Mike repositioned himself beneath Mercy. Was his story making a stronger case, or wearing her out? She looked weaker now. Needed something more to keep her focused on birthing this baby.
“You’re by no means old and frail like Ma was,” he said with a little laugh, “but you have her spirit of goodness about you. I’ve known from the moment we met that somehow I had to be with you. You’re the shining star who’ll take me the way I’m supposed to go, now that Ma’s gone.”
Her head rested against his shoulder, but her eyes were glazing with another pain. “I—I’m glad you told me about her,” she murmured. “And I believe you truly care for me. But why should I love you, Michael? Why should I give up the homestead Judd and I worked so hard for—”
“Who said you’d have to?”
“—to come live in that new house you’re building? Why should I become your wife?”
Malloy swallowed. Any man who thought all the fight had gone out of this woman, simply because she was birthing a baby, had a lot to learn about her. And about gumption.
But what a question! “I—”
“I’m being difficult, Michael,” she gasped, “but without Judd to look after my best interests, I have to be sure . . . oh, God, this is the worst one yet.”
He kept his arms around her loosely, so she could ride it out, much like a bronc buster submitted to the beast he had to tame. When she fell back again, Mercy felt limp and spent. But she deserved his best attempt at an answer.
“If you don’t marry me, Mercy,” he whispered against her clammy ear, “I’ll have no reason to plant more wheat or finish that house. I might as well live in that little dugout I had while I was driving. It was a poor excuse for a life—but I’ll be a poor excuse for a man if you don’t want me.”
A weak smile found her face, but she was losing strength. Malloy held her, glancing anxiously at the old Negro and the boy against the opposite wall. The lamp guttered, like a sign that every light here might soon go out. And he couldn’t allow that. “You ever helped with your mares when they foaled, Billy?”
“Why, yessir, but”—the boy sprang up from the floor—“a kid my age ain’t supposed to see a woman—”
“But you’ve been at birthings. The blood won’t scare you when we need you most,” Mike insisted. “What do you say, Mercy? Do you think—”
“I can’t think,” she mumbled, sounding very near defeat. “I just want this baby out of me.”
Mike settled her against him again. Her breathing became shallow.
If this woman dies, there’ll be no living with yourself, Malloy.
“Spread your legs wide apart, Mercy,” he whispered against her sweaty hair. “Bear down as hard as you can, and focus on—”
The woman in his arms stiffened, and her eyes grew wide with renewed purpose. “Here it comes!” she rasped. “I—can feel it—”
“There’s it is!” Billy cried, springing onto the bed. He dodged just in time to miss butting her head when Mercy surged forward with all the strength she had left. “Thatta way, Mercy! Oh, Lordy, Asa, here it comes! You gotta help me catch it now!”
The old man was already beside them, his face tight with cautious excitement. “Hold steady, boy . . . I’ve got the towel around it . . . here’s the legs—”
“Clear out the nostrils and eyes,” Mike offered quietly, watching from behind Mercy’s leaden weight. “Smack that bottom to force air into its lungs.”
As a wild cry rang around the log walls, Asa’s grin flashed white.
“You’ve got yourself a baby girl, Miss Mercy. And a fine little lady she is, too!”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Mercy was vaguely aware of voices, but she willed herself to keep floating . . . to remain in this dreamlike state, resting without responsibilities. Light passed through her eyelids . . . a warm weight on her chest shifted slightly . . . her skin felt blessedly clean, and the scent of fresh bedding mingled with the invitation of coffee and bacon from the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, but she savored this state of relaxation. Had she died and gone to Heaven?
She felt a presence nearby. The weight lifted from her chest, and she snuggled more deeply beneath the covers without opening her eyes. Once she was awake, the real world would return—and if it resembled that place of agony and exhaustion she last recalled, she wanted no part of it. Best to just drift for now . . .
A familiar humming came from beside the bed, soothing in its familiarity, even though she sensed the low, hushed hymn wasn’t crooned for her. The baby? With out moving, she took mental inventory, and yes! She had delivered! Curiosity flashed like lightning, and Mercy peeked through the crack of one barely opened eye.
