Smiling slightly, Seth nodded again. “You’re right. You’re right. Thanks, Thatcher. I’m glad you’re here. I’d be goin’ crazy if I just had to sit here by myself.”
“It’s no problem at all.” Thatcher patted his shoulders firmly and walked back to his chair, sending a silent prayer of gratitude to heaven for Emma and her wise decisions.
He kept an eye on Seth, encouraging him when more cries came from the room, but despite his hopeful words, Thatcher became worried, too. Heck, how could he not be? He told himself what he had told Seth only moments ago. Emma is in there. She’ll help Eliza through it, he thought. He had no doubt in his mind that it was true. That girl was strong, despite the fact that she seemed a bit timid on the outside. He smiled, thinking of her beautiful eyes flaring up before when he had called her a wildflower. Yes, she was a wild one indeed. She only needed a bit of help to let that fire out.
What seemed like hours later, the grunts and moans ceased, and a soft, sweet cry was heard throughout the house. Thatcher and Seth looked to each other, both stopping their breathing until they heard another cry. More were heard, and Seth stood up from his chair.
“I’m a father,” he repeated over and over again, tears trailing down his cheeks. “I’m a father!”
Thatcher walked up to his friend and hugged him, slapping him on the back. The men laughed together in wonder and amazement until Seth heard Emma call his name. “Go on,” Thatcher said, nodding his head towards the doorway.
Seth ran from the room with Thatcher laughing after him, and only minutes later, he came running back in, exclaiming, “It’s a girl! We have a girl!”
Thatcher laughed. “Congratulations, Seth.”
He held in more laughter as he saw Seth’s bewildered face. “Mae Marchant, that’s my girl. Little Mae! I have a daughter!”
And with that he ran back out of the room, leaving Thatcher alone. He chuckled to himself, happy for his friends. The thought crossed his mind about someday having children of his own, but he pushed it away. He’d vowed never to have any, not after his mother’s choices.
Sitting down on the couch, he rubbed his eyes with exhaustion. It had been a long night.
***
Emma spent the next hour or so helping the doctor clean and get Eliza settled once more with the baby girl in her arms. The doctor left, and Emma did the same soon afterwards, letting the new parents alone. She had Seth promise to come and wake her as soon as they needed her to take the baby so they could get some sleep.
Before heading to her room, Emma popped her head into the parlor, slightly disappointed to find Thatcher not there any longer. She hoped he had been okay staying, realizing that it might have been strange for him, but she knew it had helped Seth.
Walking slowly with her hand on the wall, Emma found her way to her bed, barely making it into her nightgown before falling sound asleep.
Her dreams were clouded visions of her holding a baby with deep brown eyes as strong arms wrapped securely around her waist. What seemed like minutes later, Emma was awakened by Seth’s gentle nudging on her shoulder.
She held the baby girl in her arms for the first time then as Seth went back to Eliza. Emma was going to sit on her bed, but knowing she would fall instantly back asleep, she remained standing.
The soft child was nestled in a small quilt made by the women of the town a few months before, and Emma held Mae’s small head as she put her close to her shoulder, patting her back gently. The baby radiated a warmth from her little body that touched Emma to the core. How she longed for a child of her own to hold and protect, but she smiled despite her longing, simply happy to hold her precious niece in her arms that night.
After burping Mae, Emma walked to the parlor, closing the door behind her without a noise. She moved to the window and stared at the rain pouring down as it made plinking noises against the glass.
Looking down at the serene child, she quietly hummed the lullaby her own mother used to sing to her, gently sliding a hand over her soft brown tufts of hair.
***
Thatcher watched Emma as long as he could without letting his presence be known to her. He had fallen asleep on the parlor’s couch, the back of it facing the door, so there was no way Emma could have seen him. But when the door opened and he heard her tiny footsteps walk towards the window, he woke up and couldn’t help but watch her, the light from the embers in the fireplace flickering across half of her face as she stared down at the little bundle in her arms.
