Angel's Embrace

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Your precious Wesley promised to marry me, and then left me in this—unseemly predicament!” Eve muttered. Her jaw clenched with contractions that were coming much closer together now, and she looked extremely uncomfortable. “I should’ve known better than to trust an outlaw! But I thought I loved him.”

  Oh, this wasn’t sounding good at all! Emma caught the murmurs running through the curious crowd and tried to take the reins again.

  “Billy,” she whispered tersely, “you’ve got to do something! This girl can’t just have her baby in church—during our wedding! We need to—”

  Something flashed in Billy’s blue eyes, like the spark when an icicle snaps in the sunlight. He nodded; looked again at Mercy Malloy, who cradled the girl from his boyhood, and then at Michael, who wore the same wise concern on his handsome face Emma had seen in every time of crisis.

  “Whatever you think, son, we’re with you,” Malloy said softly. “This is a tough call, but you’ll do the right thing.”

  Billy drew a deep breath. He stood up, gazing at the anxious guests around them.

  “Folks, this isn’t convenient, but I’m askin’ you to leave now, so we can deliver Eve’s baby,” he said. “We’ll let you know when to come back for the ceremony.”

  “What?”

  Somehow Emma refrained from slapping him with the bouquet that grew limper each time she squeezed it. He’d just called a halt to their wedding! Didn’t he realize the gossip this would cause?

  Emma stood taller, watching the chattering crowd that was now heading for the door. By God, if Billy could make such a decision—without even asking her—she’d show him who would not be the doormat of their new home!

  “Come back next Saturday,” she called after them, not meeting his eyes—or his mother’s. “Same time in the afternoon. And thank you for coming today.”

  Fueled by the keen disappointment Billy had just caused her—the humiliation of having to come to church a second time—she reached behind her to gather the beautiful silk train of her wedding gown. She would show Billy, and everyone here, what she was made of! She would speak her mind and then take action. No bride with any sense would behave differently!

  “We’ll talk about this later, Billy,” she muttered, “when I’m not feeling so embarrassed and rejected by the man I’ve loved for half my life.”

  She turned and searched the sanctuary. Her father, looking old and worn out in the suit he’d borrowed, slumped against the end of the rear pew.

  “Come on, Daddy, we’re going home. Billy has important matters to tend to—without me.”

  A lump rose in Billy’s throat, lodging so tightly he couldn’t speak. He watched Emma Clark, decked out in her beautiful wedding dress—for him—stride out the church door as though she never wanted to see him again.

  He understood that. No man in his right mind chose another woman’s predicament over his bride.

  What bothered him most, however, was that Emma refused to believe Eve Massena’s wounds went far deeper than her own. While it was an embarrassment to walk away unmarried—something folks around Abilene would cluck over for years—the young woman writhing on Mercy’s lap had been stripped of her dignity, her self-respect, and any chance at social acceptability.

  And it was all because his twin was up to his old tricks: causing a big stir and then ducking out, so his victim bore the burden of guilt and shame. Lord knows he’d felt the sting often enough when he’d been left to explain Wesley’s shenanigans.

  But a baby . . . a woman left alone to bear it in disgrace. Eve Massena still had several questions to answer about her situation—like why her parents had allowed her to leave home in her condition. Right now, though, they had a baby to deliver.

  “Let’s go, Virgilia,” Carlton Harte said, taking Mama’s elbow.

  “But that’s my grandchild. Wesley’s own—”

  “And you’ll love it even more after it’s cleaned up.” The detective’s expression suggested he knew more about this whole thing than he was letting on, but Billy was just relieved to see them go.

  “I’d better look after Emma,” Gabe suggested, warily watching Eve squirm in her agony. “Unless you want me to stay and—”

  “No, somebody needs to be with her.”

  Like me, his conscience jeered.

  But Eve Massena needed him more right now, and she had too many answers he needed to hear. When Temple Gates and Aunt Agatha escorted the children next door for pie, the sanctuary echoed with the laboring woman’s insistent moans and the soothing remarks Mercy and Mike made.

