"Praise the Lord!" shouted Lula.
The scrubbing was accomplished in due haste, and White Fire Woman ascended the stairs to Christie's chamber. Only Laughing Bear went with her. He, too, had washed.
Waiting downstairs in the foyer, Garrett, Jesse, and Lula heard the seconds go by with the ticking of the tall case clock in the corner. Ten minutes . . . twenty .. .
Suddenly a faint, thin wail sounded from the room upstairs, and Garrett wondered who had let one of the barn cats into the house before he realized the cry was that of a human, a very new and tiny human, and with a leap, he was tearing up the stairs toward his wife's room.
Laughing Bear met him at the door. Behind him the tiny cries were becoming stronger.
"A healthy male," he said.
"Christie?" questioned Garrett, looking toward the bed.
"She is weak, but she should live," answered the brave.
For a moment Garrett closed his eyes, lowering his head and turning away. Then he took a long, deep breath and entered the room.
White Fire Woman approached him with the small squalling bundle in her arms. When she stood in front of Garrett, she pulled back the blanket in which his son had been wrapped so that he might see, smiling as she did this. The infant drew up its tiny legs and cried all the harder, waving small clenched fists in the air.
Garrett murmured words of thanks to the squaw in Cherokee and then turned toward the bed. Softly, he stepped toward it.
Christie's eyes were closed and her state seemed to be no different from her earlier, unconscious one. For a terrible moment Garrett wondered if Laughing Bear had been wrong. Then she opened her eyes and saw him.
"Garrett? Garrett, are you really here?" Every syllable registered awed disbelief.
Garrett sat on the edge of the bed and leaned close. "Here, Christie," he whispered, reaching one hand up slowly to touch her cheek, "Thank you for my son."
There was a long, long silence as Christie's tired, questioning eyes searched his. Then she reached up her own slim hand and placed it over his as it rested on her cheek.
"And thank you for mine," she answered, smiling weakly at him, whereupon she closed her eyes and was asleep.
Garrett left her then, and went into the sitting room where a makeshift bed had been made up for him by Jasper who, he now saw, had fallen asleep in the large wing chair near the fireplace. Smiling at the sleeping boy, Garrett took a blanket from the bed and covered him. Then he walked to the windows and looked out. The dawn was beginning to break, its rosy fingers stretching their soft light over the distant hills and nearer valley that held the fields and lawns of Riverlea.
Running a hand over the stubble of beard on his chin, he realized it had been over twenty-four hours since he'd slept, and yet, somehow, he didn't feel tired enough to sleep now.
A curious play of emotions was at work within him. He had a son! Smiling, he pictured the tiny creature now resting in the cradle in the room beyond the one where his young wife lay sleeping. Christie . . . Once again he experienced astonishment at tonight's double revelation: that he had a child and that the child's mother loved him!
But more astonishing now was the realization that came to him with all the force of an earthshaking blow to his being, a realization that had begun to take shape earlier in the night when the thought that she might die had filled him with a terror he had not thought possible. He loved her! With this admission he was at once overcome by a huge wave of relief as he recognized the source of all the turbulent emotions which had beset him for the better part of the past year. He loved her! With a sudden surge of joy at what this new-found knowledge brought, he almost ran back to the room where she slept, aching to tell her of his love, longing to hold her close and smooth away all traces of past pain and remembered hurt. But he stopped himself as some more troubling thoughts crept into his mind. The accusation he had made concerning the babe's parentage had been a despicable act. No matter that he now could understand its origins in terms of the jealous rage that had swept over him only because it had its roots in the buried feelings of love he had really borne her all along. It had been the lowest piece of behavior he had ever engaged in, and while Jesse might forgive him—had, in fact, already done so—how could he expect her to do the same? Even now, might that love she had unwittingly declared have been turned to hatred because of the unspeakably cruel words he'd hurled that night? Could she still love him after that?
Painfully, he considered the question, at last deciding that somehow she must, for the alternative was unthinkable. Then he began to formulate a plan to approach his wife and, by loving, considerate behavior, to win back her love, if it had already ebbed, or ensure it and make it grow, if it still abided there.
