by Pam Hillman
Mrs. Brooks poured coffee, and Livy carried the cups to the table. “Do you take cream? Sugar?”
“Just a little sugar, thank you.”
“How are Susie and the baby?”
“Both are fit as a fiddle. I’m having a hard time keeping Susie from overdoing it, but other than that, they’re doing fine.”
“We’re so glad you stopped by. The children will be thrilled with the clothes.”
“It’s the least I could do.” Jake’s mother sipped her coffee and smiled at Livy. “Actually, I wanted to invite you and Mary over again. The girls have been pestering me all week.” She covered her mouth as her eyes grew wide. Then she laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, my goodness. That sounded like I was only inviting you two because of the girls. The truth is, I’d love to have you visit again. And, Mrs. Brooks, when the weather clears, you’ll have to bring all the children out to the farm. We’ll make a day of it.”
“That’s too much trouble for you, Mrs. Russell.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble. Jake always comes for Sunday dinner, and he’ll be more than happy to bring the girls with him. By the way, have you seen him lately? I’ve been so busy helping Susie with the baby that I’ve missed seeing him when he comes out to the farm.”
Sudden heat filled Livy’s face. The last time she’d seen Jake, he’d kissed her. And to her shame, she’d kissed him back. Then told him she only wanted to be friends. Had he taken her at her word and given up so easily? Did she want him to honor her wishes or see through her fear and listen to her heart?
She mumbled something about having seen him on Tuesday.
Mrs. Russell sighed. “Since his father died, he’s taken on a huge load of responsibility for all of us. I keep telling him we can manage fine without the extra income from his job as deputy, but we suffered a terrible crop this past year. He’s afraid if we have another bad year, we might lose the farm.”
Mrs. Brooks reached out and clasped her hand. “Surely it’s not that bad, is it?”
Tears filled Mrs. Russell’s eyes, and she blinked them away. “We can only pray that it won’t be.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jake handed Livy up into the wagon and placed a quilt over her knees. Her gaze met his. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He winked, and her breath caught in her throat.
His mother was standing right behind him. To cover her embarrassment, she smiled at Mrs. Russell. “Thank you for inviting us to Sunday dinner again. I enjoyed every minute of it. And thank you for the recipe for potato dumplings. A new way to cook potatoes is always a good thing with all the children at the orphanage.”
“Think nothing of it, dear.” Jake’s mother placed a basket in the wagon bed. “Now, girls, don’t turn this over. You don’t want potato dumplings and fried chicken all over the place.”
Jake hurried around to the other side while Tommy clambered into the back with the girls. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with us, Ma?”
“I’ve been over at Susie’s most of the week, Jake. A nice quiet afternoon—” she glanced pointedly at the girls, now squabbling with Tommy—“sounds heavenly.”
Jake laughed. “All right, then. We’ll be home in a little while.”
“Take care.”
Livy glanced into the back of the wagon and smiled. Jake’s two sisters sat with Mary sandwiched between them, the three of them giggling. Whatever they laughed about didn’t even have to be funny. They were just being girls. She and Katie had had precious little to laugh about, but sometimes they’d get tickled about the silliest things, like how the German butcher down the street got mad at the stray dogs that hung around his shop every day. He’d yell at them to not come back as if the dogs understood him.
At night, Katie mimicked his thick accent until Livy cried from laughing so hard. She sighed. They’d had nothing, but in some ways they’d had everything. They’d had each other.
Tears pricked her eyes. She missed Katie so.
They pulled out of the yard, the wagon creaking and the harness jingling. Tommy hung over the seat. “Can I take the reins, Jake? I’ve been practicing, just like you told me.”
Jake threw Livy a grin and scooted toward her. “All right, squirt. Hop up here.”
Tommy scrambled forward and plopped down. Jake handed him the reins. “Don’t drop them.”
Livy peeked around Jake. Could Tommy keep still long enough to guide the horses and keep the wagon on the road? The boy tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, a ferocious look of concentration on his freckled face. She covered her mouth with her hand.
Jake leaned over and whispered, his breath tickling the hair at her temple. “What?”
