Homespun Hearts

by Caroline Fyffe

  “Already?” Luke checked her again. The baby hadn’t proceeded any further.

  “Something’s wrong,” Faith said. Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes.

  “No, you’re doing fine. He’s just taking his own sweet time.”

  She was limp. Like a rag doll. If she didn’t deliver this baby soon, she’d surely run out of steam. And blood. It looked as if she’d lost a bucketful. With barely any force, she pushed again. Nothing. Was the baby turned? He’d seen it in livestock.

  A shallow contraction. Then another. Faith was growing weaker by the second; her face was whiter than the first snowfall of winter. Now would be a good time to pray. Luke searched his recollection for any of the prayers his ma had insisted he learn as a boy. Frustrated, he realized he’d have to improvise.

  Lord, I know you’re not used to hearing from me very often, but this girl needs your help, and she needs it now. I don’t really know what to do. Any assistance you could send our way would be appreciated. He thought for a moment to see if there was anything he’d left out. Amen.

  Almost before he could see what was happening, and with no sound at all, Faith gave a weak push and the baby was delivered. Caught off guard, Luke barely had time to catch the infant. Its skin was slick and slippery, its eyes opened wide as if surprised at the new surroundings. Luke grinned up at Faith, unable to hide his excitement.

  “A filly,” he laughed. “As pretty as, as…as anything I’ve ever seen. She’s beautiful.”

  “A girl?” Creases lined Faith’s tired brow. She looked at the tiny baby he held in his hands. “I never dreamed…”

  The baby began to shiver and cry as Luke tied off the umbilical cord with some twine he’d found in a box, and then, before he could think about what he was about to do, he made a fast cut. He gently handed the baby to her mother.

  “Do you have something to wrap her in? Won’t take but a moment for her to catch a chill.”

  Faith glanced around the wagon. “Yes, but it’s all packed away. I wasn’t expecting this so soon.” Her eyes drifted down. “It all came on so quickly.”

  Without thought, Luke swiftly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. He yanked his thick undershirt over his head and handed it to Faith. “Here. Wrap her in this.” He threaded his arms back into his shirt as she swaddled the baby and snuggled her close. The infant whimpered softly and began rooting around, looking for her first meal.

  The next contraction delivered the afterbirth, and Luke set it aside in a towel to be buried later. When he was sure he’d done all that he could for the pair, he donned his coat and went out to check on his horse, giving Faith some privacy. Chiquita stood tied to the wagon, tail tucked, head low. She looked his way when he ran his hand along her sodden neck, and then scratched her withers. Her head tipped in pleasure, bringing a smile to his lips.

  What should he do now for Faith? He didn’t have any supplies with him. After that expenditure of energy, she must be famished. Somehow the boy had slept through the whole thing, but surely he’d be up now that the sun was peeking over the treetops. Luke leaned his weight onto Chiquita and rubbed his hand down his face. This had been the most gut-twisting experience he’d ever been through. Thank God it was over.

  The rain had stopped sometime around dawn. Luke rounded up some wood, and after several tries he had a fire burning. First he’d warm some water for her to wash with; then he’d see what she had in the way of food fixin’s he could whip up. Right now a cup of strong black coffee would be better than his ma’s warm apple pie with a double dollop of sweet ice cream.

  “Still here?” The kid who’d hit him with the frying pan climbed from the back of the wagon.

  Irritated from lack of sleep and the boy’s highfalutin tone, Luke bristled. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  “We can manage now.”

  The cocky little…Luke reined in his temper. A boy barely out of short pants shouldn’t be able to get his goat. “Sure you can. Still, I’m going to fix something to eat for your ma and then talk to her. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

  “Good.” The boy trotted around the far side of the wagon, his messy brown hair bouncing up and down as he went. Luke heard him relieving himself against a rock. When he returned, he eyed Luke suspiciously.

  “You aren’t too trusting, are you?” Luke said.

  “Got no reason to be.”

  “I stayed all night, helped your ma deliver, never gave you any reason to mistrust me. Did I? Not even when you bashed me on the head.”

