Wedded for the Baby

by Dorothy Clark

  He tried to pull away, but she frowned and tightened her grip. “D-don’t...go... Richard... P-please...” Her words trailed off into a moan.

  Richard? Who was Richard? He stared at their joined hands beneath her cheek, fighting back an unwelcome and inappropriate surge of jealousy. He had no right—no reason—to feel jealous. Katherine was not his wife. She was nothing but a convenient solution to his nanny-for-Howard problem. And that was about to be solved in a more...advantageous way. For him.

  “Baby...m-my baby...” She threw off the blankets, tried to push erect.

  He grabbed her shoulders, eased her back down on the pillows. “Howard is sleeping. He’s better, Katherine. Remember? He’s going to be all right.” He picked up the cloth that had slipped off her forehead. It was already warm to his touch. He dipped it in the cold water.

  “He’s...b-better?”

  “Yes.” He put the rag back on her forehead. “You are sick.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, opened. She looked up at him, angry sparks in her eyes. “Stop it, Richard! I’m not sick! And he’s my baby!” Her eyes closed; her head slumped to the side.

  He rose, put another blanket over Howard and opened the window wider. A gust of the winter air penetrated his shirt and vest and made him shiver. He hurried into the nursery, shrugged into his suit jacket, grabbed the pitcher of water and the bottle of strength restorer and mixed her a dose. He carried it all back to her bedside table then slipped his arm beneath her. “Drink this, Katherine.”

  “Hmm...”

  Heat from her head and shoulders warmed his arm through the wool sleeve of his jacket. Her fever was still climbing. “Katherine, swallow this water!”

  Her eyes opened. She smiled. “You’re a d-doctor.”

  “Yes. Now drink this.” He tightened his arm around her and pressed the rim of the glass against her lips. She took a few swallows.

  “When d-did you c-come home, Richard?” She gave him a smile that dimpled her cheeks. “I have a b-baby now.” Her eyelids swept down, her long dark lashes rested against her flushed cheekbones.

  The knots in his stomach twisted tighter. She was slipping in and out of consciousness, and there was nothing more he could do. Her fever refused to budge. He lowered her to her pillows, rose and paced the room, trying to hold on to his professional training and manner. What if—No! He wouldn’t even think of failing! There had to be something... He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets and his fingers touched a small tin. His heart leaped. It was the fever and headache pills he’d intended to give to Asa Marsh yesterday morning. The stationmaster had no longer needed them. Could Katherine swallow them? She had to!

  He whipped around and rushed to the bedside table, dumped three of the pills into the bowl of the spoon and crushed them with the bottom of the glass. He added a small amount of water, leaned down and lifted her head.

  She moaned. “Head h-hurts.”

  The pain on her face ripped at his insides, shredded the professional demeanor he was trying to reconstruct. He slid his arm beneath her shoulders. “I know. I want you to take this. It will make you feel better.” Her cheek turned toward his palm, her flesh heating his skin.

  “Your h-hand makes it b-better.”

  His breath caught. She was hallucinating again. “Swallow this, Katherine...please.” Her mouth opened. He slid the medicine onto her tongue, dropped the spoon on the table and held her close so she wouldn’t choke.

  “B-better...”

  Her head leaned against his chest. He slid the chair closer to the bed, sat and held her in his arms, telling himself it was only because it was what she needed.

  * * *

  She pressed her lips together and stared at the man at the end of the jetty. The hazy figure faded into darkness. She started after him.

  A baby cried, floated out of the darkness and landed in her arms. She looked down at him, so precious, so sweet. Her baby. She glanced out over the water, watched the man disappear. “Goodbye, Richard.”

  A woman with no face hurried toward her, reached for the baby in her arms. “No! You c-can’t have h-him! He’s m-my baby!” She tried to twist away, but she was too weak; she couldn’t move. Strong arms held her. The moon glinted against the dark water, turned into a huge silver spoon and floated toward her.

