“You don’t like peppermint sticks, do you?” she teased.
“I sure do, ma’am.”
“As soon as we eat some soup and maybe some bread and butter, you may have one, Kris.”
Gar came through the doorway behind them, silent and frowning. “Get the baby’s chair up to the table, Kristofer. And then wash up for dinner.”
The boy cast a quick look at his father, then glanced at Leah. “Yes, sir, I will,” he said, then hurried to obey.
Dinner was quiet, only Karen disturbing the silence as she chewed on a bread crust in between bites offered from Leah’s spoon of mashed beans and slivers of ham that floated on the broth. It was a relief once the meal was finished and the silence was broken by the slam of the screen door, signaling Gar’s departure from the house.
“Is Pa mad at us?” Kristofer asked from the doorway, where he had hesitated in his father’s wake, toeing the throw rug into place.
“No, of course not,” Leah answered, wishing the words were true. And they were, to some extent. Gar’s anger was directed at her, not at the children.
“He’s probably just got a lot on his mind,” Kristofer said, his eyes suddenly wise for his years.
“Yes, you’re right,” Leah agreed, forcing a smile to her lips. “The blacksmith will come tomorrow. Maybe he’s thinking about that.”
The boy’s face cleared, his worry dissipating as he accepted her theory. His wave was quick as he pushed the screen door open and jumped from the porch.
“And now there’s just you and me, Karen,” Leah said, running her fingers through the golden hair of the child who sat perched in the high chair.
She was rewarded with a grin and upraised arms, and for her own comfort, Leah lifted the baby and settled into the rocking chair with her. “Your papa may be angry with me, but you are always my sweetheart, aren’t you?” she whispered against the sweet-smelling cheek.
A ruffled sigh greeted her words, and Karen’s head fell heavily against the fullness of Leah’s breast. A bubble escaped her infant lips and blue eyes shuttered as the baby relaxed against the warmth and softness of womanly curves.
Leah’s voice lifted in a muted melody as she soothed the babe into slumber. The chair creaked as it rocked, and the sunlight poured through the window to crown the golden heads with twin halos.
To the man watching from the porch, it was a scene he could barely resist. And yet, within his breast churned a deep resentment that this woman should hold the hearts of his children so easily. That this daughter of his should reach out for Leah, calling her the name that should have belonged to Hulda. That she who had not been able to save the mother should now bask in the adoration of the child.
Perhaps the greatest resentment of all was that he was so mightily drawn to the woman himself. That his loyalty to Hulda had gone by the wayside sometime over the past months, since Leah had come to this house and lent it her beauty.
It had drawn him to her from the first, that honey-colored hair, the pure line of her profile and the lush curves of her body. And not only him, he decided. She drew the eyes of men wherever she went, it seemed. From the boy, Brian Havelock, who so obviously had been taken with her, to Eric Magnor, whose wealth and position would make him an attraction for any woman.
Even the blacksmith, Sten Pringle, had cast an eye in her direction as she sat in the wagon beneath the chestnut tree this morning. She was golden and fair, this woman he’d married. And for all that she lived in his house, she did not belong to him.
And that was a situation he tired of more with each passing day.
For now though, he owed her words that would be hard for him to speak. It would not do to be jealous of his own child, not even for Hulda’s sake. And that had been at the front of his mind for the past hour.
“Leah.” He spoke her name without thinking, watching as she lifted her head to gaze at him through the screen.
“It was not enough that Karen called me Papa. I was upset that she called you Mama,” he said quietly, knowing that he must have this small thing out in the open. “It made me hurt to know that Hulda never heard her say that word. But, I need to tell you, it’s all right. I shouldn’t have let it bother me, and I’m sorry.”
Leah’s eyes widened at his words of apology and her mouth opened to speak.
“Don’t say anything,” he told her quickly. “I don’t apologize for anything else, just this one thing. The rest of our quarrel is still sticking in my craw. We will talk about it later. For now, I just came to the house to get my extra gloves from the wash room.”
