Wedded for the Baby

by Dorothy Clark

  “Not while he is sick. I will sit up with him tonight.”

  His tone was firm. She stiffened. “I’m not going to leave him, Trace. He needs me.” She blinked away a rush of tears. “And I need to be with him.”

  He stared at her. She stood her ground, refused to look away. The muscle in front of his ear twitched. “Very well. We will both stay with him. I will carry the rocker in from your bedroom.”

  The reluctance in his voice plunged deep. What had she done that he did not want her help with Howard? Was it because she had broken down after helping him tend to Eddie’s wounds? Did he think she would collapse instead of caring for the baby? Well, she would prove him wrong.

  * * *

  Trace set the rocker down opposite the one on the other side of the small table, pulled the shutters back and opened the window enough that the air in the room would be freshened, but not chilled.

  The whisper of Katherine’s silk dressing gown rasped along his nerves when she entered the room. He tensed, waited until she’d had time to walk by then turned back to face the room. His heart jolted. She stood facing him with the baby in her arms, her white silk dressing gown shimmering in the moonlight, her hair, dark as the night, flowing over her shoulders.

  “Why did you open the window?” Her eyes, large and dark and beautiful, looked straight into his. “I thought you wanted to keep Howard warm without a lot of blankets.”

  He motioned toward the end of the room. “The fire in the heating stove will keep the room warm. I opened the window to keep the air in the room fresh.”

  Her forehead creased. She rocked side to side and rubbed the baby’s back. Her long hair swayed with her movement. Moonlight rippled along its dark waves. “I don’t understand. I was always told to keep my mother’s and father’s windows closed because the fresh air was bad for their health.”

  He nodded, moved to the end of the room and checked on the bottle sitting in a pan of water on top of the stove as an excuse to not look at her. “There are two schools of thought in the medical profession about open windows—according to my old doctor friends.” The bottle was warm enough. He moved the pan to the side where it was cooler. “Some of them cling to the old way of keeping the windows tightly closed, and some say the new way of opening the windows is best.”

  “And you agree with the new way?”

  “I do.” He turned back to look at her. “Have you ever noticed how when you go outside after being shut up in a closed room, the air outdoors seems easier to breathe—more satisfying and refreshing?”

  “I’ve never thought about it. But now that I do—what you say is true.” Howard whimpered and she offered the baby the bottle he handed her. She started walking again, her dressing gown floating around her.

  He focused on his explanation. “Well, I believe that is because the fresh outside air has health-giving properties we know nothing about.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’ll remember that...when I’m a nurse.” Her voice choked off.

  “Are you all right, Katherine?”

  She shook her head, her hair moving like a deep shadow against her white dressing gown. “No. I’m worried. Howard should have had a bottle over an hour ago. And he won’t drink this one. Come on, baby boy, drink your bottle...” She walked across the other end of the bedroom, turned and came toward him again.

  “Perhaps he’s too contented being held and comforted.” He lifted the other pan of warm water holding the bottles of sugar water he’d prepared to one of the shelves hanging on the wall. “Put him in his crib. That might make him fuss for his bottle. But don’t use the quilt. It’s too warm.”

  “If you think that’s best...” She laid the baby in his crib, leaned over him and whispered words of comfort.

  He turned away from the sight of her at the crib, but he couldn’t shut out the sound of her voice. Katherine was a natural mother who should have children of her own.

  If their marriage was a true marriage...

  His traitorous mind whispered the thought to his aching heart. Pain rose. And anger. He was already too involved with the baby left in his charge. He wanted none of his own. Not ever again. He turned from the shelf, wished for something to do. Had he missed anything that could be done for the baby? If Howard didn’t take a bottle soon... He scrubbed his hand over the taut muscles at the back of his neck and glanced at the clock, noted the time. “Try this sugar water, Katherine. It will be easier for him to swallow if his throat is sore.” He traded bottles with her.