So he had remained there, lying on the couch, head resting on his outstretched arm, boots by the side of him. He fought the aching in his heart as the perfect image of motherhood stood in front of him in the form of Emma, his beautiful Emma. Her hair hung free halfway down her back in waves from the bun she’d had it in before. She wore a loose, white nightgown and a dark green shawl, the ends of the fabric swaying in sync with her body as she moved back and forth to the pretty melody she hummed softly. He had never seen anything more beautiful, anything more motherly, and it scared him more than he wanted to admit.
Images of his own mother came to mind, of what she did to him, to his father and brother, but the memories were short-lived, replaced with images of Miss Marchant. He knew Emma could never be like his mother, would never be like his mother. She was too sweet, too sincere, as she looked down at the baby, smiling.
No, this woman in front of him was far from the kind his mother was. Fear still spoke to his mind, but his heart was soothed for a moment with peace.
“Emma?” he whispered, hoping to not startle her. He stayed lying down on the couch, pretending he woke up just then.
His heart soared again as he saw her jump and instinctively hold the baby closer as she turned her body to meet the man spying on her. “It’s okay,” he said, holding his hand high as he sat up, “it’s only me.”
“Oh, Thatcher,” she said, closing her eyes briefly and sighing. “You scared me half to death!”
“I’m sorry.” He smiled at her blushing cheeks. She must’ve just realized she’s only in her nightgown, he thought as she looked down to her bare ankles. I’d be blushin’, too, if I looked so good.
“Sorry if I woke you,” she said. “I didn’t know you were still in here, or I wouldn’t have come in.”
“I’m glad you didn’t know then,” he said. He stood and walked to Emma, placing a soft hand on the infant’s head in her arms. “How’s the little girl doin’?”
He felt Emma’s approving smile as he stared at Mae, but he wasn’t doing it for approval. As uncomfortable as he felt around babies, let alone newborns, he loved to feel their soft skin and see their innocent eyes.
“She’s doin’ just fine, I think,” Emma responded. “As healthy as a honeybee.”
They looked to each other, and Thatcher’s heart skipped a beat. As he looked into her eyes, he saw something there he didn’t expect to see, and it unnerved his previously peaceful mind.
She must’ve seen the change come over him, for in the next moment she asked, “Are you alright, Thatcher?”
He smiled and nodded, ignoring the fear that caused his throat to constrict. “Sure am. Just tired, I suppose.”
Emma nodded, understanding. “Why don’t you go on and head to bed. Sleep on somethin’ comfortable for a change.” She winked at him. “I’ll have breakfast ready for you in the mornin’.”
Thatcher tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, running his thumb across her scar as he did so. “That sounds real good, Emma,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I’d appreciate it.”
She only nodded and looked down to the baby as she began to fuss. Thatcher couldn’t take his eyes off of her! This was a completely different woman he was looking at now. No longer was she shy or permissive, and that rare, indignant flame was absent, too. Replacing those was a soft glow as the woman held the baby, rocking her back and forth in her arms. This was an Emma he had never seen. She was confident in her abilities, sure of herself. And it made her all the more appea
ling. As well as her being in that nightgown.
I need to get out of here, he thought, ’fore I come up with more things I shouldn’t be thinkin’ of.
“I’ll see you in the mornin’ then, darlin’,” he whispered, moving past the little girl and pressing his moistened lips to Emma’s cheek. “Sweet dreams.”
He looked to her one more time and saw the dreamy look in her eyes, satisfied with himself for causing such an effect. He turned around, grabbed his boots, and made his way to the room upstairs.
His thoughts wouldn’t quiet down that night, as was usual, but he allowed them to linger for a while, entertaining instead of ignoring the ideas that came. Visions of being married to Emma, raising children with her, living in a house he built with his own two hands, never having to part with her, all of them appealing as he lay alone.
The silence around him seemed deafening. He had never noticed it so loud before, nor how cold the blankets were as he shifted his body from side to side.
The thoughts continued to run wild until Thatcher eventually drifted off into a deep and pleasant slumber.