  Let this go right, God, he prayed fervently. And let everybody live to tell about it.

  Eve wanted to die. Or at the very least, have the floor open up to swallow her. Never in her most desperate dreams had she imagined her reunion with Billy Bristol happening this way!

  But ever since Mother had cast her out, her life had been spiraling downward. No place to stay, no one to turn to. She’d come to Kansas on the slim chance of finding Billy—or someone who’d put her up until this brat was born—but the horse had spooked during a storm. She’d started out in fairly good condition, clean and hopeful and determined. But that rain had drenched her and ruined her hair; the rutted road had rattled her bones the whole way here. Cinders from a passing train had nearly caught her borrowed dress on fire. And then she’d had her own private flood when sticky fluid gushed from her body and soaked her skirt, a few miles outside of Abilene.

  Was it supposed to happen that way? Or was her body taking revenge for the way she’d given herself to Wes Bristol in a weak moment?

  Mama had never discussed such personal matters, so Eve had worried she was about to die, right there in the wagon, out on the street. Somehow, she hadn’t believed things could get worse.

  Yet here she was surrounded by strangers—in a church, of all places—unable to help herself. Unable to present herself as a reasonable young woman wanting a big favor from the twin of the man who’d put her in this predicament.

  How she hated feeling beholden! Being laid low by misfortune, and at the whim of her traitorous body and the baby she’d despised from the moment she knew it lived within her.

  And now these do-gooders were about to deepen her degradation.

  “I can—if you’ll just leave me here to see to this—I’m truly sorry I interrupted—”

  “Nonsense,” the sandy-haired man beside her replied. She liked his eyes, and the compassionate smile that didn’t judge her.

  “Sometimes God works things out in ways we can’t understand,” he went on, “but He always, always has our best interests at heart. He answers our prayers and sends us help, even when we’re too far gone to ask for it.”

  “Amen to that!” came a cheerful voice from the door. The old colored man who’d gone for tablecloths had returned with a tall stack of them, plus a bucket of steaming water that probably outweighed his skinny body.

  “You’s in the right place, child,” he went on, his coffee-colored face creasing in a hundred places. “Why, Billy and me and Michael here—we’s brought a lot of little babies into this world. The doctor, he’s outta town. Healthy as you look, though, I’s bettin’ we won’t even need him.”

  “Let’s spread these linens on the floor,” suggested the woman who held her, “and Billy, you’d probably better take off that new suit coat. Wouldn’t do to have blood on it next Saturday.”

  Billy nodded, slipping the deep blue jacket from his arms.

  Eve studied him through her haze of pain. He wasn’t as burly as Wes, nor as tall, but he displayed a graceful strength: muscled arms and hands that looked capable and work-worn. His skin was burnished by the sun, which made those twinkling blue eyes even more gorgeous and set off his thicket of auburn hair. He layered the tablecloths on the floor nearby, and then gave her a purposeful look.

  “Let’s shift her this way, Mercy, so we’ll have a clean surface for the baby.”

  “You’re not going to watch while I—”
<
br />   “Nope,” he said, returning her gaze as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I’m gonna be right here helping that baby out. It’s either me, or Michael, or Asa—but it’s more my place, since Wesley apparently—”

  “Lord, no! You’re not going to—I’m fat and ugly and—”

  “No, you’re not.” He flashed her a grin that took her back a few years. “You’re not gettin’ things your way, and you’re peevish about it. Just like when we were kids. Just like my sister Christine.”

  “I am not peevish! It’s just so embarrassing! To have a man—”

  “Honey, you’ll soon find out that your definitions differ from the way men see it,” Mercy Malloy said with a low laugh. “Billy’s helped dozens of mares when they foaled. And he delivered my daughter Solace during a blizzard, when he was only eleven. Whether you know it or not, God guided you to the right place.”

  Eve was too overcome by another grueling spasm to reply. Could her body withstand any more of this awful pain? She clenched her eyes shut as the contraction ripped through her belly. Despite her protests, they shifted her over to a folded tablecloth. And when Billy gently raised her skirts, she thought she’d absolutely die.

