by Lisa Bingham
“I was always in the other room.”
“You’ve tended enough cows to know what’s going on. It’s simply a matter of using a little more gentility.”
He groaned. Helping a cow with a calf was a far cry from helping his wife. His wife.
“That girl is all you’ve got for now, Orrin. Just make sure you wash good, keep things clean, and warm that baby as soon as you can after the birth. It’ll take some time, this being her first. So save your worrying and be patient, no matter how long it takes. Ginny’s a strong one, you hear me? She’s going to come through this smellin’ like a patch of daisies, with that child as shiny and healthy as can be.”
Offering him one last wave of encouragement, she clucked to the team and bounced out of the yard.
Orrin watched her go, fear seeping through him. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to deliver his own baby—didn’t know if he could deliver any baby. Sure he’d delivered cattle, but cows and people were two entirely different things.
A muffled cry came from inside the room, and Orrin realized that despite his shortcomings and his own self-doubt, he was the only help Ginny had.
Hurrying into the kitchen, he racked his brain, trying to remember all the things Jesse had assembled before giving birth to their three girls. To his relief, he found a basket in the corner of the room filled with all of the items Ginny had already gathered. Taking them into the bedroom, he placed them on the floor.
“How are you feeling?”
She blinked up at him, and he could tell by the dazed quality of her eyes that she was in a great deal of pain.
“Ginny, honey, I’m sorry to do this, but I need to put you into the chair over there. I’ve got to get the bed ready for the birthing.”
“It hurts” was all she could say.
Her words affected him as no others had ever had the power to do.
“I know, sweetheart. Just hang on a little longer, and you’ll have a new baby to hold on to. And if it doesn’t make all this seem worth it, at least it will be over.”
He gently lifted her from the mattress and set her on the chair in the corner.
While she huddled beneath the sheets and blankets, he stripped the bed, covering the ticking in oilcloth. Then he looped two ropes to the footboard.
Scooping her in his arms, he laid her down again and covered her back up. He took her hand, saying, “I love you. Just remember that thought.”
That was to be the last peace that either of them would have for some time. Soon the contractions came, strong and hard. Orrin was beginning to believe that there would be no relief for Ginny as she struggled from one moment to the next.
The wind blew outside the house, rattling the leaves and pushing them across the yard until Orrin thought they made the scuttling sound of old bones. He shuddered at the idea, but he couldn’t seem to push his eerie thoughts away.
For the first time since discovering Ginny was pregnant Orrin faced the fact that many women died during childbirth—especially away from the big cities with their doctors and clinics. Here, the only medical aid a person could have was a clean bed and…
And a farmer who’d delivered a few cows.
Knowing the baby would have to come soon or not at all, Orrin grabbed Ginny’s shoulders, forcing her to open her eyes and look at him. “Ginny, you’ve got to help me.”
“So … tired.”
He shook her until she peered at him in bewildered surprise. “Ginny, you’re ready now. The pains are coming one on top of the other. I know you’re tired, but help me. You’ve got to push. We have to deliver this baby so you can sleep.”
Her next pain came too fast for her to argue.
“Push, Ginny. Push, damn it!”
“No. Can’t.”
His voice became fierce. “Get mad at me, Ginny. I’m the one who did this to you. Call me any names you like, but I want you mad enough to do whatever I tell you.”
The contractions gripped her, and she clung to the bedpost.
“Scream, damn it scream! I want to know you’re working. None of this namby-pamby gentility. This is women’s work! And though you may refuse to shuck corn or butcher chickens, for once you’re going to do what I tell you.”
Orrin saw that he had succeeded in riling her. If there was one thing Ginny balked at it was being assigned “women’s work.”
Growling deep in her throat she began to push.
Orrin fought an expression of relief and continued to encourage and bully her until her shoulders rose from the bed and her face displayed her efforts.
A surge of triumph flooded Orrin’s body when he caught the first sight of the baby’s head. “I can see him. Just a little bit more!”
Within a few moments the head had emerged. The beautiful, fragile head. Cautioning Ginny to relax, Orrin turned the shoulders. After one last gentle push the child slid into his arms.
Orrin could only stare in wonder and humble gratitude at the tiny life. As quickly as he could, he cleaned the child’s face.
Ginny collapsed against the pillows and watched him before fearfully asking, “The baby?”
“Fine, just fine.” With that Orrin gave his child a shake, and the baby shuddered and made a mewling whimper at being so rudely treated.
“It’s not crying hard enough.”
Orrin laughed. “Our boy simply has his mother’s manners,” he stated proudly.
She looked at him, a jewel-like tear slipping down her cheek.
“A boy?”
Orrin was triumphant and proud. “We have ourselves a fine healthy boy.”
A son!
Orrin watched his wife, who slept in exhaustion. Lying in a newly changed bed, she was pink and clean, her hair tied with a yellow ribbon.
After he’d helped to bathe her and tuck her beneath the covers she’d held her son close to her breast and begged Orrin to brush her hair and tie it back. Long before he had combed out the tangles she had fallen asleep.
James Parker Ghant.
