Cheryl St. John

by The Mistaken Widow

  “Your baby’s just fine,” the woman said.

  The woman’s face swam in a flesh-toned blur that blended into the ceiling. Fine? Her baby was fine?

  “Whe-ere?” she managed.

  “We’re taking good care of him until you feel better. Rest now, so you’ll heal and can take care of him yourself.”

  Sarah closed her eyes against the acute pain throbbing in her head. He? She had a baby boy? A single tear slipped from beneath her lashes and trickled across her temple.

  The next time Sarah wakened, it took her a few minutes to remember where she was and what had happened. She’d been on a train. Something awful had happened, and now she lay in the hospital. She had a son.

  She struggled to a sitting position, and pulled the covers away to reveal her swollen and bandaged left leg. Grimacing, she ran her fingertips over the bandage on her head.

  “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be sitting up!” The admonishment came from the doorway, and a uniformed nurse rushed in to press her back against the pillows.

  “I want to see my baby,” she demanded.

  “I’ll get the doctor.” She shook her finger under Sarah’s nose, punctuating her next words. “Don’t you move again.”

  A few minutes later, a short, wiry doctor appeared, two starched nurses flanking him. One held a tiny bundle of flannel.

  “Oh!” Sarah pressed her palm to her chest and waited as the woman carried the baby forward. “Can I hold him?”

  The nurse looked to the doctor who nodded his permission, then placed the infant in Sarah’s arms.

  The red-faced baby blinked at his surroundings, much as she had upon awakening. He had fair hair and a ruddy complexion. The eyes he tried to focus were a deep, deep blue, with a look of wisdom more fitting an old man than a baby. He frowned and when he did, he looked just like Sarah’s father.

  “He’s a handsome one,” the nurse said. “He’s the biggest, sturdiest boy we’ve had in a long time.”

  Sarah sighed her relief. Her baby really was fine. Better than fine. Big and sturdy.

  “We’d better take him back to the nursery now, so you can rest, Mrs. Halliday.”

  Reluctant to let him go, the woman’s words didn’t register for a moment. When they did, she blinked at the nurse. “What?”

  The doctor came forward then, and the nurse took the baby from her arms. “I’m afraid we have some disturbing news for you.”

  Sarah blinked. Wasn’t all this disturbing enough?

  “Your husband was killed in the accident.”

  Sarah tried to sit forward again.

  The doctor urged her back.

  “But, I—” Sarah began.

  “You’ve taken quite a blow to the head, Mrs. Halliday. You shouldn’t move around any more than necessary for a few more days.” The other nurse had moved up beside Sarah with a glass of water.

  Sarah drank obediently and lay back. She needed to straighten something out with these people. The room tilted crazily and she lost consciousness.

  This time she would get some answers. She ran her tongue over her teeth, grimaced at the horrible taste in her mouth, and struggled to remember. “Your husband was killed in the accident…Mrs. Halliday.” Sarah thought of the kind, red-haired woman and her handsome husband who had so generously taken her in and shared their room and brought her food.

  They thought she was Claire Halliday.

  How on earth could she explain what had happened? Every time she tried to talk to the doctor or nurses, they treated her as though she were feeble in the head and dosed her with laudanum.

  They allowed her to sit up and eat some bland oatmeal and drink a cup of tea. Later, a nurse she hadn’t seen before brought the baby and instructed her to nurse him. Sarah did the best she could, naively, painfully, and watched in wonder as her tiny son instinctively knew what to do when she didn’t. She touched his downy soft head, his tiny fingers, and opened the flannel wrapping to look at his wrinkled pink skin and marvel at his toes.

  He was so tiny…so helpless…and—tears welled in her throat and stung her eyes—so completely and totally dependent on her. Her! How on earth was she going to care for this child all by herself? She had no money, no place to live and no prospects. The realization terrified her. Never in all her life had anyone ever needed Sarah before. And now that someone did, she was unprepared for the responsibility. She couldn’t bear to let him down.