She glanced at him, his green eyes inches from hers. A warm feeling engulfed her. “Nothing. He’s just so cute like that.”
He shook his head. “Too bad it won’t last very long.”
She giggled. She probably sounded as silly as the girls in the back of the wagon. Jake sobered, his gaze turning serious as it dipped to her lips, then returned to her eyes. The half wink and lopsided smile told her that he would’ve kissed her again had they been alone. Just knowing he wanted to turned her insides to jelly.
But what would she do this time if he tried?
The quilt slid off her knees into a puddle at her feet. Jake grabbed it and spread it over her lap and across his knees. In the process, he snagged her gloved hand and twined his fingers through hers. Livy sat ramrod straight, aware of how close he sat. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand in slow, lazy circles that tied her insides in knots.
“You okay with going to see Susie’s baby?” Jake asked, his voice laced with concern.
“I’ll be fine.”
Babies were a fact of life, and the sooner she accepted that, the better off she’d be.
All too soon they arrived at Susie’s small farmhouse. The girls hurried to the door, chattering like magpies, anxious to see the baby. Tommy followed right behind them, although he’d said he didn’t want to see any ol’ baby. Jake came around the wagon to help Livy down.
His hand lingered on hers, and although she enjoyed the sensation, she didn’t want Susie and Charlie to get the wrong idea. She pulled away and turned to the back of the wagon. “Oh, don’t forget the food your mother sent over.”
“I’ve got it.” Jake snagged the hamper.
Charlie met them at the door, barely acknowledging them, his hungry eyes on the basket. “What you got there, old man?”
Jake laughed and handed over the prize. “Leftovers. Ma said you were probably hungry.”
“Starving.” Charlie led the way inside. “Susie and the baby are in the kitchen, where it’s warm.”
The girls were kneeling around Susie, who sat in a rocker, the infant nestled in her arms. Susie loosened the blanket so the girls could get a good look at the baby. The girls oohed and aahed, while Tommy helped Charlie empty the bounty onto the table. Jake sat on the bench and pulled Livy down beside him.
“What’s his name?” Mary asked.
“Charlie Andrew Benson III,” Susie said, sounding like any proud parent.
“But we’re going to call him Andy,” Tommy piped up, his mouth full. Livy shook her head. They’d just gotten up from the dinner table. Surely the boy couldn’t be hungry already.
Susie’s gaze met Livy’s. She smiled. “You must be Livy.”
“Oh, sorry, Sis. This is Livy O’Brien and that pretty little filly over there is Mary Gregory. Ladies, meet my sister Susie, her husband, Charlie, and little Andy.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Benson. Your baby is adorable.”
Susie laughed. “Oh, please call me Susie.”
“If you’ll call me Livy.”
Little Andy opened his eyes and yawned. Livy smiled. The adorable baby had a thatch of dark hair and a little rosebud of a mouth.
A pang at what might have been hit her. Memories of a tiny baby girl with dark hair and perfect fingers and toes but no life surged through
her mind. Help me, Lord.
She took a deep breath and looked around, taking in the cozy kitchen and the warmth of the fire, thankful baby Andy lived in a warm home with a loving mother and father and aunts and uncles to take care of him.
What if Katie’s baby had lived? What kind of life would the child have had on the streets of Chicago? What if Katie had died and Livy’d been left to care for the baby? What would she have done then? Everything in her power to save Katie’s child, of course. But would it have been enough? As Mrs. Brooks always said, maybe it was for the best, because God didn’t make mistakes.
Susie unwrapped the baby. “Look at his fingers. They’re so tiny. Can you imagine him ever being big enough to hold a hammer or a hoe?”
“Or the reins of a horse.” Tommy pointed to the baby’s hands. “They look like a coon’s paw.”
Amid the laughter, Jake leaned over and let the baby grasp his index finger. The contrast of the baby’s tiny hand clasping Jake’s tugged on Livy’s heartstrings. He rubbed his thumb against the back of the baby’s hand, much as he had done to her on the ride over, and she remembered how he would have kissed her if they’d been alone.