  Billy tried not to gape at her long, slender legs. Her creamy skin felt so soft as he lowered her soggy drawers.

  “Here’s the head already,” he murmured reverently. “Won’t be much longer now, Eve. Ride out your pains, and give a big push when you’re ready.”

  How could he sound so calm about this? Her belly felt ready to split in two with the awful pressure. The next contraction hit her right on the tail of the previous one, and she cried out for mercy.

  “Scream all you want,” the old colored man said, “but save a part of your mind for that little baby, so’s you can help it into this world. Seems to me a fine thing, to be born in a church. A sign from God and his angels that you’s done the right thing, a-comin’ here.”

  Eve blinked. How could he make such a pronouncement—as though he had powers to know about God’s presence, and about angels?

  She gasped at the lightning strike of another pain. “If this baby doesn’t come out soon, I’m likely to die of the—oh, Lord—”

  “You’re doing fine, Eve,” Michael encouraged, while Mercy held her shoulders.

  “Head’s out!” Billy whispered. He felt utter wonderment, even though he’d caught more than his share of slippery little bodies coming from their mothers.

  But this was Wes’s child! And this young woman bringing it into the world was unlike any mother he’d ever tended—even if her father had betrayed them years ago.

  “One more good push. Come on, Eve, you can do this,” he coaxed her.

  When Mother Nature and Eve worked together, a tiny, blood-covered baby slithered into his waiting hands.

  The awe he’d felt at previous births returned in a rush. With hushed voices, Asa and Michael tended to the baby on clean cloths and wiped its squirming body. Its eyes were pinched shut but that little mouth opened, and what began as a timid hiccup became a wail that echoed through the sanctuary.

  “You’s got a daughter!” Asa crowed. “She looks fine and dandy, too. Almost as pretty as her mama!”

  Eve was too spent to respond. Emotions rose from deep within her: relief, yet despair. Victory, yet sharp misgivings. These people obviously had a lofty opinion of babies, but this wasn’t the time to say they could have the damn kid if they were so overjoyed! How could she possibly give it a home?

  She’d only carried it all these months because she’d had no choice. Too late she’d realized she had misplaced her trust when she gave herself to Wesley Bristol in a daring flash of passion.

  And now she was a mother. She had a little girl.

  For a few fleeting moments, Eve Massena’s tired mind found sanctuary in the memories of her own early childhood, when Daddy and Mother had adored her. They’d dressed her like a fine china doll, and taught her all she needed to find the right man someday, and to run his household. He would be well-to-do and worthy of her—

  But that was claptrap, wasn’t it? She was used goods now. Damaged goods, down deep. Was there a man alive who could overlook her flaws?

  Chapter Four

  Eve’s eyes flew open. She was still half-sitting in Mercy Malloy’s lap, still dazed with pain, and being offered a bundle swaddled in a white towel. She made a callous remark about what they could do with this squirming—scary!—little package, but the look on Billy Bristol’s face took her breath away.

  So like his brother’s face, but leaner, it was. Bronzed by the sun, which was unusual for a man with red hair. Alight with a special quality she couldn’t put a name to yet.

  Her heart told her Wesley Bristol had never felt the overwhelming love she saw blazing in Billy’s fiery blue eyes.

  “I—I don’t know what to—”

  “Just take her, Eve,” he murmured. And then he gave the baby a look she envied—a look she longed to see on a man’s face when he gazed at her. “She’s just a few minutes old, but already she needs her mama. Doesn’t matter to her how she got here, or how you feel about it. She’s hungry for you.”

  He pressed the baby into her arms. Was she so exhausted she was beginning to believe the wonder that lit up his striking face? Was this child really the miracle he made her out to be?

  Eve peered down at the wrinkled, red face and went breathless—not because the baby inspired any maternal stirrings, but because it was so ugly! Why, it barely had facial features or hair! Those miniature hands were flailing at her, fueling her own frustration, for she had no idea what to do.