  The nurse returned for the baby later, and Sarah napped briefly. When she woke, the doctor stood beside her bed.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Halliday. You’ve made great progress today.” He removed the bandage and examined her forehead. “It’s safe to move you now, I believe. You still can’t walk on that leg for some time. Not if you want it to knit so you can use it like you used to. It was a nice clean break, however, and you’re young and healthy. It will heal quickly.”

  Where was he planning to move her to? she wondered.

  “Mr. Halliday, your husband’s brother, that is, arrived yesterday. He’s waiting for my approval to take you home. I think it’s safe, as long as you follow my directions. You may leave with him in the morning. I will give him instructions for your care.”

  Sarah bit her lip. She was afraid to object for fear they would sedate her again. She pretended calm, nodded and laid her head back against the pillow. The doctor left.

  She could find her baby and leave on her own before morning. Sarah glanced at the bulky outline of her leg beneath the covers. And what? Become a cripple? She really doubted she could put any weight on it, anyway. And what would she do if she ran off? Where would she go? She would be unable to work for weeks—months maybe, let alone care for herself or her baby.

  She thought of her father and her comfortable childhood home, and squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt unbearably to know she hadn’t meant enough to him for him to forgive her. He hated her now. She had to wonder if he’d ever really loved her, or if she’d merely been a convenience as long as she kept the house running and entertained his clients. Going back was out of the question.

  When this Halliday fellow showed up, she would explain to him what had happened. He would be easier to reason with than the doctors and nurses had been.

  Sarah spent a fitful night, waking often, dreaming of twisting metal, cold dark alleyways and crying, hungry babies. Finally, morning arrived, and with it, nurses to assist her. One washed her hair and helped her bathe while the other laid out unfamiliar black clothing.

  “I tried to find something—appropriate—for your trip, Mrs. Halliday,” the nurse said hesitantly. “Your trunks were sent ahead, and Mr. Halliday asked us to shop for you.” Not her trunks, Sarah thought. She’d only had one. Apparently Claire’s trunks had been sent ahead. Obviously, the Halliday name carried much weight, and they were treating Sarah as though she were one of them.

  She looked at the black wool skirt, handkerchief linen blouse and short velvet jacket with eyelet embroidery, all purchased with Mr. Halliday’s money.

  The nurse gave her a hesitant look. “Don’t you like the suit? Buying it ready-made, I didn’t have much to choose from.”

  “It’s lovely—it’s not that, it’s just that…”

  “What, dear?”

  She could hardly leave in the cotton hospital robe she had been wearing. She would have to accept this traveling suit and somehow repay Mr. Halliday. “Nothing. Thank you.”

  The nurses helped her dress, then situated her awkwardly in a wooden chair with wheels and brought the baby to her. He’d been outfitted as well, and was accompanied by an enormous valise. Sarah stared at the flannels and changes of clothing with a growing sense of unease. “Where did all this come from?”

  “Mr. Halliday had them sent for the baby, ma’am.” The nurse opened a round box and presented Sarah with a smart hat made of the same velvet as the skirt and jacket. One side of the brim curled upward, trimmed with black silk ribbon and ostrich feathers. “Do you like it?”

  Sarah stared a
t the hat, apprehension roiling in her stomach. Where was the man? He’d gone to all this expense without even laying eyes on her, without giving her a chance to explain!

  “You don’t like it.” The nurse’s voice held disappointment.

  “I’ve never worn anything so—mature.” She was, in their opinion, a married woman with a child, she remembered, and she wished she hadn’t said anything.

  “You are in mourning,” the nurse reminded her.

  “Of course.” She accepted the hat and turned to the mirror the nurse held. She would throw herself on the man’s mercy when he arrived.

  Sarah sensed the atmosphere in the room change. Slowly, she turned and found a tall, elegantly dressed man just inside the doorway. Eyes as dark as black coffee, full of questions and uncertainty, swept the length of her skirt and jacket, touched on her fair hair beneath the hat she held in place with one hand, and then met her gaze. She recognized his pain at once. Grief had etched lines beside his firm mouth and shadows beneath his unsmiling eyes.