  “That don’t mean you ain’t waiting for the right chance.”

  Luke slowly shook his head. The boy was serious. He was also protecting his mother, a heavy burden for such small shoulders. “I’m not waiting for the right chance. I won’t hurt you or your ma.” Colton’s intense stare never wavered, so Luke changed the subject. “What do you think of the baby?”

  “They were asleep, so I didn’t get a good look at him yet. But I can’t hardly wait to take him froggin’.”

  “You mean her. Take her froggin’.”

  “Her? You mean he’s a girl?” Colton screwed up his face in disgust, and it reddened with annoyance. “Ma said it’d be a boy for sure. No, sir, you must be wrong.”

  “Sorry, Colton.” It was hard to hide his delight at having disappointed the kid. “One thing I’m sure about, that’s one itsy-bitsy female in that wagon with your ma.”

  Colton cursed. He kicked the ground so hard a wet clump of mud flew in Luke’s direction. It missed him by inches.

  Although surprised that someone so young would use such language and display such anger, Luke hid his astonishment. If he’d talked or acted like that when he was a boy, his skin would have been tanned off his backside right quick. “Your pa let you talk like that?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Because it’s not polite. Decent folk don’t take kindly to it. I can’t believe your ma doesn’t care if you sound like a donkey.”

  “Well, maybe she does, but she can’t hear me now.”

  “I hear you, Colton John,” Faith called from within. “If I had any strength, I’d jump up and wash your mouth out with soap. Now, say you’re sorry.” The baby started crying, and Luke heard Faith trying to comfort her.

  The boy glared at Luke, not intimidated at all by his size or age.

  Luke grinned anyway. “Say you’re sorry.”

  The boy’s face turned bright red. “Sorry,” he spat out.

  “Apology accepted.”

  Faith’s voice interrupted the scene. “Come in and meet your sister,” she called to Colton.

  “I don’t want to meet no sissy girl.” His expression still obstinate, the boy fiddled nervously with a slingshot he’d pulled from his pocket.

  It was Luke’s turn to glare. He was almost overcome by an all-powerful urge to throttle the mouthy child. Pointing, he silently mouthed the word, “Go.”

  Colton held his ground.

  Stretching to his full height, Luke took one step toward the boy. Colton hurried to the wagon and climbed inside.

  Chapter Four

  A loud whistle snapped Luke out of his thoughts. Roady?

  Colton popped his head back out from behind the canvas cover. “What’s that?”

  “My friend, looking for me.” Luke gave an answering whistle and waited for his companion to appear. Moments later, a horse and rider came crashing through the scrub brush, sliding to a halt in camp.

  “Luke, you all right? We’ve been searching for you. Thought maybe that green-broke filly you like so much had her fill and pitched you off some cliff.” Roady dismounted. He motioned with his head toward the wagon and the boy. “Whatcha have here?”

  At that moment, the baby started crying. Roady’s eyes opened wide, and a smile split his lean, tanned face.

  “You’re never going to believe me.” Luke swiped his hand over a day’s growth of dark beard and yawned.

  “Try me.”

  After hearing the story, Roady gave
a long whistle. “Where’s her husband?”

  “Not sure. We didn’t get a chance for parlor talk.”

  “Did he tell ya I bashed him on the head with a fry pan?” Colton called triumphantly from inside the wagon. “Knocked him out cold.”

  “And I’m not forgetting it, boy.” Luke reached under his hat to finger the egg-size lump.

  “How’s the woman?”

  “Fine, I think. I haven’t checked on her since the baby came, but I hear them in there from time to time.”

  “Can I see them?” Roady raised his brows and crossed his arms over his whipcord lean body.

  “Let’s find out.”

  But as the men approached the wagon, Colton blocked the opening. “You ain’t coming back in. My ma ain’t no sideshow.”

  Luke called past him. “Ma’am, would you mind if my friend saw the young’un?”

  “That would be fine.”

  Climbing in as quietly as they could, the two men looked at Faith. The baby was nestled to her mother’s side, warm and content.