  “I didn’t think about his having a sore throat.” She touched the rubber nipple to Howard’s lips, tried again when he turned his head. “Come on, little one, drink the water.” She glanced up, tears glistening in her eyes. “I wish he could tell us what is wrong.”

  He nodded, scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “It’s one of the things that makes it so difficult to treat a baby—”

  Her head lifted.

  “I imagine.” Watch your tongue, Warren! He turned to the stove and placed the baby’s bottle back in the pan of water to avoid her gaze.

  “You must have had a lot of doctor acquaintances back in New York.”

  He stiffened. Was she only making conversation? Or did she suspect the truth? “Quite a few, yes. They would discuss their problems with me in the hopes that I could compound a medication that would help.” True—as far as it went.

  “It must have been very rewarding to have them trust you that way.” There was a soft inhalation of breath. “I can understand why.”

  Had he given himself away? He turned. The softness in her eyes took his breath.

  “I trust you to care for Howard.”

  The words pierced through his lowered defenses and tore open his wounds. There is no better doctor in all of New York, Trace darling. I trust you to take care of me and our baby. Guilt flooded him. He clenched his hands. “My skills and knowledge are limited, Katherine. I can only do so much.”

  “There is only so much any man can do in the face of illness or injury or...or fate.” Her soft, husky voice poured balm on his pain. “I meant only that I know you will do everything possible to help Howard get better. After that, it’s in God’s hands.”

  He nodded, fought the memory of the day his wife and unborn son had died despite his frantic efforts to save them.

  The hours ticked away. Howard’s fever climbed again. He brought it down to a safer level with another bath. But no matter how Katherine coaxed, the baby refused the bottle.

  He paced the floor, uneasy about the baby’s condition and his need to be away from him. He would have to get ready and go and open the shop soon. And check on Eddie. And Asa. And Audrey. The list was getting longer, his deception harder to maintain. At least John Ferndale would let him know about Dora. But it was Howard he was most concerned about. He set his jaw, grabbed one of the bottles of sugar water, strode to crib and lifted the lethargic baby into his arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to make the baby drink this water.”

  “But—”

  “There’s no choice, Katherine. He needs to drink it.” The tone of his voice gave weight to his grim words. The muscle along his jaw twitched. “Sit down.” He nodded toward the rocker by the open window. She sat. “Now take Howard and place him in a sitting position on your lap with his back leaning against you. Good. Lean him back a little more.”

  He knelt in front of her, opened Howard’s mouth, dribbled a bit of the sugar water on his tongue and let go. The baby’s chin quivered, he let out a squall, coughed.

  “Did it work?”

  He looked up and nodded. “Yes. He didn’t like it, but he swallowed most of the water.” He opened Howard’s little mouth and dribbled in more. Bit by bit he forced the baby to swallow half of the water. “That will do for now. He’s gett
ing too tired.”

  He rose, went to the crib and folded the quilt. “You saw what I did to lower his fever and make him drink.” He glanced over at her. She nodded, and he looked down and tucked the folded quilt in the corner. “You’re going to have to do the same while I’m gone. When you feed him, prop him here in the corner and lay him back against the quilt. That will keep your hands free. Just be sure he stays propped up and give him only a tiny swallow of the water at a time so he doesn’t choke. When he becomes too agitated, stop and soothe him, let him rest a short while then give him more water. If he doesn’t drink it, he will become very ill...”

  “All right.” Her dressing gown rustled. The scent of flowers teased his nose. “Trace, are you...”

  He turned his head toward her. Their gazes met.

  “Never mind...”

  He jerked his gaze away, stepped back from the crib and walked to the stove to add coal to the fire. He was more comfortable with distance between them.