Chapter Eight
James arrived in Thundercreek a few days later, starry-eyed and blissfully happy. “She looks just beautiful, Thatch,” he said as the brothers dug around the trunk of a tree in the middle of James’s land. “More than I even remembered! I just can’t wait to marry her.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Thatcher said, wiping the sweat from his brow before he bent over again to stab the spade into the thick dirt. “Then maybe you can stop talkin’ ’bout how pretty she is and makin’ me feel jealous.”
James chuckled, a smile spreading across his face. “Maybe it’ll be just the thing you need to finally get out of the pit you dug yourself in.”
“I ain’t dug myself in no pit.” Thatcher continued to work but returned his brother’s smile. “Who knows, though? Maybe it will be just the thing. Heaven knows it’s ’bout time.”
Thatcher laughed as James’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Wow,” James said. “First time I’ve ever heard you admit to it.”
“Well,” Thatcher said, “I think you’d be surprised at the changes that have come over me since you left.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“That’s what you can figure out yourself.” Thatcher dropped the spade outside of the hole. “I’ll get the horses ready.”
He walked away as James said, “I will, then, Thatch!”
Thatcher shook his head but continued towards the barn. He smiled, happier than he’d been in a long time. He thought of Emma and the way she looked the last time he had seen her, the soft light framing her white nightgown, the infant wrapped tightly in her arms, and he couldn’t help but feel his heart lighten even more.
He tacked up the horses while he imagined his life the way James’s was going, love, marriage, and children, and he had a hard time picturing it. He had always thought he’d be alone for life, because, after all, that was what he had wanted until little Miss Marchant came into the picture and messed up his plans. Yet, for some reason he didn’t find it disappointing.
Thatcher brought the horses out and James helped him hook them up to large chains which they would use to eventually pull the large trunk roots out of the thick earth.
“I got to run to town to pick up a few things I ordered for the house this afternoon,” James said when the work was all done, and the trunk lay on its side. “I’d appreciate it if you could help me get them.”
“Sure,” Thatcher said, drinking a ladle full of water. “No problem.” Not if I happen to run in to Miss Marchant, that is, he thought.
He smiled, and James looked at him suspiciously. “Yep,” James said, “there sure is somethin’ different ’bout you.”
Thatcher didn’t say a word, only got back to work on clearing the land, counting down the minutes until he got to ride to town.
***
The September afternoon was much cooler than the rest of the week had been, the storm the few nights back bringing in nicer weather for everyone to enjoy. It seemed like the whole town of Thundercreek was out and about, visiting with friends and neighbors, Emma included. She walked down the boardwalk with a smile on her face, nodding to the town residents and stopping to chat with Mrs. Abney, telling her how Eliza was doing before continuing her stroll.
She kept her eye open for Thatcher, as she always did in town, but knew it wasn’t likely that she would see him that day.
The night he’d startled her in the parlor had scared her to death, first at seeing him there, then at realizing she was in her nightgown for him to see. It was mortifying, the thought of it still causing her cheeks to burn warmly. Yet, his soft touch with Mae and the sweet kiss he had given Emma before he went to bed had settled her embarrassment, and she smiled again, reveling in the bright sun overhead that warmed her shoulders.
Thoughts of Eliza and Seth and their new addition to the family made her smile even wider. Since that night, something had clicked in her. She’d always wanted a family of her own, the thought often making her feel ill, but after holding Mae in her arms, a strange calmness had come over her, and she knew she would someday experience it for herself. But she could only pray it would be with Thatcher.
She slowed her step as she looked in the various shop windows in town, wanting to give her brother some time alone with his family without her in the house. After picking up the post, she had planned on having a ride or maybe a walk to the river. Maybe both! she thought, her attitude positive and bright.
Looking down the boardwalk, Emma saw Silas Gyver through the crowd walking in her direction. Oh no, now that’ll ruin a day. She glanced away, praying he hadn’t already seen her, and crossed the street quickly, dodging between the few horses and carriages that passed by.