  “I’m Stephen’s brother, Nicholas.” His voice was low and resonant, a rumbling sound a woman heard in her soul as well as with her ears. He was darkly handsome, like Stephen, with the same chin and hairline, but there the resemblance ended. Where Stephen’s face had been open and candid, with just a touch of laughter behind his eyes, this man’s was closed and unfriendly, without a sign of humor.

  But then, he’d been handling painful details. He’d undoubtedly had to identify his brother’s body. Had he buried him? Sent his body home? Stephen had been a charming and generous man, cut down in the prime of his life. Grief wedged its way into Sarah’s chest.

  And Claire. The lovely young woman had not deserved her fate. She’d had her entire life ahead of her, a life with her husband and baby. Sarah blinked back stinging tears.

  And what of Claire’s body? If they thought Sarah was Claire, what had happened to the real Claire? Dread pooled in her queasy stomach. Guilt swept over her in a torrent: She’d been spared and his family had died! She couldn’t manage to voice a coherent thought. The words she needed to say lodged in her throat.

  His intent gaze slid to her baby on the bed, and he moved to stand over him. A protective instinct rose in her chest, and then abated when he turned back.

  “Mother wants me to tell you she’s eagerly anticipating the arrival of you and your son, and to assure you that you will have a home with us for as long as you want to stay.”

  Sarah tried to coax words from her throat.

  “I’ve taken care of the debt and purchased this chair for you.”

  “The debt?”

  “The hospital and doctor’s fees. Are you prepared?”

  He’d paid her bill already? Of course. The man was efficient, as well as decisive. She should have looked into it herself. “H-how much?”

  “You needn’t worry over that. It’s taken care of.”

  A panicky little sob rose in her throat, and she clenched her teeth against the desire to rail at her heartless father. If only she could have wired him, could have had someone to come to her aid. Alone. She’d never been so alone.

  “I asked, are you prepared? I have a driver waiting. It will take a couple of days to get there, and I’ve business waiting for me.”

  There was no talking to this man. Sarah realized that with a cold, hard certainty. He would never understand. What would happen to her son if Nicholas Halliday demanded she repay him then and there or be thrown in jail?

  “Yes. I’m ready.” She turned back to the mirror and stabbed the long pin through fabric and hair until the hat was secured. She would have to take her chances with him until she could talk to his mother. Surely a woman would be more understanding and responsive. She would understand and let Sarah settle up with them when she was able.

  The nurse moved Sarah’s chair closer to the man.

  “I claimed your things,” he said. “They’ve been sent ahead.” He paused, and with no small amount of dismay Sarah discovered she’d been watching his mobile lips as he spoke.

  She raised her attention to his dark eyes.

  “I didn’t want to go through your personal belongings without your permission,” he said, by way of explanation. “I asked the nurses to shop for enough clothing and personal items to get you home.”

  “Thank you,” she replied simply. How did he plan to travel, and—she swallowed hard—where were they going? She raised a questioning gaze.

  As though reading her trepidation, he said, “I’ve brought my carriage and driver. I thought you’d prefer that.”

  Thank God he hadn’t chosen a train! She sighed in silent relief.

  The nurse placed the baby in her arms, and moved behind her to wheel the chair. Nicholas Halliday stepped around Sarah’s extended leg, picked up her bags and followed. The chair rolled her down a corridor, toward a door that led to the outdoors and an uncertain journey.

  Heart hammering, Sarah carried her son close. Whatever the future held, her own welfare was not the concern. Her baby was all that mattered now. And she would do what she had to do to take care of him. Unlike her father, she meant to take her responsibility seriously and love her child, no matter what.

  Even if that meant pretending to go along with this man for a little while longer. His mother had to be easier to talk to than he was. Had to be! After all, Stephen had been a kind, warm individual.

  Sarah prayed he’d taken after his mother.