  She laid Howard in his crib, walked back and folded the light blanket she put over him when she rocked him by the open window. “I don’t know what to do about Audrey, Trace.” She glanced his way. “I’ve tried to think of an answer, but I won’t leave Howard. And I—”

  He tamped down the guilt rising at the look of worry shadowing her extraordinary eyes. “I will have Ah Key make dinner and supper for the Latherops. Beyond that, Blake should be able to take care of Audrey’s needs. He can give her a bell to ring if she needs him when he is downstairs. It’s only for another week.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Trace. It is my obligation—”

  “Ours. I’m the one who put you in this situation in the first place.”

  She bit down on her lower lip and shook her head. Tears filmed her eyes. She draped the folded blanket over the arm of the rocker and took a deep breath. “You keep saying that. But it’s not true. I chose to stay because of Howard. Because he needed someone to care for him.” She looked back over at him. “I’m not sorry, Trace, so you can stop feeling guilty.”

  The look in her eyes brought a warmth to his heart he didn’t want to feel. He strode back to check on the baby once more. “I’m late. I have to get ready to leave. I’ll be in my dressing room or in my bedroom should you need me before I go.”

  “At least you won’t have to spend time hitching up the runabout.”

  The slight quiver of her lips when she smiled was like a punch to his gut. He longed to reassure her, to tell her Howard would be all right, but he couldn’t. Perhaps if he was a better doctor... He clenched his hands. “Yes. There is that...” He ignored the aching desire to stay with the baby, wrenched the knob and opened his dressing room door. “I have to check on Eddie and Audrey, but I will close the shop and come home between trains.” The muscle by his ear jumped. “If you...need me for any reason, send Ah Key. I’ll close the shop and come immediately.”

  She caught her breath and nodded.

  He closed the door. But he couldn’t close out the fear in her eyes—or in his heart. He’d seen too many infants—He jerked his mind from the thought, turned on the hot water and reached for the soap. There was nothing more he could do. And there was no reason to expect the worst. Howard was a robust, healthy baby, thanks to Katherine’s care. And that boded well for the baby’s recovery. If he would start to take a bottle again.

  He frowned, turned his face toward the lamplight and took a swipe with the razor down his cheek. He couldn’t stay home. He had an obligation to the people of the town and on the trains to open his store and dispense elixirs and medicines to help them feel better. Katherine would care for the baby as well as he could. Perhaps better. She could certainly soothe the fretful baby better than he. But if—

  He shook off the thought, splashed the soap from his face, dried off and strode into his bedroom to get a clean shirt. His long, dexterous fingers made short work of fastening the buttons and tucking the tails under his belt. He would have to forgo his breakfast to make it to his shop on time.

  He reached for his tie, paused. His jaw clenched. He fought the urge, but his gaze lifted in spite of his effort. His hands followed. He grasped the black leather bag that had been tucked away for two years and lifted it down. His heart thudded. His stomach knotted. What if his instinct was right and Howard had developed pneumonia?

  Bile rose in his throat. He looked toward the nursery. What if he lost this battle, too?

  I meant only that I know you will do everything possible to help Howard get better. After that, it’s in God’s hands.

  Katherine’s words eased the ache in his heart. He had failed to save his wife and child. But no man—no doctor—could have done more. The pain would never leave him. But it was time he stopped feeling guilty and went back to helping those who needed his care.

  The clock on the wall chimed. The time didn’t matter. He would not be going to his shop today. He would go to check on his patients and then come back home. He shrugged into his suit coat, wrapped his fingers around the familiar handles on his doctor’s bag and hurried down the stairs.

  Chapter Twelve

  Her heart lurched. Had Trace returned? Katherine held her breath and listened, glancing down at Howard lying so still and listless against her shoulder. “Do you hear that, little one? Your papa has come home.” She looked toward the door and tried to arrange her features so the fear twisting her insides wouldn’t show.

  The footsteps stopped. There was a soft tapping. The door swung open and Trace entered the room.

  Tears surged. She swallowed hard, but couldn’t stop them. He looked so strong, so capable and unshakable. And she was so afraid.