Leah watched him as he came in the door and walked to the small lean-to where the washtubs and scrub board were kept. He bent to sort through a box full of gloves and mufflers and caps Hulda had kept there for extra use, finding the ones that would fit closer to Kristofer’s size.
With barely a look in her direction, he left the house and settled his mind on the stalls that would take shape before nightfall.
Hulda…who had deserved to live. Who had tried and failed, over and over, until her gamble had resulted in death. Leah brushed her lips against Karen’s soft cheek, whispering words of love to the child, aware of hot tears cascading down her own cheeks that mourned the loss of a mother.
She shifted in the chair, reaching for the handkerchief she kept in her pocket. A rustle of paper met her fingers and greeted her ears at the same time.
The letter. She’d been so at odds with Gar since this morning that she’d totally forgotten the letter. Her handkerchief wiped the tears and she blinked away the moisture that remained in her eyes. One long finger slipped beneath the flap and she opened the envelope.
A familiar scrawl met her eyes and the signature of Anna Powell was scribbled across the middle of the page.
The message was simple. She’d been careless, leaving her small book of friendship, which Leah had signed, on her desk—only to come into the house and find it missing. Someone had broken in, and the book was the only thing taken, so far as she could determine.
Did Leah think there might be someone desperate enough to find her that they would stoop so low?
Too well, Leah recalled the words she had written, words of friendship and caring, signing with her name and the address where she could be reached.
“Yes, there is someone,” Leah whispered, crumpling the single sheet of paper in her fist.
The sun had set in a fiery ball, and darkness was fast overtaking the outbuildings as Leah settled Karen in her bed for the night. Rocking her to sleep was probably pretty close to spoiling the child, but the joy she found in the warmth of those small arms around her neck was excuse enough, she’d decided.
Spoiling was easily undone, farther on down the line, when, like Kristofer, Karen grew too old to want the comfort of loving arms and a lullaby at bedtime.
Leah stepped close to Kristofer’s door, rapping lightly on the wooden panel. “Kris? Are you in bed already?”
“Come in, Miss Leah,” he answered. She opened the door and met his sleepy smile with an answering nod.
“I see you’re just about ready for the sandman,” she teased.
“I never heard about the sandman before you came here, Miss Leah,” he told her, rising up on one elbow. “Can you tell me about him again?” His eyes were hopeful and Leah sat on the edge of his mattress, reaching to brush a wayward lock of hair from his forehead. Perhaps he was also needy of some spoiling tonight, she thought.
“Of course, I can,” she said as she bent to kiss the spot she had bared. “Just put your head on the pillow and close your eyes, and he’ll visit you in no time.”
The boy did as she bade him, settling against the pillow. “It smells good in my room at night,” he murmured against his pillow. “Like flowers, I think.”
Leah smiled, weaving the tale with soft words and a simple melody, singing and speaking the story her mother had taught her years past. In minutes, Kris had relaxed against his pillow, his mouth opening just a bit as he inhaled the sc
ent of honeysuckle that climbed up a trellis beneath his window.
“It makes for sweet dreams, little boy, that honeysuckle your papa planted.” She straightened the sheet over his chest and touched his hand lightly, tracing the length of his index finger with her own. Then she rose from the bed to face the man who watched from the doorway.
He lifted a finger and beckoned her, this big, husky man who was but a larger version of the boy she loved so well. If it took cajoling him into a good mood, she could do that, she decided, so things would be well between them.
She followed him from the room, closing the door almost shut behind herself, then made her way down the stairs, intent on his broad shoulders as he led the way. He went through the kitchen and out on the back porch, and she was close on his heels as he turned to face her.
“I am not a jealous man, Leah,” he began, looking down at her from his great height.
“You could have fooled me,” she blurted out, and then bit at her tongue, which had betrayed her so quickly. Where was the meek and mild woman she had thought to be for this occasion?