Orrin swaddled the child in a set of blankets warmed by the stove. Then, trying to chase away the chills racking James’s tiny body, he carried the boy into the kitchen.
Only now that the work was all over did Orrin feel the trembling beginning in his own limbs. He’d never felt he could do it. Several times he had thought he would keel over in a dead faint. If not for the fact that there would have been no one else to help Ginny, he was sure he would have done so.
His limbs shook so badly now that he quickly found the rocking chair and sank onto its hard surface. Lifting the edge of the coverings, he stared into the wrinkled red face. His large, callused thumb touched James’s forehead, his tiny uptilted nose, and the perfectly formed lips. One small fist pushed its way out of the blankets, and with a sense of wonder at the miracle in his arms Orrin held the child’s perfect little fingers.
“James,” he murmured softly into the darkness. “My son.”
Orrin felt an emotion stealing through his veins that was as sweet as honey, and he knew that a special bond had been forged between this baby boy and him. Though Orrin loved his daughters deeply, there was something about the age-old legacy of a father passing on his name that Orrin knew could never be matched.
He leaned his head back against the rocker. A weariness pulsed through his veins, but he knew he couldn’t sleep. Not yet. Instead he found himself humming a lullaby. Though his slightly off-key baritone was sadly lacking in musical ability, the music somehow managed to convey his love and pride.
The squeak of the door caused Orrin to jerk awake. He glanced at the threshold leading into the other room, but he could still see Ginny sleeping upon the bed, her hand opening and closing in a restless sleep. Wearily rubbing his face, he peeked down at the cradle at his feet, but James slept soundly within his cocoon of blankets.
Another noise caused Orrin to turn toward the main door. Three tousled heads peeked in. When he recognized his daughters’ rosy-cheeked faces, the tension swept from his body, a
nd he smiled. “Hello.”
The three girls exchanged glances, obviously relieved that they were not going to receive a tongue-lashing. They were about to step into the room when Orrin remembered too late why they had been exiled in the first place.
“No, wait! Don’t come any closer.”
His children were clearly taken aback. Controlling his tone, he carefully said, “Daddy’s not mad. It’s just that you can’t come in.”
“Why?” Eunice asked.
Orrin opened his mouth to explain, then wondered how a person explained red measles to a four-year-old.
“Ginny’s had the baby,” he said instead. “You have a new baby brother.
“So?”
Plainly, the earth-shattering experience he had undergone mere hours earlier had no effect on his children. They were obviously less than impressed.
“He’s really little and really tired and not ready to meet you yet. And we don’t want him to get sick, do we?”
They didn’t answer.
“When can we come in?” Baby Grace demanded.
“Maybe in a couple of Sundays.”
They stared at him with wide eyes.
“But we’ve been good.”
“I know you’ve been good.”
“We ate all our beans.”
“And our peas!”
Orrin wished he could hold them, reassure them. But with Ginny recovering, most of the baby’s care would fall to him, and he couldn’t chance being near his own children.
“I’m sorry.” Though his own heart ached, he knew he had to turn them away. “I know this is difficult to understand. But think of all the fun you’ll have at Ida’s.”
Imogene pouted. “She makes us do chores.”
“But you like Ida.”
Imogene’s lip jutted out.
“I bet she’ll fix something extra-special for supper because you’re visiting.”
That seemed to spark their interest.
“Go on, now. It’s cold outside, and it’s a long walk back.”
“We took their mule.”
His lips twitched. “Then you’d best be getting it back, hadn’t you?”
“Can we meet the baby?”
“Go outside and ride by the window. I’ll lift him up.” When they hesitated, he added gently, “Go on now.”
The children reluctantly departed, closing the door behind them.
Orrin felt a stab of remorse, but when he heard the bray of the jackass he moved to the cradle.
James made soft baby grunts of disturbance as Orrin lifted him up and tucked the blankets a little more securely under his chin. The baby grew quiet again as Orrin carried him toward the window.
Once there Orrin waved to the three children and held James up so they could see his face more clearly.
Disturbed, James screwed up his mouth and squawled, beating at the air with his fists. Orrin chuckled in delight. His son had a healthy set of lungs—that was for sure. Looking up, Orrin expected to share the humor of the moment with his daughters. Instead he found them watching him with abandoned expressions. Imogene and Eunice turned away and urged the mule into a reluctant trot. Only Baby Grace continued to watch.
Her arms wrapped around her sister’s waist, her lower lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.
Even from where he stood within the house Orrin could see her sobbing, “Daddy, don’t make me go…”
“Drowned?” Ginny repeated. Her pulse seemed to pause for a moment, then it began to pound within her. “Billy drowned?”
Ida leaned closer from her perch on the room’s only chair. This was the first opportunity she’d had to visit Ginny since the false red measles scare they’d had two weeks before. Eddie Mecham was now as healthy as a horse. No one could explain the telltale rash they’d seen on his stomach or his slight sniffle. But the townspeople didn’t mind so much, since it had disappeared as mysteriously as it had come.
Luckily for Ginny, the news of Eddie Mecham had overshadowed that of the dead man found in Eden Creek. When Ida had been asked to help dress the body she’d recognized the unknown male as the stranger who had accompanied Ginny’s trunks up the canyon. Billy Wicks.