She made it to the other side of the street, certain he hadn’t seen her, and breathed a sigh of relief, almost tempted to laugh at herself. How ridiculous she was acting. The most glorious part was that she didn’t even care! She suppressed the desire to skip, her feet feeling ever so light, but gave in to the smile that was tugging at her lips.
“Well, Miss Marchant,” came a high, smooth voice from behind her, “don’t you look chipper this day.”
She stopped in her tracks. Good heavens, even worse than Silas Gyver. I should’ve stayed on the other side of the street.
Turning around, she faced Nancy Jane, keeping her gaze anywhere but the girl’s eyes. She was wearing the flamingo dress again. “Good afternoon, Miss Tilman. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m just fine, thank you,” she replied, “but I do believe I can’t say the same ’bout yourself.”
Emma’s brows furrowed together. “What do you mean?”
She stepped closer to Emma, her face expressing a fake sorrow. “Well, I just know I couldn’t be happy if’n I was the main topic of the gossip in town.”
Emma looked up to see her cynical smile, the snake-like curve of her lips making her shudder. “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Tilman,” she said in earnest, fighting the urge to flee.
“Sure you do, Miss Marchant,” she continued. “I mean, how could you not after what happened the other night and all.”
Emma kept silent as Nancy Jane flipped a blonde curl behind the puffy pink sleeve of her dress. “And what was that?” Emma tried to lower her voice, noticing a few stares coming their way. Probably just what the ninny wanted.
“Don’t you dare play dumb with me, sweet thing,” Nancy Jane answered, giggling and glancing around to make sure people could hear her. “You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. When Thatcher stayed over at your house all night long, even though he’s already got a place to stay now.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open. It’s an inn, for heaven’s sake, she thought. What does the girl expect people to do? She kept her mouth shut, however, as the serpent continued.
“Don’t look so shocked, darlin’.” Nancy Jane’s accent became crisper. “I saw him come out in the mornin’ lookin’ awful ti
red from your place. I wonder what he could’ve been doin’ all night long.”
Emma’s heartbeat quickened, and her face burned red from utter astonishment. She didn’t know what to say, caught completely unaware with the accusations Nancy Jane was throwing at her.
“And really, Emma,” she continued, “you ought to be more considerate of those ’round you. Think what people are goin’ to start sayin’ ’bout Eliza and Seth now, let alone Thatcher. It’s really quite selfish of you to keep him up all night doin’ whatever it was y’all were doin’.”
A few of Nancy Jane’s friends were standing near, listening in on what the woman was saying. Humiliation flooded Emma’s soul as she noticed more people stopping and believing Nancy Jane’s words.
The urge to say something, to defend herself, was hindered, however, as her fear to stand up to Nancy Jane continued to grow. She had let the girl talk down to her for so long that she wasn’t sure how to speak up when it really mattered.
“You used to be such a sweet girl, never doin’ nothin’ wrong. But now, you’re just like one of them saloon gals down the street.”
The hurt she felt inside pushed her emotion out, tears forming in her blue eyes. How could anyone say such a horrible thing? She knew it wasn’t true. She didn’t do anything inappropriate with Thatcher, only sparked a few times. Yet, she felt guilty for even that, so she kept quiet, ignoring the tears that rolled down her crimson cheeks.
***
Thatcher’s heart broke in two as he heard the exchange between Miss Tilman and Emma. Why was she not standing up for herself? She had done nothing wrong, could never do anything wrong! She was as perfect as someone could be on this earth! So why was she just standing there, letting Nancy Jane taint her good character in front of the whole town?
He was standing in Garth’s Mercantile behind a shelf, hiding himself from the view of the people outside. He had heard Emma’s name being called out by Nancy Jane, so he had stopped to listen. It took everything in him not to go out there and defend her himself, but he knew that would only humiliate her further. Besides, that girl needed to learn how to stand up for herself! She had to let Nancy Jane know that she couldn’t be pushed around, that she had a mind of her own. Yet, Emma stayed where she was, a wild animal too stunned to run.
A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance) Page 15