  “Oh, she’s a beaut.” Roady sighed, a tone of admiration coming from his throat. His dark brown gaze had meandered from the baby to rest on the woman.

  In the soft glow of the morning light, Luke was astounded, too. Without pain gripping at her, Faith looked different. Much younger. He’d been so caught up in the delivery he hadn’t realized just how pretty she really was. The mountains in springtime paled in comparison. When her gaze was drawn to his, he felt an all-consuming jolt from his heart to his boots. She smiled up at him for the first time since they’d met, revealing straight white teeth and a dimple.

  Both men whipped the hats from their heads. “This is Roady Guthrie,” Luke said. “He works for us. This is Faith…”

  “Brown.”

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Faith Brown,” Roady said in a teasing voice. “And the young’un’s, too. She’s a sweet little thing.”

  Faith’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink at his compliment, and Luke felt a jab of irritation. “Thank you, Mr. Guthrie.”

  Roady’s smile widened.

  The infant started whimpering and soon her face was ruby red. Her bottom lip trembled as she opened her mouth to suck in a mouthful of air. Turning, both men scrambled to get out of the wagon.

  Luke followed Roady over to where his horse was tied. Roady opened his saddlebag and handed him a strip of beef jerky. They chewed in silence for a good two minutes.

  “Well, Luke.” Roady swallowed his mouthful. “Your brothers will be right pleased to learn we were all successful in rounding up strays last night.” He playfully slapped Luke on the back. “But I have to admit, yours are a darn sight prettier than ours.”

  Chapter Five

  Faith bathed her daughter with the warm water Mr. McCutcheon had so kindly provided. As she did, she listened to the low tones of the conversation from the campfire where the men were going about mixing up some biscuits and making coffee.

  With trembling hands she gently rolled the baby from her back to her tummy and wiped a soft cloth across the child’s bottom and down her pumping legs. She marveled at the perfect shape of each tiny toe, the wispy soft hair, the beautiful blue eyes. Wonder, warm and rich, spread through Faith, filling her with such happiness she could hardly repress her joy. How could something so perfect, so precious, so unbelievably wonderful come from the horror of her life with Samuel? It seemed impossible.

  “They look like frog legs to me,” Colton said from his perch on a box. He hadn’t said one nice thing about his half-sister since he’d come in to see her.

  The baby let out a protesting wail as Faith pulled over her head the little sack she’d made out of soft yellow flannel. She maneuvered until the garment was on, and then pulled the drawstring at the bottom. Picking up the baby, Faith held her to her shoulder. Reaching for the warm shirt Mr. McCutcheon had given her, she wrapped her daughter snugly and then worked the row of worn ivory buttons on the bodice of her dress, being careful not to expose herself to Colton. The baby stopped crying immediately, nestling close to nurse.

  “Yours looked like frog legs, too. But, much bigger. You were so strong when you were born that your mama and me had to be careful not to let you kick us.” She glanced at Colton to see if he’d caught her exaggeration. “I remember when Beatrice brought you over for the first time to my house to show you off. She was so proud of you.”

  Her stepson eyed her with a look of disbelief. Colton used to be so trusting and sweet-natured. Since his father had come back into his life he’d changed so much she sometimes couldn’t believe he was the same little boy.

  Blasted Samuel! He’d been so cruel and heavy-handed with him. Colton had transformed right before her eyes. Nothing she did or said seemed to make a difference.

  Faith placed the now-sleeping baby in a small wooden box she’d fashioned into a tiny bed. She knew she needed to get up and take care of Colton, see that he was fed, but knowing and doing were two different things. Dredging up the energy seemed next to impossible. She’d cleaned up the best she could after the birth, but that still left much that needed doing.

  “Come here, honey,” she said.

  Colton reluctantly climbed off the box, eyeing the infant distastefully, and came to her. She wrapped him in her arms and drew him to her chest. The dusty smell of little-boy hair tickled her nose.

  “You’re such a good son, Colton. I couldn’t have made this trip without your help. I love you, you know.”