"I never really courted or won her with any overt actions," he thought. "I just assumed she was there for the taking, like all the other things in my life I've taken by force and arrogance. When did I ever consider her feelings at all? Well, I do consider them now. That I should love her so totally! God, I hope I'm not too late! I'll court her, much as if we were not yet wed, as though to win her for my wife. I'll bide my time and be the gentle, gracious suitor, giving her every chance to see my better nature, and how much I care for her. Christielove, I hope to God you meet my suit. I love you. God, how I love you!" And with this new resolution firmly in mind, Garrett at last went to his bed and slept.
Chapter Twenty Four
It was early afternoon when Garrett awoke, and casting a quick glance at the crumpled clothes he'd slept in, called for a bath and his razor.
He had just finished dressing when he heard the sound of several raised voices coming from Christie's chamber, and in the background the unmistakable sound of an infant crying.
He had had his things moved to the room adjoining the sitting room next to his wife's chamber, and crossing through that sitting room now, he reached her door.
Christie was sitting up in bed. Never had she looked more beautiful, he thought, despite the faint shadows under her eyes; but the expression on her face was less than happy.
"But I want to nurse him, Doctor, Mattie, please! Lula, make them understand," said Christie, her voice threatening tears.
"Damn it, Mattie, what's going on?" shouted Garrett. "Why is my wife upset?"
"Oh, Garrett," cried Christie, "they won't let mc nurse the baby. They say I'm too weak, but I'm not, honestly, and I want to!"
"Who says this?" stormed Garrett as he went to Christie's side.
"I do," answered Dr. Harris.
"And I," echoed Dr. Barrett. "I've even brought a wet nurse from Charleston."
They were clustered about the hallway entrance to the room, the two doctors, Mistress Andrews, Mattie, and Lula. Then Lula approached Garrett, carrying his wailing son.
"It doesn't have to be all or nothing," she said, a stubborn tone to her voice. "Sometimes doctors don't know everything."
At the sounds of outrage coming from those at the door, Garrett held up his hand for silence.
"What do you have in mind, Lula?"
"She can start off easy—a minute or two, to begin—then build up to more, slowly. In the meantime, the wet nurse can handle the difference, until she gets stronger."
"Does that make sense to you?" Garrett asked, looking at the doctors.
"Well," mused Dr. Harris.
"Good! We'll do it! Lula, let me have the babe."
Then, his son in his arms, Garrett ushered the stunned group of professionals out into the hallway.
"Thank you ladies, gentlemen. If you'll excuse us? Lula, wait in the nursery, please."
"Yes, sir!" beamed Lula.
The doors closed, Garrett carried the furious infant to Christie and sat on the bed's edge as he placed him carefully into her waiting arms.
Christie gave Garrett a grateful smile. Then a knock came from Lula's side of the door.
"Only a minute on each side, now, Captain. No more!" she called.
"I'll time it!" growled Garrett, taking out
his watch. "Now, will you let us be?"
There was silence, except, perhaps, for the briefest sound of muffled laughter behind the closed door as Christie bent to the task of undoing her gown. It was held up by tiny ribbons at each shoulder, arid as she struggled with them, she suddenly became aware of the imminent intimacy of her task, and looking shyly up at her husband, began to blush.
But Garrett only smiled tenderly back at her, and as she heard their son's crying grow fiercer, she returned to her task, lowering the gown and drawing the babe to her.
As he sensed the nearness of his long-awaited source of nourishment, the infant stopped his crying and began rooting frantically with his head and mouth, at last, finding what he sought and hungrily grabbing hold, he quieted.
At this rapid change in his behavior, both parents raised their heads and looked at each other in astonishment, then burst into delighted laughter. As their laughter ebbed, they were left gazing at each other and remained thus for a long moment, each hardly daring to breathe, lest the delicate fragility of the moment be broken. At length, Garrett glanced at his watch.
"Time to change sides," he said softly.
Gently, Christie disengaged the infant's furiously working mouth, at the same time undoing the other side of her gown. The babe puckered up his brow as if in readiness to resume his fussing, but his mother, already finding herself more adept at this aspect of motherhood, maneuvered him quickly to the appropriate spot, and once again he fed contentedly.