“See? This is what I mean! You are ever ready with these smart remarks that rile my temper. Why can’t you listen and be obedient, maybe just once in a while?”
“I’m not Hulda, Gar.” That much she had to say. To that extent she had to defend herself. “You didn’t marry an obliging, easygoing woman this time. I didn’t promise to bow to your temper every time you got in an uproar over something.”
“Well, this time you will listen to me,” he said, his voice rising with each word.
She shook her head at him admonishingly. “Don’t shout at me, Gar. You’ll wake the children, and they don’t need to hear you having a tantrum.”
His big hands snaked out and settled on her shoulders, and for a moment she thought he would shake her. She braced herself and lifted her chin, the better to meet his gaze. His grip was strong and bruises might appear by morning, but since he wouldn’t see them, it didn’t matter much, she decided.
“I am not having a tantrum. I am only telling you that it is not seemly for you to speak to men on the sidewalk in town and lure them to the wagon while I do business.”
“Lure? I lured Eric Magnor to the wagon? You must be dreaming, Garlan Lundstrom. I spoke to the man for a moment, and that’s all. I told him you were a good husband and a wonderful father to your children. Is that so bad?”
His fingers eased their grip and she relaxed beneath the weight of his hands. “He likes you, Leah. He looks at you in a certain way.”
“Well, I’m glad someone likes me, Mr. Lundstrom. You certainly don’t seem to share his feelings.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know how 1 feel about you. How can you know, when I don’t even…” He transferred his hands to his hips and his jaw jutted as if he were ready to face an opponent.
“You get me all in an uproar, Leah, with your ideas. I always thought women should be happy to tend to the house and not want more. And then you come along with your independence and people looking to you for help, and I’m left to wait while you prance off and take care of someone else.”
She was stunned by his vehemence. “It isn’t just Eric, is it, Gar? You don’t want me to treat folks who need me, do you?”
“I thought they would find it too far to come, once you moved here from town. Like Hobart coming here, all flustered, looking for a cure for his wife’s womanly ills last week, and Lars taking home salve for Bonnie’s cut finger. I certainly didn’t think they would go so far as to drag you from the churchyard on Sunday morning to do your healing.”
He caught a deep breath and his eyes accused her. “You belong to everyone else and not to me, Leah. Even the children…” He halted, his words coming slower, his eyes shadowed with pain.
“I belong to you, Gar. I’m your wife,” she answered, sensing more than a jealousy in him. “I like Mr. Magnor. He is my friend, no more than that. I must help those I can, when they need what I can give. And most of all, I love your children, and they love me in return. I can’t help that they turn to me.”
He shook his head, as if her words were not what he wanted to hear. “You have smiles for everyone but me, it seems, Leah. For me you have sassy words. And you turn away and swish your skirts until I want to take hold of you and…”
She backed from him. Surely the man did not intend to lay hands on her. Bad enough that his fingers had perhaps left their mark already. He was not a harsh man, not cruel certainly, but in his temper, he might do something he would regret.
Gar Lundstrom lived with enough regret already. She would not be the cause of more.
“I’m going to take a walk,” she said, sidling past him to the porch steps. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you sit on the swing and think about things for a while.”
“No, I don’t want you out in the night by yourself.” He moved to grasp her arm, and she slid from his touch. “I mean it, Leah. Come and sit with me and we’ll talk.”
She shook her head. “No, this time I’m right, Gar. I want to walk by myself, just out to the orchard and back.” She slipped down the stairs and started across the yard, only to hear the clatter of his boots on the wooden steps as he followed her.
“I’ll come with you,” he said in a harsh undertone, his hand touching her shoulder.
She shrugged away from beneath his touch and ran, her feet slipping on the damp grass, her breath catching in her throat. Deep within her a flame of excitement came into being, and she felt its flush against her breasts and throat, climbing to her cheeks.
