She went back to the bedroom and pulled a quilted cotton dressing gown and matching nightgown from her dresser. It was cozy and warm. And the cotton was soft and comfortable for Howard to rest against. Tears filmed her eyes. She blinked them away and hurried toward the nursery. Tears would not help. She latched on to the tattered thread of her remaining faith. Please, Lord, make Howard well. Please give Trace wisdom to care for—
She stopped in the doorway. Trace had moved the table and pulled one of the rockers directly in front of the window. He sat in the chair holding Howard against his shoulder with the baby’s face toward the window opening. A blanket and a knit hat protected the baby from the cold air. Sunlight brightened Trace’s wavy blond hair. Worry darkened the blue of his eyes. His hand, strong and protective, covered Howard’s small back. The image seared itself into her heart.
Her chest tightened. Her throat swelled. Trace was only her pretend husband. And Howard was only her temporary baby. But not in her heart. Somehow, sometime in the last month their in-name-only family had become real to her. Pain squeezed her heart. Please, Lord, I know I have to give them up. But not this way. Please not this way. Heal my baby. Please heal my baby... She didn’t correct the words. Howard was her baby. He would always be her baby—in her heart. She slipped to the side and sagged against the wall, held a towel against her mouth to muffle her sobs.
“Fight, little man. I’m doing all I can to help you, but you need to fight to live! Do you hear me, Howard? Fight!”
Trace’s voice stopped her sobs. He hid it when she was near, but he was struggling with fear, too. She wiped the tears from her face, took a deep breath and pushed away from the wall.
The brush of her dressing gown against the floor blended with the whisper of the rocker. The everyday sounds gave her a strange sort of comfort—as if nothing bad could happen. She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine when Trace looked her way. “I’m back. Is it time to give Howard more water? I’ve brought a towel to catch any spills.”
“I told you to get some sleep.”
She shook her head, bit her lip to hold back a moan at the pain that shot into her temples. “I’ll sleep when Howard is better.”
“You’ll sleep now. You’re sick, Katherine. You need rest.”
“Sick?” She stared down at him, startled by the idea. “I’m not sick. I’m only tired.”
“Being tired doesn’t give you chills.”
“Sitting in front of an open window in November does.”
“So does a fever.”
“I don’t have a fever.”
“You’re perspiring.”
“The room is overly warm away from the window.”
“And the headache and enervating fatigue? What reasons have you for those?”
She stiffened, at a loss for an answer. “How do you know I have a headache?”
“Tension in your face, squinted eyes, pain furrows on your forehead.”
She stared at him as he listed her symptoms. Please, Lord, I can’t be sick. Not now. “I’ve been two days without sleep.”
He rose from the rocker, came and stood in front of her. “Stop making excuses, Katherine. You have the flu. You need to rest. Now give me that towel and go to bed.”
What if he was right? Her stomach flopped. Tears threatened. She gripped the towel with both hands to keep from wiping the moisture from her forehead. “If I were sick...would I make Howard worse by taking care of him?”
His gaze, warm with understanding, locked on to hers. “No. You are the one who will get worse.”
She almost collapsed from the relief. She touched Howard’s back then turned toward the shelf. “I’ll get a bottle of sugar water.”
“Katherine—”
She spun around, tears flowing down her cheeks. “He’s my baby, Trace. And I’m not going to leave him.” She swayed from her quick movement, grabbed his arm for support.
“You sit down. I’ll get the bottle.” He helped her to the rocker and put Howard in her arms.
She cuddled her baby close, shut her eyes and prayed.
“Katherine, you need to stand up for a moment.” She opened her eyes and stared at the quilt Trace held in his hands. He helped her to her feet, spread the quilt in the rocker and helped her sit back down. “This should make you feel a little better, keep the chills from getting worse.” He pulled the quilt up around her neck and pulled it forward over her shoulders, covered her lap.