Asa held a blanketed bundle against his chest, smiling as though he, too, were in Heaven. It occurred to her then that angels came in all colors and sizes and ages, and this one with the wrinkled chocolate skin and springy, white-sprigged hair was so enraptured by the baby in his arms—her baby!—that she could watch him and he would never know.
This is what unconditional love looks like.
Mercy gazed at him, memorizing the sweetness of his old smile as she recognized the words to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” She lay in total contentment, willing this wondrous sensation to linger as long as possible. When she allowed herself to think, she would again realize that Judd would never hold his child, and she would somehow have to raise it in a way that would honor his love for both of them.
“ ‘. . . in His arms he’ll take and shield thee,’ ” the man beside her sang softly. “ ‘Thou wilt find a solace there.’ ”
His final phrase hovered like a benediction above the bed, and then Asa beamed down at her. “We’ve got us a fine little girl here, Miss Mercy. Your first job as a mama will be to name her.”
When he sat on the edge of the bed so he could tilt the bundle toward her, Mercy scooted up against her pillow. Here was the weight that had wiggled on her chest; here was a puckery little pink face framed by downy hair that already promised to become thick and dark and wavy.
“She—she’s her daddy’s daughter,” Mercy rasped, trying to grasp the magnitude of the new life she was finally holding in her arms.
“Spitting image,” concurred a voice from behind the curtain. Michael smiled at her and came to the foot of her bed. “But she’s got her mama’s way of getting men to do her bidding. And she’s informed us that warm cow’s milk sucked through a sugar tit is no substitute for a real meal.”
Mercy chuckled at the pacifier they’d made by wrapping muslin around wet sugar to resemble a little breast. “Thank you for taking care of her. How long did I sleep?”
Asa looked at Michael, wanting to keep that a secret. “You were in and out for the better part of twenty-four hours—”
“So tired and weak, we dribbled broth and laudanum—”
“Mercy! You’re back!” Billy stepped through the curtain, wearing his snowy coat and an apple-cheeked grin. “I thought you was a goner! Got so double-dog upset, I tromped through the snow to give Judd a talkin’-to.”
His words tumbled out in a rush, and when he removed his hat, his eyes shone a bright blue—the color of joy replacing anguish. “After we did our dangedest gettin’ his baby born, it just wasn’t right for him to take you away from us. Guess he musta listened.”
The little room got so quiet, Mercy heard herself swallow. Only thirteen-year-old Billy would have railed at a dead man after delivering his baby—and not appeared one bit embarrassed about it.
“Of course he listened,” she finally whispered. “Judd always respected those who did their dangedest. I—we both—thank you from the bottom of our hearts for all you’ve done.”
Three heads nodded solemnly, but then Mercy looked into her daughter’s face and forgot everything else. A wave of love such as she’d never experienced washed over her, strong as a tidal wave yet gentle as a spring rain. Once again she had the sense that all was well: Her world was already spinning around this new little axis, jus
t as it was supposed to.
“Solace,” she whispered, gazing raptly at those closing eyes, the softly rounded cheeks, the little bow-shaped lips. “That’s exactly why you’ve come to us, little girl. I’ll find my solace in you.”
“Well, I’ll be double-dog danged! It’s about time you showed up!”
Mike shifted the baby into the crook of his elbow, to rub a clear spot in the window glass. Since it wasn’t the day for the stagecoach to come through, Billy’s excited voice suggested an unexpected guest.
Through the fogged window Mike watched a carriage stop beside the corral. When the driver opened the door, a small, white-haired female stepped down, hugging her woolen coat against the March wind. Next came a thinner, taller woman—and when her red hair caught the morning sun, blowing out from her furtrimmed coat, Mike turned to Mercy.
“You might want to get dressed real quick,” he suggested. “Your Aunt Agatha and Christine just pulled in. And from the trunks I can see, they intend to stay awhile.”
Mercy looked torn between excitement and extreme agitation. “But they never sent word about . . . it’s not like my prim and proper aunt to—”
“Scoot!” he said, waving her toward the bedroom. “You know darn well what she’ll think, seeing me with the baby and you in your nightgown.”