  “How is the baby? Has he taken more water?”

  “A little. But—I think—” She shook her head, fought the fatigue that clouded her thoughts and stole her strength. “His breathing seems more labored.” A shiver slipped beyond her control, coursed through her. She pushed with her feet against the floor and started the chair rocking to hide it. “He seems to breathe easier if I hold him upright against my shoulder while I sit here by the window. I don’t know what else to do to help him. I—” Tears welled, slid down her cheeks. “He doesn’t even cry.”

  Trace nodded, set a black leather bag on the table under the window and opened it.

  She caught her breath, watched him pull out a stethoscope like the doctor had used to listen to her mother’s chest. Her heart thudded. Her suspicions had been right. She ignored the throbbing in her temples and lifted her gaze to his face. “You’re a doctor.” Oh, what relief those words brought.

  “Yes.” His mouth closed on the word. His face went taut. He fitted the tubes on the stethoscope to his ears, knelt in front of her, pulled down the blanket and placed the end of the instrument against Howard’s tiny back. “Don’t move him.”

  Another shiver shook her. His gaze lifted to her face. “Sorry. The air is chilly here by the window.” She leaned back out of the light, wishing she could push back the strands of hair clinging to her moist forehead.

  He studied her a moment then bowed his head.

  She held her breath and willed her body to still. Please heal Howard, Lord. He’s only a baby... She looked at Trace’s grim face and her heart sank. “What is it?”

  He shook his head and tapped the baby’s back with his fingertips. Howard coughed, whimpered. Trace rose and put the stethoscope back in his bag.

  She grabbed his arm. “What is it, Trace?”

  “What I suspected. Howard has pneumonia.”

  Her hand lost its grip, fell away. Her stomach clenched. “My father...” Memories engulfed her. She clutched Howard to her heart, fought for control but couldn’t stop her tears.

  “Katherine, listen to me.”

  She blinked her vision clear and looked at him.

  “You said you trusted me to care for
Howard.” His face was set, his voice firm. “I will not lie to you. Howard is very ill. But he should be all right if we can bring him through the next few hours. It will be a battle—but it’s one I do not intend to lose. Now you hold him and I will get some more sugar water in him.”

  If we can bring him through... Please, Lord... She put Howard on her lap and glanced up at Trace. There was something so steady and reassuring about him. Her pulse settled. Strength and determination washed over her. She would fight this battle with him. And they would win. She held Howard upright with his back against her chest and watched Trace open the baby’s tiny mouth and spoon in the water a bit at a time. Her dressing-gown sleeve became wet from the spills and dribbles. Cold air blew in the window. She shivered, clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from rattling. The chills lasted longer, were closer together—it must be getting colder outside.

  “That’s enough for now. He’s too weak to force him to take more.” Trace set the bottle and spoon aside, reached out and lifted Howard into his arms. His gaze caught and held hers. “I’m afraid I’ve soaked your sleeve. I’ll take care of Howard, so you can go and put on a different gown.”

  She nodded, afraid her teeth would chatter if she tried to speak. She pushed out of the rocker—the room reeled. She grabbed for the edge of the table to keep from falling. He glanced at her. “I guess I’ve been sitting too long.”

  “You need some rest, Katherine. I’m here now. And I’m going to stay. You get some sleep.”

  As if that was possible. She drew in a breath and willed her trembling legs to carry her to the dressing room, stopped at the wash basin and splashed cold water on her face to try to ease the throbbing in her temples. Chills chased each other up and down her spine. Goose bumps prickled her flesh. She had sat in the cold draft from the window for too long. And the lack of sleep was telling on her. The bedroom looked huge.

  She fixed her gaze on the closet door, ignored the fatigue dragging at her and went to get dressed. The row of dresses with their small buttons and fancy sashes were uninviting. She hadn’t the energy or time to don one. And what did her appearance matter? Caring for Howard was the important thing.