  “Shh...shh...it’s all right. No, don’t turn away. Swallow this, Katherine. Please swallow this. It will bring down your fever and make you feel better.”

  Trace was holding her. She was safe in his arms. No. No, there was something wrong with that. She struggled against the weariness, tried to open her eyes and ask him why she should not want to be in his arms, lost the battle and slumped against his chest. She would remember, if only she could think...

  * * *

  Trace yawned, rolled his head and shoulders and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. The lack of sleep was catching up to him, but he would be able to take a short nap soon. Howard had fallen into a health-restoring normal sleep after drinking half of his last bottle, and Katherine’s tossing and turning had finally lessened. The cold cloths and pills were working. Her fever was finally coming down.

  He rose and stretched, carried the uncomfortable straight-backed chair he was sitting in back to the desk and walked to the nursery to get the rocker he’d taken there yesterday. The quilt he’d pulled off his bed to cover Katherine was heaped on the seat. He lifted the rocker, quilt and all, and carried it to the empty space between Katherine’s bed and the baby’s cradle. So much for distancing himself from them. His face drew taut. He had been holding one or the other of them in his arms all night—and it felt too right. All he’d ever wanted was to have a loving family to come home to when his days at the hospital were over. And Katherine was exactly what he wanted. And that was too dangerous to allow to continue. He looked down at her, touched her fevered cheek with his fingers. Fear rushed through him. If he lost her...

  He scowled and walked to the window, shoved his hands into his pockets to hold his jacket closed against the cold air flowing in and looked out at the black night. He couldn’t deny the feelings he had for Katherine—all he could do was protect himself from them. The baby was different. The child was a part of his life whether he wanted it that way or not. And caring for the helpless infant during this crisis had opened his heart to Howard in a way he had never wanted to happen. He couldn’t let the same thing happen with Katherine. He would care for her, but he would not let her into his heart.

  He yanked his hands from his pockets and strode to her bedside. He set his heart against any feelings and changed the cold cloth on Katherine’s forehead. She muttered something garbled about Audrey and Blake and went back to sleep. Weariness tugged at him. He sat in the rocker, pulled the quilt around him and stared at a piece of paper on the floor by the window. He’d not noticed it before. The breeze must have blown it from the desk. He’d pick it up later, when he got up to feed Howard. He rubbed at the tension in his neck and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  There was a dull ache in her temples. Katherine frowned and eased her eyes open. The area around the bedside table was barely visible and the rest of the room was in darkness. Why had she dimmed the lamp so much? How was she to see to care for Howard?

  Howard. Memory rushed back. The baby was sick! Why was she sleeping? She tried to rise, but was too weak to lift her head off her pillow. Her whole body ached. Trace had been right when he told her she had the flu. He had also said Howard was going to be all right. That they had brought him through the crisis.

  She took a deep breath and turned her head toward the cradle. Trace. He was sleeping in the rocker, his chin resting on his chest. A quilt covered him. Light from the lamp reflected off the water pitcher, glass, spoon and bottle of health restorer on the bedside table. Had he stayed in the chair all night to care for her? Her heart thudded. She stopped the direc
tion her thoughts wanted to travel and glanced at the cradle beside Trace’s chair. Of course he would be here to care for Howard. And to care for her. He was a doctor. Even if he did hide the fact. Why would he do that?

  She closed her eyes and pondered the question while she slowly moved her arms and hands and legs and feet. The ache in them brought a moan to her lips. She clamped her jaw closed against it lest she wake the baby or Trace. Both needed sleep. And she needed to go to the dressing room.

  She glanced through the darkness toward the door that seemed so far away and gathered her strength and determination. With slow, careful movements she turned onto her side and edged her legs over the side of the bed, bit down on her lip and waited for the trembling to stop and her aching to ease. If she could just make it to her feet...