Mercy hurried behind the calico curtain, muttering things he was glad he couldn’t understand. But as he looked outside, watching Billy make awkward conversation with his long-absent sister, he heard the curtain swish open again.
“Phooey on what Aunt Agatha thinks! I’m going to sit in the rocking chair with my child,” she announced. “If my nightgown doesn’t suit her sensibilities, well—she can stay somewhere else!”
Chuckling, Mike kissed the baby’s velvet cheek—a habit he’d fallen into without a second thought. “Let’s join your mama, Solace,” he murmured. “Billy’s acting as the official greeting party, so you can be the royalty they’ve come to worship from afar.”
He watched Mercy settle into the chair he’d made her for Christmas. It was a major triumph that she used it, considering how rocky things got that day she threw Joseph across the room, before he could give her the rocking chair. She looked like a Madonna sitting in it, holding Solace, and he could only hope she’d soon be as comfortable with him.
The kitchen door flew open. They held their breath, listening.
“You gotta come see the—oops!” Billy lowered his voice to a loud whisper when he remembered that the baby or Mercy might be asleep. “They’re doin’ pretty good, but we had a hard time of it. It’s only been three days since—”
“And who delivered the baby?”
Aunt Agatha’s voice cut like a knife, so Malloy was glad to see Mercy’s little grin. Billy would set things straight in short order, in a way the headmistress would accept with dignified humor rather than disgust. She and Christine might as well get used to the way things were, now that Judd was gone.
“I delivered her!” came the boy’s proud reply. “But I ain’t gonna do that again soon, I can tell ya! Asa was—”
“You did not deliver—”
“Did, too!” Billy informed his sister. “Me and Mike and Asa—”
“Mike and Asa and I,” came Christine’s correction.
“No, you weren’t here! So don’t come flittin’ back like some social butterfly, tellin’ me how things shoulda been!” he countered hotly. “You’re just like Mama that way, and it’s aggravatin’!”
Solace squirmed, blinking at such a rude awakening. And then the entire house rang with the wails of a baby whose lungs seemed nothing short of amazing. Mike jiggled and rocked and cooed, but he was walking toward Mercy as he did. She was opening her arms just as their guests entered the room.
“Well, now. What a cozy scene.”
Agatha Vanderbilt watched with pinched lips as Mike handed the squirming, squalling bundle to her mother. Just out of orneriness—and because he was feeling protective—Mike slung an arm across the top of the rocker while he stroked the crying baby’s hair.
“Aunt Agatha! What a nice surprise,” Mercy said above the racket. She smiled, but Malloy felt the agitation radiating from her in waves.
“You didn’t get my letter?” the headmistress asked.
“No, ma’am,” Mike replied. “The roads were impassable until yesterday. And with Judd gone, and Mercy in the family way, we thought it best for George Clark—west of here—to handle the mail. They’ll be serving the meals for a while, too.”
The little woman crossed her arms and lifted her nose slightly, never taking her eyes from the three of them. Studying their faces. Assessing. Speculating. Obviously laced up tighter than she should be about something.
“We never got your letter, either, Mercedes,” she remarked stiffly. “If Billy hadn’t written his sister about the Indian attack, and then mentioned how Mr. Malloy had taken such an interest in—”
“Oh, my—oh, my goodness, would you look at this little angel!” Christine cut in. She had shed her coat and come over to see the baby, undaunted by her cries. Without blinking an eye she leaned down, scooped Solace from her mother’s arms and began to pace with a practiced sway.
The room went quiet, except for the whisper of kid slippers crossing the wooden floor. The girl stopped beside Aunt Agatha, delighted in her triumph with the baby. “Anyone can see this is Judd Monroe’s baby,” she announced. “Here comes that same dimple, right below the corner of her mouth.”
Malloy blinked. Did women always notice that sort of thing? He’d figured Judd’s distinctive mark was a small scar.
“And why would anyone think she wasn’t Judd’s?” Mercy sat straighter beside him, her question pointed enough to make her aunt and Christine shift uncomfortably.