“Who?” Ginny demanded. “Who found him?”
“Abner Dobb. The body was wedged against the bank next to his place.” Ida watched her with careful eyes. If her instincts were correct, she’d bet money that Mr. Wicks had been the father of Ginny’s child.
Ginny laughed. Drowned. Her ordeal was over. Over! Billy was gone.
Bit by bit Ginny became aware of Ida’s keen gaze.
“The father?” she finally said into the quiet.
Ginny refused to answer.
“It seems the man had some peculiar wounds in his stomach. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that.”
Wounds? Ginny shook her head in confusion.
Ida eyed her suspiciously, and her work-worn hands tapped the arms of the chair. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, “I think it’s time you knew the truth about Orrin Ghant. And Jesse.”
Ginny listened, dumbfounded, as Ida began her tale—a story of a young woman who’d become dissatisfied with her life at Eden Creek. She learned how Jesse’s discontent had led to infidelity, abandonment, and divorce.
As Ida’s tale unfolded Ginny began to understand her husband in ways she’d never dreamed. She understood why he’d warned her against trying to leave him. She understood about the secrets she’d seen in his eyes.
But most of all she understood that her husband had survived emotionally due to one thing: his pride. His stubborn, unyielding pride.
“Then Jesse is alive?”
“As far as I know.” Ida caught her stunned look. “But she won’t be coming to Eden Creek.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“She left her family and divorced her husband. She can never come back.”
The room echoed in silence as Ginny tried to digest all she’d heard.
Finally Ida pushed herself to her feet. “If you don’t mind a word of advice, don’t let on that I told you about Jesse. Orrin should have been the one to give you his story, but that man refuses to speak of the past.” Her brows arched. “You’d best take a leaf from his own book and never speak of Billy Wicks again. Don’t ever let Orrin know that child isn’t his own.”
As she entered the other room and closed the door behind her Ginny felt a cool finger trace down her spine. She knew just what Ida was trying to tell her. Orrin’s pride had been badly bruised by his first wife. To hurt him again could very well kill the gentle man she’d come to know.
Because of the new baby, the children stayed at Ida’s for nearly three weeks. Through that time the bulk of the baby’s care fell to Orrin, since Ginny was weak and bedridden until her leg healed enough for her to walk. He welcomed the chance he and Ginny had to be alone together with their new child. The arrival of their son only strengthened the bond between them, and each moment together had been heaven.
Though he knew a man wasn’t supposed to admit such a thing, Orrin enjoyed the time he spent caring for James. And when his own daughters returned, Orrin acknowledged that he’d not spent much time with them as babies.
For the next few days, as winter arrived in Eden and the swift-falling snow kept the Ghants indoors, he made an effort to get to know his own daughters.
To his surprise, he found that the three girls blossomed under the attention. They began to wear the dresses Ginny had made months before. Dresses covered with yards and yards of pink ruffles, until the girls looked like a set of calico roses. Each evening they tried to cook him an extra-special meal—which in most cases was little more palatable than Ginny’s concoctions—but Orrin didn’t mind. Didn’t mind at all.
Winter had come early to Eden Creek, and the ground soon lay trapped in its bed of ice and snow. The creek itself was frozen in patches, though the swirling water prevented the center from growing entirely hard.
November had nearly disappeared,
and Thanksgiving was fast approaching when neighbors began asking if they could come to pay their respects. The women of Eden arranged for a special quilting bee to be held at the Ghant home. That morning they began arriving in sleighs and converted wagons, some on horseback, and one or two on foot, intending to pay their respects to Orrin’s new bride and baby.
By midday, the house was filled with chattering women, each of whom had brought several small scraps of fabric that would be pieced together for a community quilt.
Since it had taken Ginny quite some time to regain her strength, Orrin had kept the event as much of a secret from her as he possibly could, hoping that the surprise would cheer her. When the women began to arrive, she emerged from the bedroom, a look of slow-dawning pleasure slipping across her face. The women’s concern meant a great deal to her, showing her that she had become an accepted part of the community.
Soon Ida persuaded her to go back into the bedroom and change into something special. Before Orrin really knew how it had occurred, Ginny had dressed in the pink gown he’d bought in Salt Lake City. In minutes she was surrounded by a bevy of women who were more than eager to welcome her into their circle.
Orrin had no desire to spend the afternoon in the company of so many people. He took one last moment with his son, then carried him into the keeping room to meet the visitors.
Immediately the ladies dropped what they were doing and surrounded the baby. Orrin shamelessly listened to their comments, feeling a burst of masculine contentment. The women present would have to admit that James Parker Ghant was one of the handsomest babies that they had ever seen.
“My, what a big baby.”
“And such a healthy thing, too, for being born six weeks early. Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he weighed at least seven, eight pounds, wouldn’t you?”
“And such big blue eyes.”
“Six weeks early, you say? He seems as perfect as can be.”
Orrin tried to hide a self-congratulatory grin and glanced at Ginny to share in his pleasure. Yet what he found in her demeanor was not pleasure at all but stark fear.