At the gentle tugging at her breast, Christie felt a warm shiver of delight course through her body, and she sighed with the pleasure of it. "Isn't he beautiful?" she asked, gently smoothing down the soft mat of dark hair on her son's head. Privately, she was thinking how much he already resembled Garrett, noting the shape of the tiny jaw, the line of the miniature eyebrows. Lula had already assured her, judging from his inordinate length, he would be very tall.
"Yes, and something of a miracle," said Garrett, "especially when I consider how close he came to not making it."
He w?as looking at Christie now, his gaze so warm, she flushed and looked away.
"Lula says he came into the world backward," she murmured.
"It's just like a Randall, not to do things the easy way." Garrett chuckled. He looked at his watch again. "The second minute's up, I'm afraid, but, Lord, look at him feed! I'll warrant he isn't going to like this interruption!"
The infant proceeded to bear out his words, for when Christie removed him this time, he screwed up his tiny features at the interruption and began to howl in protest.
"A lusty lad," said Garrett taking him from Christie and carrying him toward the nursery.
The door opened and Lula, appearing to take the squalling child, said, "Hush, now, young Randall. We've got a second course coming!"
Then the door closed, and they were alone again. As Garrett returned to the bed, he found Christie fumbling awkwardly with the ribbons at her shoulder, and stilling her hands with his, he began to tie them for her.
"We must find a name for young Master Randall, Christie."
' The touch of his fingers at her shoulders sent a thrill of pleasure through her, and Christie swallowed hard before she spoke.
"I—I've given it some thought. Your father's name was Jeremy, wasn't it?"
"Yes," said Garrett. "Or he was called by that name, although it was formally, Adam Jeremy. The second name was used to distinguish him better from his father, who bore the same name and was called Adam. I rather favor the name Adam myself."
He had completed the retying of her gown, and now he gently took a long lock of her hair which had become caught under one ribbon and pulled it loose, laying it carefully upon her breast.
"Adam Jeremy, then?" questioned Christie, her voice barely beyond a whisper. "And we'll call him Adam?"
"Adam it is." He smiled. "And now, madam, I think it's time you had some rest."
"Oh, must you leave so soon?" asked Christie. She had begun to relax and bask in this seemingly wondrous, newfound mood of Garrett's, not entirely sure what to make of it just yet, but wanting to cling to it for fear if she didn't, it might evaporate and
disappear as suddenly as it had come.
He smiled warmly again. "If I don't, I fear they'll come and drag me out. But I've taken the room beyond the sitting room there, and I'll leave both inner doors ajar, if you like, so you need only call and I'll come. I'll be no farther away, Christie."
He was helping her to achieve a lying-down position in the bed, tenderly tucking the covers about her.
"You'll call if you need me?" he asked.
"I'll call," she said, and her smile was like warm sunlight to Garrett, who suddenly wished he didn't have to leave. Then he bent forward and kissed her forehead, whispering, "Rest well. I'll see you later," before turning and quietly leaving the room.
Christie sat in the big bed quietly thinking. Adam had just had his breakfast, and she was waiting for Garrett to join her so they might have theirs, as they had taken all their meals together, here in her room, for the past week. His mood and treatment of her continued to be tender and solicitous without exception, with any change at all that she might note coming in terms of an increasing warmth and kindness as the days passed.
It seemed no need of hers could be too great, no desire beyond his careful attention to see it fulfilled. When she had fretted that the long hours of confinement to bed were boring, Garrett had arrived, arms laden with books, and read to her for as much of the time as the doctors would allow. When she had been restless one night, tossing in her bed, unable to sleep, Garrett had suddenly appeared, carrying a snifter of warmed brandy, and had gently coaxed the fiery liquid down and remained with her until she found sleep. And when, just yesterday, she had found herself inexplicably cast in a somber mood, there was Garrett, trailing out a host of ridiculous and funny stories, bits and pieces of anecdotes from childhood and other years, calculated to amuse her and, indeed, bring forth laughter and mirth such as she had rarely, if ever, experienced in a single afternoon.