  She pushed back the covers and grabbed on to the corner post. Breath gusted from her. She pressed her forehead against the post and clung there, waiting for the room to stop swaying. A cool breeze drifted across her face and shoulders. A shiver shook her. She took another deep breath, grabbed the post with both hands and pulled, willed her legs to hold her. She stumbled to the dressing room grasping furniture and sliding along the wall.

  How was she to make it back to her bed? Her strength was exhausted. She pulled herself to the door and opened it, gasped and pitched forward. Trace’s strong arms caught her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” There was anger, concern in his harsh whisper.

  She tried to straighten her legs but her knees refused to obey her will. “I—” embarrassment stopped her “—wanted to s-see if I could walk.”

  “You’ve been very sick. It’s too soon for you to walk. The next time nature calls, wake me. I’ll carry you.” His arm held her tight against him. He leaned down, scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the bed.

  It was so tempting to rest her head against his shoulder, to allow herself the pleasure of being in his arms. But it wasn’t her right. She shut her mind to the thumping of her heart. “How is Howard?”

  He glanced down at her and their gazes met. Her stomach fluttered. His arms tightened. He sucked in air, laid her down on her bed and pulled the covers up over her. “Howard is fine. He’s taking his regular bottle and sleeping normally.”

  He turned to the nightstand, poured a drink of water, dumped some pills out of a small tin into his hands and held them out to her. “Take these.”

  “What a-are they?”

  “Pills to help your headache and keep your fever down.”

  “I have a f-fever?”

  He nodded, slid his arm beneath her shoulders and held her up while she swallowed the pills and drank the water.

  Warmth spread through her. It was so wonderful being in his arms—even if it was only because she was weak, and he was taking care of her. His touch was different than any she’d ever known. It made her feel...special. She looked down lest her thoughts show in her eyes and handed him the water glass. “Thank you. I’m s-sorry you had to miss your n-night’s sleep because of me.”

  He laid her down on the pillows, set the glass on the table and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Katherine...”

  There was an uncertainty, a hesitance, in his voice. What did it mean? Had he found a woman to replace her? She grabbed the covers and held them like a shield. “Yes?”

  “Who is Richard?”

  “Richard?” She stared at him.

  “You were mumbling about him in your delirium.”

  “Oh.” She relaxed into the pillows and eased her grip on the covers. “I’m not c-certain I can explain Richard.”

  “If you’d rather not, it’s really none of my business.”

  His face had taken on that frozen look. “Yes, it is, Trace. You’re m-my husband—even though our marriage isn’t a r-real one.” She took a breath against the pain that stabbed her heart at that truth. “It’s simply that Richard was such a l-large part of my life. He was our neighbor when we were young. And he was k-kind to Judith and very tolerant of me.” She smiled at the memories. “We had a playhouse, and, though I know it emb-barrassed him, he would always be our husband and our doll’s f-father when we asked...well, begged him. And he would take us on adventures in the w-woods. He was our hero and best friend.” Her smile faded. “I l-loved him all of my life.” She braced herself for the pain that always struck her when she talked about his disappearance. “We were to have been m-married on my eighteenth birthday. A Christmas wedding. But it w-wasn’t to be. He was on his way home from a trading t-trip on one of his father’s ships in early December when something h-happened and the ship and everyone aboard disappeared at sea.”

  “I’m sorry, Katherine. I know how painful it is to lose someone you love.”

  “Your w-wife?”

  “Yes.” The word was terse, almost angry.

  She studied his taut face. Suspicion dawned. “She died from pneumonia.”

  “She and our unborn son died because I was not a good enough doctor to save them.” Pain and bitterness tainted the words.

  Anger shot strength through her. She shoved to a sitting position, slipped her legs over the side of the bed, stood and grabbed hold of his shirt to stay erect. “Whoever told you that was wrong, Trace. You’re a w-wonderful doctor! You saved Howard and—”

  “And I don’t intend to lose you.” His arms tightened around her, pulled her close.