It was the concern in his voice, the tender touch of his hands against her cheeks and neck, that made her feel better. Everything in her wanted to lean her head against his shoulder and rest there with his strong arms holding her. But of course, that was unacceptable. “Thank you, Trace. It does help.”
* * *
The baby turned his head and whimpered. The water ran out of his mouth and dribbled onto the towel tucked under his tiny chin. “Come on, Howard, swallow the water.” Trace frowned and tried to get him to take another spoonful, but the baby refused to swallow it.
“What’s wrong?”
He glanced up at Katherine. “He’s caught on to the way we are force-feeding him. He’s refusing to swallow.”
“But he needs the water! What shall we do?”
“Try a different way. Or perhaps the right way.” He grasped the bottle of water and touched the rubber tip to Howard’s lips. The tiny mouth opened and he slipped the tip inside. Howard suckled for a minute then stopped.
“It worked! Oh, Trace, he took the bottle!”
He looked at Katherine’s feverish face. Happy tears glittered in her eyes. He hated to spoil her relief. “Yes, for a minute. I surprised him. Let’s hope it works the next time, too. For now, we’ll let him rest. And you.”
She nodded, lifted the baby to her shoulder so he could breathe the fresh air and closed her eyes.
His fingers twitched to touch her forehead and see how high her fever had climbed. He tugged the quilt back in place that had slipped away from her neck, rose and threw a sour look at the sky outside the window. Why are you doing this to me? You’ve already taken one wife and child from me! Wife? The word jolted him to his toes. When had he started thinking of Katherine as his wife?
He shoved his fingers through his hair and looked down at her sitting and rocking the baby. Her baby. That was what she’d said. He’s my baby, Trace. And I’m not going to leave him. She was as fiercely protective as any natural mother. What would it do to her if he failed and Howard—
He jerked his mind from the thought. He couldn’t fail. Not again. He forced the memory of the two graves in New York from his mind. He needed all of the confidence in his ability as a doctor that he could muster. If he didn’t believe he could win this battle, he was already defeated.
He set his jaw, grabbed the bottle of vegetable strength restorer he’d brought home and added a spoonful to the baby’s next bottle, then poured a dose into a small glass and carried it to the rocker. “Katherine...”
She opened her eyes—their glassy shine knotted his stomach. He held out the glass. “It’s time for more medicine. Drink this.” She reached for it, but he pulled it back. “You’re shaking too hard, you’ll spill it.” He frowned and held the glass to her lips. She swallowed the medicine, shuddered. “Now this water.” He couldn’t resist any longer. He placed his hand on her forehead while she drank. The heat from her flesh seared into his hand. “Katherine—”
“No, Trace. Howard is less fretful when I hold him. I’m staying right here.”
* * *
The clink of the dishes and flatware against the table was as loud as a clanging gong in her head. Katherine winced and pressed her lips together to stop from telling Ah Key to go away. She closed her eyes against the pain in her head and rocked Howard back and forth, ignoring the chills that shook her aching body.
; “Thank you, Ah Key.”
She leaned into the softness of her quilt cocoon and drew comfort from the firmness in Trace’s voice. Her “German stubborn” was giving out and she was leaning on his strength more and more as the day wore on.
“I go give soup to Mr. Marsh and Mr. Latherop now. Get dishes when I come back. One hour!”
She leaned her head back against the chair and smiled. Everything the houseman did took one hour.
“I’ll set the dishes on the tray outside the door when we finish. You can pick them up there.”
The door closed. Trace’s footsteps crossed the nursery, stopped. She opened her eyes.
“I’ll hold Howard now. I want you to eat your supper while it’s hot, Katherine. At least the broth. And drink the water.”
“I just had water...”
“Must I force-feed it to you?”
The image tickled her imagination. She smiled then immediately remembered trying to get Howard to take a bottle and sobered. “All right.” She hated to move—it made the chills worse. But the worst thing was having to let go of her baby. Her baby. She would think of him as hers from now on. No one could take him from her heart.