  “I ain’t done much.” His response was sullen, but he didn’t move from her embrace. “Because of me, the horses are gone. I’m good for nothin’.”

  “That’s not true! Don’t you ever say that again. I’m the one to blame for that.”

  He shrugged his small shoulders.

  “You always help me cook and even lend a hand with the cleanup when we’re done.” She rubbed his back. “That’s more than most grown men know how to do, willing or not.”

  Vivid memories of Samuel pawing her made Faith shiver. She’d had her fill of such horrors. The only things men were good for were drinking, sleeping, and turning a woman’s life to pure misery. She chastised herself again for blindly falling for the man’s charms after Bea’s death. Lies and deception was all he knew. She should have looked after Colton, as she’d promised her friend she would do, without marrying his father. But, sadly enough, there was no changing the past.

  Now that her daughter was born, resting would be a welcome luxury—but one she couldn’t afford just yet. Samuel was dead but Ward wasn’t. He was pure meanness and made Samuel look like a saint. Shuddering, she remembered the night he’d been visiting and had taken to his dog with a shovel to stop her barking. It was awful. When she realized what was happening she’d tried to stop him, and received a bruise on her face that lasted three weeks to remind them all of the horrible incident. But by then she didn’t care. The dog got away and that was all that mattered.

  She hugged Colton tightly, eliciting a small cry of protest from him. Loosening her hold, she gazed at her sleeping babe. She was done being scared. Done trying to keep the peace. Done taking orders, and doing things she hated. Done, done, done!

  “Ma, I’m hungry.”

  “You must be,” she replied. “There was no supper last night with the birthing and all. The men probably have the biscuits almost done.” She kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go see.”

  Summoning strength from within, she headed for the back of the wagon. She held the wagon ribs for support as she started to climb out. Halfway down, a buzzing swirled in her head and the landscape wavered before her eyes. Panicked voices called her name. Everything went black.

  A few moments later, Faith opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground. Three faces stared worriedly into hers. Pain radiated everywhere in her body, and a small moan escaped her.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  “Of course she’s not all right, Roady! She just fell from a wagon after ha
ving a baby. What kind of a fool question is that? I’m putting you back to bed.” For all his gruffness, Luke McCutcheon handled her as if she were made of spun glass. He gathered her in his arms and stood. “What were you thinking, woman, trying to get up so soon?”

  She bristled at his scolding. “Put me down so I can help Colton. He’s hungry.”

  “Not on your life. You’re going back to bed and staying there. I’ll see to it that the boy gets something to eat. And you, too. I was just about to bring you a plate.”

  He climbed easily into the wagon with her in his arms. She felt no bigger than a mite as he carried her in his embrace. A niggle of fear slipped down her spine at the close contact. She pushed at his chest with the palm of her hand, testing her boundaries. He looked down questioningly.

  “Please.” She avoided his gaze. “Put me down.”

  The baby started to cry no sooner than he laid Faith on her mat, so she picked the child up. “Mr. McCutcheon, I’m much obliged for your kindness. Truly, I am. But I’m well aware that you must be a busy man with important things to do. I’m sure here with us is not where you need to be.”

  His large frame shrank the already small interior of the wagon, cramping its occupants unmercifully together. He took off his hat and held it in his hands. “And just what am I supposed to do with you?” Aggravation laced his words as he stared at the canvas overhead. “Leave you out here with no way to make it to the next town? Do you even know how far that is? Or its name?”

  She had no response.

  His brows tented over his eyes as his expression softened. “Pine Grove, Montana,” he said flatly. “From there, if you go due west a day and a half you’ll come to Y Knot, Montana, where the McCutcheon ranch is located. Due north a week from Pine Grove is Priest’s Crossing. You have a team of horses somewhere?”

  She didn’t want to answer, he sounded so accusing. But the same common sense that had kept her alive this long whispered she couldn’t make it alone. “When my labor progressed to the point where I couldn’t go on, we stopped to make camp. I guess I should have known better than to try to stake them out on such a night because the thunder spooked them and they ran off.”