  Her heart raced. Could he possibly mean—She tipped her head back and looked up at him. Everything went still. A tremor shook his arms.

  Howard whimpered, let out a wail.

  Trace sucked in air, looked away. “You need to get back in bed before you take another chill.” He helped her to the bed, eased her down and turned toward the cradle.

  She pulled the covers over her, blinked tears from her eyes and stared into the darkness, her heart aching. When had she fallen in love with Trace Warren?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Katherine...”

  Trace’s voice wooed her from the darkness. She tried to open her eyes, felt her eyelids flutter then still. Trace’s arm slipped under her shoulders, lifted her. She tried to help him, but she had no strength. Her head rolled to the side, came to rest against his shoulder. Something cool and hard touched her lips.

  “Swallow this.”

  It took a moment, but she succeeded. Cool liquid slipped over her parched tongue and down her throat. He lowered her back onto the stacked pillows and pulled the covers up over her. His hand touched her brow; a cold cloth followed. A shiver slid downward, shook her. His hand touched her cheek.

  “You have to fight, Katherine. Do you hear me? I’m doing all I know to help you, but it’s not enough. You have to fight!”

  She and our unborn son died because I was not a good enough doctor to save them.

  Did Trace think she was dying? Was she? No. Trace would blame himself. She tried to reassure him that she would fight, but she couldn’t form the words. Help me, Lord. Give me strength. Give me a way...

  The covers over her arm moved, sent another chill racing through her. Trace’s hand gripped hers. His long, strong fingers wrapped around her palm. Warmth and strength flowed into her hand, traveled up her arm. Thank You, Lord. She curled her fingers around his and smiled.

  * * *

  The knock jerked him upright in the rocker. Trace scrubbed his finger and thumb over his eyes, yawned and went to the door. “Yes, Ah Key?”

  “Churchman come.” His houseman stood square in front of the door, staring up at him. “You want he come in?”

  “Pastor Karl is here?” Eddie. Trace shook his head, scrubbed his hand over his neck. “Yes, of course. Send him in.” He ran his fingers through his mussed hair, tugged his vest into place and gathered his thoughts while his houseman hurried back down the hallway. There was a mumble
of voices. Pastor Karl came striding down the hall toward him, his hat in his hand.

  He stepped out into the hall though Howard was a sound sleeper, and there was little chance of their voices waking Katherine from her exhausted state. “Forgive my appearance, Pastor Karl. How is Eddie?”

  “Eddie is fine, thanks to your excellent care, Doctor. I came because I noticed your shop is still closed.” The pastor slid his hat brim through his fingers. “Ivy and I have been praying for your baby son. And I came this morning to tell you and your wife if there is anything that Ivy or I can do to help, you’ve only to ask...”

  He held back a frown. He’d asked the Karls not to call him doctor. “No, nothing, Pastor Karl. Howard has passed the crisis and is well on his way to a full recovery.”

  “Well, thank the Lord! That is good news! Please forgive my intrusion, but when I noticed your shop—” The pastor smiled at him. “Ah, perhaps there is something I can do to help. The stove in your shop has gone out. I would be happy to start a fire on my way home so the shop will be warm when you arrive.”

  “The stove!” He scowled, scrubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin. “I forgot all about it.” He glanced toward a window then looked back at Konrad Karl. “Thank you for your offer, Pastor Karl, but I won’t be going to the shop today. Katherine has taken ill and I must stay with her. Fortunately, it’s not cold enough that any of my supplies will freeze.”

  “I’m sorry to hear your wife has taken ill, Doctor. But she is in excellent hands. And you can be certain that Ivy and I will be praying for her healing. As for your supplies freezing, don’t give it another thought. I will start the fire and tend the stove until you return to your shop. Good day, Doctor Warren. And rest assured, you, too, are in our prayers.”

  His frustration at the talk of prayers boiled over. “Thank you, Pastor, but—” He looked into the pastor’s eyes and halted his words.