She shivered her way to the chair by the table and sat so the light from the oil lamp fell on Howard resting in Trace’s arms. And on Trace’s face. Her heart hurt for him. What had caused that shadow of pain in his eyes? The tension around his mouth? If only she could comfort him. But he wanted nothing from her. She closed her eyes on that painful truth and bowed her head, wished her faith was as strong as it had been before Richard’s disappearance. The thought gave her pause.
How distant and long ago that event seemed—as if it had happened to someone else. Blessed Lord, I know now that Richard is never coming home. And I accept that. But I’m begging You to please heal Howard. Please, please make him well. And please heal Trace’s heart. And bless this food, Lord. Use it to make me strong enough to care for my baby, I pray.
Tears stung her eyes. She forced herself to eat a spoonful of the chicken broth, and then another and another. The fatigue dragged at her. She put down the spoon and fought to stay erect in the chair. It seemed the only time she had strength was when she was holding Howard.
The baby coughed, whimpered—would not be comforted. She forced down half of her water and rose, holding on to the table. “I’ll take him.”
Trace looked at her bowl and frowned.
“I have no appetite, Trace. I just need to hold Howard.” Her tears spilled over. “I just need to hold him.”
He nodded, helped her into the rocker, covered her with the quilt and put Howard in her arms.
The evening passed in a blur. Howard grew more fretful, but they no longer had to force sugar water into him. He accepted the bottle from her and drank a little at a time. Every swallow he took brought her hope, but his fretfulness stole it away.
“Shh, little one, shh...” She slid her hand inside the blanket and then inside his drawers out of habit. Her fingertips touched wet cloth. Fear gripped her. What did it mean? He had not wet his diaper since he became so ill. Please, Lord, let it be something good. She tried to rise, to take Howard to his crib and change him, but she didn’t have the strength. She glanced toward the wardrobe that held clean diapers. It sat at the far end of the nursery. She would never make it that far. She slid her gaze to Trace, who was boiling bottles and preparing more sugar water at the heating stove. “Trace, would you please bring me a diaper? Howard is wet and—”
Trace pivoted. “He’s wet his diaper?”
“Yes. Not like he normally does, but I thought it might be bothering him, and—” She stopped, stared as Trace strode across the room and lifted Howard into his arms. Fear closed her throat as he peeled back the blanket and felt the baby’s diaper.
“You’re right, he’s wet himself.”
The tone of his voice chased her fear away. She watched him touch his fingers to Howard’s tiny forehead. “His fever has dropped.” The tension left his face.
“You mean—” Her heart soared at his nod.
“He’s passed the crisis, Katherine. He should be all right now.”
His words took the last of her strength. She slumped into the quilt. The last thing she saw was Trace’s smile.
Chapter Thirteen
“Katherine!” Trace propped Howard on the folded quilt in the corner of his crib and dropped to his knees in front of the rocker. He lifted Katherine’s unresisting arm and felt for her pulse. It was steady. He blew out a gust of air, rose and hurried into her bedroom, threw back the covers on her bed, propped her pillows against the headboard and returned. She was struggling to rise. “What are you doing?”
Her gaze slid his way, glassy and unfocused. “Howard’s fussing...”
“I know. I’ll change his diaper as soon as I get you into bed.”
“I’m n-not go—”
“Yes. You are.” He scooped her into his arms. Her head dropped against his shoulder, her eyes closed. Chills shook her. He carried her to her bed, laid her on the stacked pillows and pulled the covers up over her. A quick tug moved the bedside table close. He lit the oil lamp, checked her fevered brow, frowned and went back to the nursery.
“Here we go, little man. Let’s get this wet diaper changed.” The baby whimpered, waved his arms. The tension in his stomach eased. Howard’s lethargy was waning. He pinned on the clean diaper then buttoned his soaker in place. The whimpering got louder. “Getting irritated, are you? Are you going to start fighting me? That’s good.” He smiled, wrapped Howard in his blanket and walked to the shelf to get a bottle of the medicated sugar water.
There was a soft tap on the door. “Come in, Ah Key.”