What was his state of mind? She knew, from the words which had passed between them on the morning of Adam's birth, that he somehow had discovered and accepted the truth about the babe's siring. Not a word had been said of her running away from him, and he acted very much as if it had never happened. His every action toward her was laden with affection, and although no words were spoken, she would swear—God, dare she hope?—that the look in his eyes whenever they chanced to rest on her, which was, indeed, often, was loving?
Softly, she closed her eyes. In some respects, it had not been an easy week for her. Just seeing him again, having him so near, when she had thought to have lost him. Sweet torture! Oh, she loved him so! And she had begun to hope, slowly, hardly daring, that perhaps, just maybe, if God was kind . . .
Hearing her husband coming from the hall, she left off her reverie, but not before uttering a silent prayer: "Sweet Lord, please let it happen! Let him love me, even if it's only just a little. I'll try to be deserving of it. Oh, I love him so much!"
Garrett entered, carrying a bouquet of wild flowers
so huge, she couldn't see his face behind them.
"I just found out from Jess how much you like these," he said, slightly out of breath, "and I remembered how a profusion of wild flowers grows behind the lower barn at this time of year, so here you are, my lady; though, I swear, were I they, I would blush at my plainness in the face of beauty such as yours."
And bowing before her, he placed them on the table beside the bed.
"Oh, Garrett!" She laughed. "They're wonderful! I vow, I've never felt so pampered and spoiled."
"Only the beginning, sweet." Her husband grinned. "How would you like to take breakfast in the terrace garden this morning?"
"Garrett, you don't mean it!" she squealed.
She had been longing for the day when she might leave her bed and was completely surprised at its coming this soon.
"I not only mean it,
"—he chuckled—"but I'm going to take you there right now."
And he proceeded to lift her out of the bed to carry her downstairs.
"Oooh, wait!" She giggled, her arms about his neck. "I can't go like this—my robe, there in the wardrobe."
"Easily done," said Garrett, carrying her to the tall piece of furniture and further opening its partially ajar door with his toe. "Pick one."
Christie grabbed the soft blue robe that matched the gown she wore and then, frowning in mock annoyance, asked him, "Well? Aren't you going^o let me put it on?"
Garrett eyed the sheer bit of fabric which barely concealed her full, ripe breasts as they pushed all too evidently forward, their pink peaks just thinly veiled.
"Only because I now recall there may be others about." He grinned, and then he set her carefully down on the floor before him, not once taking his eyes off her slim form as he donned the robe. He saw that childbirth had done little to alter her figure, for she was lithe and slender as ever, but there was an increased fullness to her breasts and something ... a suggested roundness here, a curve there, which said hers was no longer the body of a young girl; this was Ill-woman.
Christie noticed his gaze on her and, to avoid blushing, quickly raised her arms again about his neck, saying, "I'm ready."
"So you are." He smiled, and kissing her pertly on the nose, he again lifted her up and carried her to the garden.
The days of Christie's recovery continued to pass in almost idyllic fashion. Garrett's attentions showed no threat of lessening or changing in any way, except, perhaps, to become more affectionate and, yes, apparently loving. She began to nurture the flicker of hope that this was not in her imagination, that he, indeed, had begun to care for her in the important way she craved. She also drew hope from one other important source; on the matter that had caused her to flee him after their marriage, his obsession with the revenge she had felt left no room in his heart for love, there was subtle encouragement. He never spoke of it, except once, when Jesse had inquired of his trip to England and Garrett, engrossed in a moment of play with Christie and their son, had merely shrugged and said the trip had turned up naught. This had been said without the slightest trace of bitterness or anger. Indeed, since returning home, he acted much as though his awful quest did not exist; as though, somehow, his mind was bent on more important things. . . ' Of course, she was still troubled by the fact that he had yet to utter any words which spoke of love, and it was this one great omission which unsteadied her and caused her doubts. So, when in moments of great tenderness between them she would be filled with an aching longing to throw herself into his arms and confess her own love, doubts would creep in, and she would stop herself, afraid again of that great pain that only comes when love is not returned.
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