Had his feelings for her changed? Developed into more? Maybe she’d been wrong to tell him she wasn’t interested.
Jake lifted his finger slightly. “For such a little fellow, he’s got a good grip.”
“And he eats like a horse too.” Susie’s eyes grew moist. “I’m so thankful he’s healthy.”
Jake chucked his sister under the chin. “You did good, Sis.”
Livy marveled at the resemblance between Jake and his sister. Jake’s babies would probably look like Andy. The Russell family all had dark hair and bronzed skin. She glanced at Charlie, busy making a dent in the provisions from Mrs. Russell’s kitchen. Charlie sported dishwater-blond hair and skin that freckled rather than tanned. Livy’s gaze swept over Tommy, Susie, and the two younger girls, wondering what they’d looked like as babies. Had Jake looked like Tommy as a child? And been as mischievous? She smothered a tender smile.
Probably.
Livy sat there, feeling strangely comfortable. In this peaceful scene with Susie and her little family, she could almost forget the past.
Almost.
Mrs. Brooks’s words came rushing back. Could her feelings for Jake and the longing for children—dark-haired babies like little Andy—overcome the worst of her fears?
* * *
The day flew by way too fast to suit Jake.
At the orphanage, Mary hurried inside to tell Mrs. Brooks all about the baby. Livy stepped up on the porch, but Jake snagged her hand before she could go farther. “Hey.”
She dipped her head and gave him a shy smile. What he wouldn’t do to keep that smile on her face. He tugged her closer.
“You’ve been quiet today.” He grinned. “’Course, it’s hard to get a word in edgewise with Tommy and those girls yakking nonstop.”
“I didn’t mind.”
He studied the bemused expression on her face, unable to ignore the soft allure of her lips, the curve of her cheek. He took a deep breath as if he’d been slugged in the stomach. He’d never wanted to cherish and protect anyone as much as he did Livy. She made him wish for things he’d never dreamed possible. But she’d told him to wait. And wait he would. He didn’t want to rush things and scare her off.
No matter how much he wanted to taste her kisses again.
He rubbed her arms through the thick cloak she wore. “Cold?”
She shook her head, her reddish-brown hair glistening in the winter sun. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry the girls insisted on going to see the baby.”
Livy placed a hand on the front of his coat, close to his heart. “It’s all right. Seeing your sister’s baby today helped me let go of a lot of the fear I’ve had since losing my sister and her child.” She smiled, a tender look on her face, tears in her eyes. “Maybe . . . maybe I can move forward now.”
“Now?” he whispered as he drew her closer.
“Yes,” she whispered before his lips claimed hers.
Chapter Eighteen
Something was wrong.
“Gus?” Jake dismounted and crunched through the snow to the door and knocked. He listened for any sounds, but Gus’s ever-present humming was noticeably absent.
Gus hadn’t shown up to fill the coal bin at the jail today, and he always arrived before daylight. No smoke curled from the old man’s chimney, which struck Jake as odd. Gus hadn’t said anything yesterday about being away from home today. And where would he go, anyway?
When nobody answered, Jake pushed open the door to the dark cabin. The coals in the fireplace lay cold. Little Bit poked her head through the opening between the cabin and the lean-to and brayed. One thing was for sure. No matter where he went, Gus wouldn’t leave Little Bit behind.
In the gloom, Jake spotted Gus on his cot, a blanket draped over him.
“Gus?”
The old man didn’t move or acknowledge his presence. Jake hurried to his side, worried that his worst fears had materialized and that Gus had died in his sleep. First Seamus and now Gus. He reached out a trembling hand and laid it on Gus’s forehead. His skin felt hot to the touch.
Thank You, Lord. He’s alive.
“Gus? Can you hear me?”
Gus mumbled something, but Jake couldn’t make out what he said. He grabbed a couple of ragged blankets and piled them on. He glanced at the cold fireplace and frowned. Making a quick decision, he hurried outside and hooked Little Bit to the cart. They’d be snug in town before he could get the fire going and bring the doctor.