Then the stable was before her, the big door open only a crack, and she headed there, pushing her way inside, knowing as she did that he would follow. The sound of animals settling for the night surrounded her and she blinked in the darkness, wary of stumbling over something and falling.
Behind her, the door was shoved open farther, and a beam of moonlight slanted past. Then the door was closed with a clatter and Gar was there. “Stand still, Leah. There are boards in the aisle and tools on the sawhorse.”
He spoke the truth. The glimpse she’d had of the floor ahead of her had revealed a veritable maze of obstacles, and she hesitated. Her heart pounded, not from the exertion of her race to this place, but from the presence of the man who stood behind her, whose scent surrounded her.
He was a man of the earth, his clothing bearing the smell of leather and animals and sunshine. But tonight, he wore another aroma, one not yielded by the weave of his shirt and trousers, but coming from the flesh beneath them. A heady, masculine scent she was not familiar with, but one that flared her nostrils with its potent allure.
“You will not walk away from me now,” Gar said, his whisper husky in her ear, the words a promise.
How had he stepped so close without her knowing it? How had his hands become so urgent yet careful against her arms, as if his anger had eased into another, stronger emotion?
“You have chosen the place for this,” he said gruffly, as if his voice were changed by whatever feeling had replaced his anger. “It is not what I would have preferred, but you have led me here.”
“What are you talking about?” Surely that thin, wispy little voice could not be hers, she thought, stepping away from his touch. But he would not allow it, his hands sliding to her waist and turning her in his arms.
“I cannot let you go, Leah. My body aches for you, and I have watched you for too long, wanting to touch you and hold you like this.”
She stumbled as he pulled her closer, until their bodies were meshed, with only the layers of clothing between them. His hands were strong as he held her upright, those long fingers tracing the outline of her spine, down past her waist to cup the fullness of her hips, then back up to the curve of her ribs.
“Put your arms around my neck…please,” he said, his voice an urgent whisper.
Some last trace of stubborn will nudged her to rebel. “No! I will not be taken in the barn like a mare in one of your stalls.” Yet, even as she
spoke, her arms obeyed his request, sliding upward to meet at the nape of his neck.
“I am glad you are being obedient tonight.” His words were soft and teasing, but his body was firm, his manhood pressing urgently against her belly, hard and prominent, and she was put in mind of the stallion Eric Magnor had ridden this same day.
She trembled, the image blending with the very real presence of Gar’s masculine arousal, her head tilting back as the hot, forbidden scent of his body reached her.
“Will you be able to live with this tomorrow, Gar? Are you sure this is what you want? You told me you…”
He inhaled sharply, his arms loosening from around her, and she was almost free of his touch. “Leah…ah, Leah, I told a great lie.” His voice was a shuddering sound, as though his whole body spoke her name.
“I thought I could live with you and not take you to my bed, and I was wrong. You have tempted me every day since I brought you here.” His hand touched her cheek and she leaned into the tenderness of his caress.
“You have not come to me, not once,” she cried.
“No, I haven’t, and all that stiff-necked behavior has gotten me nowhere. Now I am reduced to stumbling around in the dark, when I want instead to be in your bed. I have had to watch as the men in town admire you. And I cannot find it in me to do without you any longer, Leah.”
“Do without me? Sometimes I think you don’t even like me!” she wailed, her frustration at his hardheadedness surfacing in a cry that roused the horses in their stalls.
“Ah, there you are wrong, Mrs. Lundstrom,” he whispered, his words even more potent for their softness. “I more than like you. I have a need for you that overcomes my honor, it seems. I have come close to claiming you tonight without your permission, and for that I find myself not liking Garlan Lundstrom.
“I watch you every day, wishing I could go back on my word and take you to my bed.”
“I need you, too,” she whispered.
“Don’t tempt me if you don’t mean it, Leah. Don’t tell me you are willing if you are not.” His voice was softer, hopeful, not unlike that of the small boy she had tucked into bed earlier. As if he stood waiting for the single word that would make his world come to rights.
The Midwife Page 13