Miss Vanderbilt looked Malloy over again. “I didn’t want to believe—but when we came in and saw the two of you—”
“The way Billy’s letter sounded,” Christine cut in, “Judd was killed in that Cheyenne attack before the baby was conceived. And since he wrote so much about Mr. Malloy helping out around here, and just mentioned the baby in passing—we thought maybe—”
“Well, you thought wrong!” Billy blurted, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Can I help it if you two had nothin’ better to do than think things was goin’ on between Mercy and Mike?” he went on, glaring at his sister. “Here we were, fightin’ for our lives—dependin’ on each other to survive—while you were goin’ to charity balls to catch a man with money! Maybe my writin’s not the best, but it got you here, didn’t it?”
Malloy couldn’t recall when he’d felt prouder of anybody. His surge of love for this kid came in second only to his feelings for Solace when he’d washed her just-born body. He stood staunchly beside Mercy, his gaze never wavering as he awaited their guests’ reply. Judd Monroe wouldn’t have stood for such insinuations about Mercy, and neither would he.
Aunt Agatha sagged like an old balloon. “This is a horrible way to begin our visit. I’m sorry we inferred such unseemly details from Billy’s letter, Mercedes. I—I hope you’ll accept our apology, and the gift we made for your baby.”
The room rang with a long silence. “Apology accepted,” Mercy said.
Mike smiled. She wasn’t going to make this easy for them.
“I was still terribly excited to hear your good news—and so very sorry to learn of Judd’s death at the same time,” the little woman went on. “I expected to hear such things from you, though.”
Mercy leveled her gaze at her aunt, breathing deeply to control her emotions.
“I know how . . . unseemly you must find it that I’ve spent the past months with a colored hand, an adolescent boy, and a man I’m not married to. And you’re aghast that no women were here to assist with Solace’s birth,” she said quietly. “But if it weren’t for these three men, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now, Aunt Agatha. I almost lost my mind mourning my Judd, and then I nearly lost my life giving birth to his daughter. It’s been a
difficult winter.”
“But you should see the big ole quilt she made!” Billy piped up. Then he grinned sheepishly at Mercy. “We snuck a peek while you was sleepin’. And it’s the purtiest piece of work I’ve ever seen, Mercy. You poured your whole self into that, all those weeks you was workin’ on it. I reckon that’s what saved you, before any of us did.”
“Thank you, Billy,” Mercy murmured.
“You’re a wise young man to see it for what it is,” Mike remarked. He smiled proudly at the boy. “Shall we let these ladies decide for themselves?”
He brushed Mercy’s forehead with a kiss, flaunting his affection for her. As he and Billy unrolled the bulky bundle, he sincerely hoped Miss Vanderbilt and Christine would get the message—see the real picture—when they witnessed the love Mercy had lavished upon this work of her heart. It was all Billy could do to keep the quilt from dragging on the floor as its bottom edge unfurled from the center.
Agatha and Christine gasped together. Then the older woman stepped closer, to view the patchwork through eyeglasses on a chain around her neck.
“Look at the ruts from the stagecoaches in this corduroy road,” she murmured, “and the corn and wheat fields! Why, every stalk and ear is embroidered with such detail, they look alive! And that sunrise parting those black brocaded storm clouds. And here’s your house, Mercedes!”
Mike grinned. High time Mercy received the praise she deserved from her aunt—not to mention vindication for holing up all winter to heal herself with her sewing.
“And look, Christine—it’s you and Billy, with your red hair shining in the sun!”
“And that’s my colt, Mr. Lincoln,” Billy chimed in. “And that’s Snowy and Spot herdin’ the chickens by the corral. And you, of course.”
Miss Vanderbilt’s smile creased the corners of her eyes. “Yes, I suppose that white, upswept hair has to be mine. And here’s Mercy, holding the new baby—”
“And Asa, holdin’ one of his pies!”
Mercy chuckled until the chair rocked with her mirth. But she was waiting for the final truth to dawn on her aunt.
A Patchwork Family Page 26