He lined the bed of the cart with half of Gus’s tattered blankets, hefted him into the little wagon, then covered him with the rest of the blankets and quilts. He mounted his horse, leading Little Bit behind. He hurried Little Bit as fast as he dared. The game donkey’s short legs kept pace with Jake’s long-legged mare as if she knew Gus needed help.
Jake decided against taking Gus to the boardinghouse, the orphanage, or even to Doc Valentine’s. Miss Nellie didn’t have time to see after a sick man, and neither did Mrs. Brooks and Livy, although none of the women would turn him away. But Gus wouldn’t want to wake up at either place.
Instead, he headed straight for the jail. Either Jake or Sheriff Carter were there around the clock. They probably couldn’t take care of the old man as good as the women, but they’d do the best they could.
Abner came out of the mercantile as Jake halted his mare at the jail. “Hey, Abner, run and get Doc Valentine. Hurry.”
“Yes, sir.” Abner darted away.
Jake settled Gus on a cot in one of the cells. He groaned and muttered a couple of times but didn’t wake up.
Lord, help Gus. Forgive me for not doing more for him, for not encouraging him to go to church and to learn more about You. I don’t even know if he’s a Christian.
He worked to make the old man comfortable, sending prayers heavenward for his life and his soul. Relief coursed through him when the door opened. “In here, Doc.”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s Gus.” Jake stepped back. “He’s burning up with fever.”
Doc Valentine pulled up a chair and checked Gus over. He mumbled as he worked.
Jake gritted his teeth. “What’s wrong with him?”
“A touch of pneumonia.” The doctor muttered under his breath, stood, and snapped his black bag shut. He handed Jake a bottle of medicine. Jake leaned in so he didn’t miss any of the garbled instructions. “Keep his fever down. . . . Give him a dose of this three times a day. Hmmm . . . I’ll be back later.”
And with that, Doc Valentine mumbled himself right out of the jail.
Jake spent the rest of the day sponging Gus. His fever would go down, and he’d rest for fifteen minutes or so; then he’d get restless again. Around noon, Gus looked at him, his eyes glazed with fever. “Mr. Jake?”
“I’m here, Gus.”
Gus reached ou
t a feeble hand. “Take care of the kids.”
“The kids? What kids, Gus?”
“Cold.”
“You’re cold? I’ll get another blanket.”
“No.” Gus gripped his hand. A spasm of coughing hit him. When he could speak again, he rasped, “Kids. Cold.”
Jake frowned. “The kids are cold?”
Confusion clouded the old man’s eyes, but he held up a trembling hand, focused on it a moment. “Gloves.”
“I know they need gloves, Gus.” Jake patted Gus’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Gus babbled on, but Jake couldn’t make anything else out. After a while, he lapsed into a fitful sleep. Jake spooned a dose of Doc’s medicine into him and tried to keep his fever down.
Sometime midafternoon, Reverend Warren stopped by. “I just heard. How is he?”
“About the same.”
“Mrs. Warren insists we move Gus to the parsonage.”
Jake raked a hand through his hair. “He’d better stay here. You know he’d be mighty uncomfortable to wake up with Mrs. Warren fussing over him.”
The preacher nodded. “You’re probably right. He’d hightail it out of there so fast, he’d forget his britches. We’ll leave him here for now.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the front room. “The wife sent over a pot of chicken stew. Eat something and get some rest. I’ll watch Gus for a while.”
“Thanks, Reverend.”
Jake wolfed down two bowls of Mrs. Warren’s soup, stumbled out of the jail, and crossed the street. He’d never been so thankful that Baker’s Boardinghouse faced the jail, right next door to McIver’s. He mounted the stairs to his room and closed the door, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
* * *
The six o’clock whistle pierced the evening stillness, echoing through the whole town. The sound galvanized Livy, Emma, and Mary into action. The miners would flood the small café in fifteen minutes. The men would be starving, as usual. Livy rushed around, cutting corn bread and ladling up bowls of beef stew.
Emma took another pone of corn bread out of the oven and dumped it on a platter. “Go ahead and put those bowls on the tables. All we’ve got is stew and corn bread. If they don’t like that, they’ll have to go someplace else.”