hesitated. “I don't want to be too late getting back, evenings are my busiest times.” She gave a loud chortle. “All right, I will stay, if you've got enough to spare.”
“We’ve got plenty. Luke's been supplying us with food,” Fiona explained.
“Not out of the goodness of his heart, either.” Jo's voice grew bitter. “I've thought about it a lot. He's doing it because of the baby, wants to make sure I’m well nourished so I can produce an adequate supply of milk.”
“You watch it. He wants the boy, made no secret of it. He’s rich and powerful enough to get his own way, too. He still wants you, but that’s another story. The little fellow is asleep now.”
When she handed the baby back to Jo, Lucy who had been watching from behind her mother's skirts, sidled up to Glory.
“Lucy, Lucy,” the child babbled.
“Ah, Lucy is it? Well, you are a darling little thing. Will you sit on Glory's knee too?”
Without the slightest hesitation the child lifted up her arms. Once settled on the ample lap, she pulled at the dangling pendant type earrings.
“You like pretty things? Here, get your mama to keep this for you.” Glory slipped a large ruby ring off her finger and gave it to the child.
“Lucy couldn't accept anything so valuable,” Fiona protested.
“Of course she can, I've got plenty of others. If you're thinking it's a present from a rich client then don't, my husband gave me this ring. It's a family heirloom.”
“But Glory...”
“I have no family to pass it on to. I want her to have it. For the first time in years, I've been treated like a guest in someone's home. Harlots like me don't get invited to tea very often.” It was a flat statement of fact and Jo co
uld think of nothing else to say.
Over dinner of pumpkin soup followed by Irish stew, Glory kept them entertained with stories of her travels overseas. Now and again when the vulgarity slipped, Jo caught a glimpse of the woman she must have been before fate steered her on this particular course.
Glory's dry wit, peppered with numerous swear words kept Jo laughing uproariously. She insisted on helping them with the dishes even though it was unlikely she had done such a chore in years.
By the time Glory left, with an invitation to come again, it was dark. As Jo waved her off she felt more cheerful than she had in a long time.
Back inside the homestead, even Fiona agreed their guest had been entertaining. “Pity she's so vulgar.” She bit her lip. “Seems quite nice and Lucy liked her.”
“You know,” Jo mused. “Half that vulgarity is an act. I think she's a lonely person who covers the fact up so no one will guess. I like her and she'd be a loyal friend if we needed one.”
“I like her, too, but if we associate with her, well, I mean some of her reputation might cling to us too.”
“Don't be such a snob. What do you think the pious ladies of the town think of me? I'll tell you, a rich man's whore, with a bastard son.”
The color faded from Fiona's face, leaving it ashen. “What a frightful thing to say.”
“Well it's true, isn't it? I don't care so much for myself, but little Mark.” Tears stung Jo’s eyes.
“I'm sorry. Later on, Luke will acknowledge him. He said so.”
Jo jumped to her feet. “When?”
Fiona bit her lip. “The day of Mark’s birth.”
“What did he say? Tell me his words exactly.”
“I…I can't remember, let's forget about it.” She twiddled a button on her gown.
“No, tell me.”
“He said, well he said...”
Jo stamped her foot. “Come on. What?”
“When the baby got old enough, he would claim him,” Fiona muttered. “Something like that, said if anything happened to his son, he'd hold us responsible.”
Jo wrung her hands. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”
“I didn't want to upset you, honestly. He meant every word of it.”
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