His houseman stepped into the room, a bucket swinging from his hand. “Bring coal for night. Keep baby warm.” The houseman’s black eyes sharpened. He turned his head, swept the room with a keen gaze. “Where Missy W?”
“She’s sick. I’ve sent her to bed.” He cradled Howard in his arm and offered him the bottle. “Take the coal to her room. There is enough here for tonight.”
Ah Key nodded, padded toward the connecting door. “If Missy W sick, who take care of baby when you go shop?”
He’d been mulling that over. There was no answer. He frowned and shook his head. “I’ll have to stay home and leave the shop closed. There is no woman in town—”
Ah Key stopped, looked back at him. “Missy Zhong much good with baby.”
He stiffened, studied his houseman’s face. “Who is Mrs. Zhong?”
“Her man work railroad. He die. Missy Zhong old. She run away, hide in hill. She not want work in...bad place. She clean house. Very much like baby.”
“How old is she?”
Ah Key frowned, shrugged. “Old like mother. But she still strong.”
The pressure in his chest eased. He looked down at the baby in his arms. It was too...comfortable holding him. Even with him fussing. He was becoming too attached to the little man. And Katherine... He straightened, nodded. “All right. You bring Mrs. Zhong to see me tomorrow morning. I’ll decide then if she is a suitable nanny for Howard.” A thought struck him. “Does she speak English?”
Ah Key smiled and bobbed his head. “She talk English good like me.”
He would have laughed had he not been so desperate. He watched his houseman carry the bucket of coal through the door then turned his attention to Howard. The baby turned his head and pushed the rubber tip of the bottle out of his mouth with his tongue. “Come on, little man. You’re not out of the woods yet. You need to drink your bottle and get stronger.” His bottle. He glanced at the regular bottle he’d prepared, took it off the shelf, put it in the pan of hot water sitting on the heating stove and carried it into Katherine’s bedroom.
Warmth was pouring into the room from the fire Ah Key had fe
d. He set the pot of water on the heating stove, laid Howard in his cradle and walked over to open the window enough to let in fresh air. Howard whimpered and Katherine stirred. He grabbed the desk chair and carried it back to sit at her bedside. The dimmed light from the oil lamp touched her delicate features with gold. He brushed an errant strand of hair off her forehead and laid his hand on her hot, moist skin. Her eyelids fluttered. A smile trembled on her lips, faded away. Even in sickness her beauty stole his breath. He frowned, lifted the baby from his cradle and offered him the warmed bottle. Howard fought it, then caught a taste of it on his tongue and began to suckle. He held him close and paced the room while he fed him.
How was he to care for both the baby and Katherine? He thought about Mrs. Zhong, gave her serious consideration. If the Chinese woman understood enough English for him to make his demands for cleanliness to protect Howard’s health clear, she could be his answer.
Silence settled around him. The dimmed lamplight gave blurred definition to the furniture in the room, shone on the baby in his arms. But it was Katherine who held his attention. She was getting restless. Her fever had to be climbing. He burped Howard, laid him down to sleep in his cradle and went to the dressing room to fill a basin with cold water. He tossed in a couple of cloths, grabbed a towel and carried it all to Katherine’s bedside table. She was muttering. Worry shot through him. If her flu turned into pneumonia...
He threw back the covers, unbuttoned her dressing gown and slipped it off, then undid the three buttons on the high collar of her nightgown and folded it down. He lifted her head and shoulders, placed the folded towel on the pillow, squeezed out one of the cloths in the basin and placed it on top of it. The silky strands of her long hair brushed against his hands and wrists. He moved the long, wavy black cloud aside and lowered her down to rest with the exposed back of her neck against the cold cloth. A shiver shook her. He squeezed the excess water from the other cloth, folded it and placed it on her forehead. A soft moan escaped her. Her hand lifted and grasped his. Her head turned toward him; she sighed and laid her cheek on their joined hands. The throb of the pulse at the base of her throat beat against the heel of his hand.
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