  And now the kid was crying! Screwing up that tiny face until her eyes were slits and her mouth was a hole where a huge wail came out. Eve laid it in her lap with a horrified gasp.

  “I don’t—I can’t—”

  “It’s all right, dear,” Mercy murmured. “Nothing really prepares us for mothering.”

  “Nobody told me anything! Mother was so outraged, she didn’t speak to me for a week after she found out! She forced me to stay indoors all those months, out of sight, and when I said I was coming here to—”

  Billy scooped the baby into his arms. He’d walked the floor with many a fussy child, and he’d forgotten how helpless newborns were . . . how they protested the sudden shift from their mother’s womb once daylight hit their new eyes. He began the slow, rhythmic walk that was second nature to him.

  “You’re gonna be fine, little girl,” he whispered. “We’ll take good care of you and your mama, so don’t you worry about a single thing, hear me? Hush-a-by . . . don’t you cry. . . .”

  The baby quieted. Her little hands landed on the towel, and he stroked them with his finger. Then Michael was standing beside him, and Asa, touching her cheeks in silent awe.

  “I don’t b’lieve I’ll ever tire of seein’ these fine little angel faces,” the old Negro hand whispered. “I so recall holdin’ your babies this-a way, Miss Mercy. Just like they’s my own.”

  “There’ve been days I’d let you have them, too!” Mercy said with a chuckle. Then she smiled at Eve. “Asa named my daughter Solace while he was singing ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus’ to her. I was so exhausted—so out of my mind, grieving her dead daddy—that Solace would’ve shriveled away from neglect, if it hadn’t been for these three men.”

  Eve took a scrap of comfort from Mercy’s admission that she hadn’t been a perfect new mother.

  “I’ve never seen grown men so . . . wrapped up in a baby,” she agreed. That, too, was a comfort, since she herself might leave, knowing her child would have a better home here than she could ever give it. “They make it look so easy . . . so natural. I don’t know a thing about—about any of this!”

  To her horror, tears streamed down her face. She was sobbing and shuddering, further disgracing herself in front of these strangers, as though she hadn’t already disrupted their day enough. Where had this come from? A moment ago she was plotting her escape, and now she was weak and quiver
ing. So overwhelmed, she just wanted to sleep and shut everything out forever.

  “Sounds to me like you’ve endured quite a lot, Eve. What with being turned out of your home, and the long ride here, and the effort of giving birth, you have every right to cry.”

  It was Michael speaking this time. Through her tears, Eve saw his patient smile and felt worse instead of better, because this man had no reason to accept her so unconditionally. Why, if he knew how she’d behaved—how she’d allowed Wes his way for the defiant thrill of it—he’d be casting her out just as Mother had.

  “Let’s make a stretcher out of these heavy tablecloths,” he said to Billy and the old Negro. “She can lie across the carriage seat, out of the sun.”

  “When we get her home, we’ll put the bassinet in the yellow room Christine stayed in. It’s cooler there, and quiet,” Mercy added.

  Eve heard this conversation, yet felt herself drifting . . . slipping into a pain-induced stupor. It sounded as if they were talking on the other side of a wall she was holding a glass to. As they made their plans for her, she floated off.

  She wanted to cry over the concern on their faces and the compassion they’d shown her. She felt she’d been beaten and left for dead on the road, like in the Bible story, and this whole tribe of Good Samaritans had wrapped her in the cloak of their unconditional love.

  Eve smiled weakly, letting herself drowse. . . .

  She was vaguely aware of being lifted from the sanctuary floor, on tablecloths that let her body sag as her stretcher-bearers carried her outside. She squinted in the bright sunlight. Glancing back, she saw Billy gripping the sheet behind her head, while Michael led the way, carrying her feetfirst.

  Michael carefully stepped into the carriage, then held her level as he gave Billy room to enter as well. He smiled at her. “We’ll have you home and in a better bed soon, honey. Asa can brew you some tea for your pain. You’ll feel lots better when you wake up.”