  Chapter Two

  Nicholas experienced a measure of guilt for thinking that Claire wasn’t predictably like Stephen’s previous acquaintances. The girl was obviously under a great deal of stress and physical discomfort and could hardly be expected to keep up a steady flow of chatter. Her withdrawn manner and silence since they’d left the hospital that morning didn’t necessarily reflect her personality. Or…perhaps she wanted him to believe she was grieving over Stephen’s death.

  He cast her another sidelong glance. After the noon meal they’d settled themselves in for the long ride, and she’d removed the hat. Good Lord. Her hair, precariously gathered up and invisibly secured on her head, caught his attention immediately. The tresses radiated a fascinating blend of wheat tones, some dark like honey, some as light as corn silk, some nearly white, with brassy threads of gold woven into the springy curls. One coil hung against the translucent skin of her temple, and another graced the column of her neck. The spirals looked as though he could tug them and watch them spring back.

  He decided immediately that it was not a wise idea to look at her hair and have such absurd notions, so he watched the spring countryside blend into the freshly plowed farmlands of Pennsylvania. From time to time, as she closed her eyelids and rested, he studied the sweep of her golden lashes against her fair cheek, the interesting fullness of her upper lip and the tiny lines beside her mouth that showed she had smiled. He wondered at whom. Stephen?

  Even her ears appeared delicate, with a single pearl dangling from each lobe. Her eyebrows were the same color as the dark undertones in her hair, narrow slashes above eyes that he’d noticed right off were a pale, somber shade of blue. Everything about her was somber, from her expressions, to her voice, to the way she focused her vigilant attention on the infant in the basket beside her.

  He just couldn’t ignore the gnawing fact that she didn’t fit the picture of the woman Stephen had written them about. Stephen hadn’t gone into any detail, except about her wit and charm and vivacious personality. The material facts had come after Nicholas had investigated her background.

  Her gaze lifted and she caught him studying her.

  “Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

  She nodded and her earbobs swayed.

  “You’re getting tired. We’ll stop for dinner and the night. He’ll be waking again soon, no doubt.”

  A blush tinged her neck and pale cheeks. He hadn’t imagined her a woman easily embarrassed by feeding her child or the calls of nature. If he didn’t know better, he’d think her a gently bre
d young lady. Each time the baby woke, he’d had the driver halt the carriage, and he’d waited outside. Once they had stopped to use the facilities at a way station, and he’d been glad he’d purchased a pair of crutches, because she had insisted on being left alone.

  The baby made tiny mewling sounds, and she leaned over the basket.

  “There’s a town just ahead.” He unlatched the leather shade and called instructions to his driver, Gruver.

  Claire once again placed her hat over her hair, worked the pin through and picked up her gloves.

  “Where’s your wedding ring?” he asked, noting the absence of that particular piece of jewelry.

  Her clear blue gaze rose to his face, and quickly, she averted her eyes. “My fingers were swollen,” she said softly, and pulled the gloves over her slender fingers. The perfect lady.

  Or a hell of a good actress. Time would tell.

  The carriage slowed and stopped before a two-story wooden structure with Hotel painted in black letters on a weathered sign that swung in the breeze. He raised the shade and studied the building. “Doesn’t look like much. We can go on.”

  Her earnest gaze dismissed the building and turned back to him. “I’m sure the accommodations will do fine, Mr. Halliday.”

  “Call me Nicholas. After all, we’re family.”

  Immediately, her gaze dropped to her gloved hands.

  The door opened and Gruver, his dark-haired driver, a man in his early thirties, lowered the step. Nicholas stepped out of the carriage and strode to the rear where he unstrapped the wooden wheelchair, wiped the road dust from it himself and rolled it to the bottom of the steps. As she had when they’d stopped earlier, Claire accepted his hand hesitantly and lowered herself into the chair.

  He placed the basket containing the now fussing baby on her lap and pushed her forward. It took both him and Gruver to lift the chair up several wooden stairs to the broad boardwalk, and the driver went back for their luggage.

  Nicholas signed the register and received room keys. “Up the stairs and to the right for twenty-four,” the desk clerk said. “Twenty-seven’s a little farther and to the left and twenty-eight’s across from it.”