Julia kneeled in the dirt. The sprouts in the back rows had gotten big enough to distinguish the weeds from the plants. Gaps in her lines indicated she hadn’t differentiated so well earlier in the month. She scraped the tines of her garden fork around the leaves that weren’t green beans or potatoes. She picked her way through the plants, wincing a couple of times, unsure if she’d pulled the right thing. If she knew more about gardening, digging in the dirt might have been enjoyable. But she didn’t want Everett to have to tell her what she should already know.
Did she need to do something special with the plants before they got ripe? How would she know if they were ripe?
Her stomach twisted at her ineptitude and lack of knowledge. Why had Father decided to marry her off instead of allowing her to help in the store? If he hadn’t set her up with Theodore, she’d not be here meddling with the mysteries of vegetation. And this was scarier. If she ordered the wrong fabric, no one died. If the garden survived her clumsy hands, would it produce enough food to get them through the winter? She laid down her implement and stared at the shack. The months she’d be cooped up inside with Everett hit her like the ceaseless whack of his maul. Could he keep his distance when the snow and the winds trapped them indoors, when evenings descended before sleep beckoned? She’d seen the look in his eye. He found her attractive. But he hadn’t pushed. In fact, those looks were fleeting, only lasting a second before he turned away and busied himself.
But when might he cease busying himself with something else?
She threw her handful of weeds over the fence and sat back, hands firmly planted on her dirty knees. She didn’t want to do this any longer.
But she must. She’d made the choice to make this her home.
She ripped out a dandelion. She’d never understood how much work it took to cook and keep house. She’d been spoiled by Father’s shop and the restaurant down the street. Everett must have realized how ignorant and lost she was this morning—not even knowing eggs should be preserved for winter. What a failure his choice of a wife turned out to be.
She wiped the tear tickling her nose. Hopefully he wouldn’t ask her to leave. She only had her looks, a tiny bit of farm experience, and Rachel’s instructions to lean upon. That wasn’t enough to live on her own out west, or even choose a good situation for herself.
She sat back and glanced through the wooden railings of the fence sloped around the tiny garden plot. In the field, Everett wriggled out of his shirt and wiped his face. He flipped his suspenders back over his shoulders and picked up his hoe. The sight of his bare chest caused flutterings in her that she pushed away. She wiped at the perspiration along her brow. She was dirty and sweaty and smelly and sore. And it was unseemly to sit there gawking at Everett shirtless. It was time for a bath—in a tub.
Julia went inside to splash water on her face, retied her bonnet, and packed a small bag before heading to the barn. After hooking up Dimple and Curly, she drove the team over to Everett, the sculpted muscles in his upper back constricted under a sheen of moisture as he pulled off his hat and swiped the streams of sweat off his temples. She didn’t feel like talking to him in his state of undress, but she’d promised not to go anywhere without letting him know. Was he wrong to think she’d run away one day soon? She’d do almost anything to avoid talking to him now, even though it was not inappropriate for a wife to talk to a shirtless husband. Would he be relieved if she left?
He turned around in a circle, agitatedly searching for something.
“If you’re looking for your shirt, don’t bother, I’m about to leave. Just wanted to let you know I was going into town.”
He swallowed hard, but he didn’t ask the question written on his face.
She couldn’t leave him thinking the worst. “I’ll be back.”
He nodded, but the fear and panic still expressed themselves in his widened eyes and his tense muscles. As if he let himself relax, he’d somehow release whatever it was that held her to him.
“I know you thought I’d leave that first day without a good-bye, but I won’t. Even if I decided it would be best to leave, I wouldn’t just disappear—I wouldn’t leave you wondering.”
“I’m sorry for thinking you might, but it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened around here.” He swiped his sweaty forehead and glanced off at the horizon to the north. “Silas Jonesey’s bride left without leaving a note.”
“Well, that was Mrs. Jonesey, and I’m Mrs. Cline.”
A bit of his rigidness disappeared, but she could tell he wasn’t quite certain. But then, if a woman really had done that to a friend of his, she could see his worry. He’d just have to find out in time that she was better at keeping her word than his friend’s wife was.
“I’m going to check on the tub that the Hampdens ordered.” A drive into town to check something. She gripped the reins. A foolish amount of time on an insignificant errand, but she was already geared up to go, and more important, she had to get away from her failing garden and tauntingly sparse root cellar, even if it was only for a day.
“Carl said it wouldn’t be in until next month.”
She took out a lace handkerchief and wiped at her neck, more because she needed something to do instead of look at him. “A girl can hope.” She licked her dry lips. “I do believe I’ll stop at the boardinghouse and bathe before returning.” Would he balk at the time and cost of this trip when they had a creek to bathe in, even though it was almost dry and had foamy film gathering in its stagnant crooks?
“If that would make you happy.”
If only a bath were all she needed to be content. But it would help. Maybe. “I’ll be back before nightfall.” She crammed her handkerchief back up her sleeve and gathered the reins.
“Julia?”
She stopped, but didn’t look at him.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
She swallowed and nodded, but shouted giddyap without answering. She was pretty certain he had that look in his eye again, and she didn’t want to see it.
The breeze in her hair as she drove to town blew a tiny bit of relief upon her clammy skin, but not enough to turn her around from this pointless trip. It was impractical to spend all day traveling to take a bath, only to get dusty and sweaty on the way home. Though she hadn’t made a list, she could at least attempt to purchase the things they were low on. Maybe she could delay their monthly trip into town by buying enough. But if she could bring home a tub, she wouldn’t feel silly at all. Should she bathe or shop first? Maybe if the tub was in, she’d just take it home and bathe there.
She stopped the team in front of the mercantile in time to hear the door’s bell tinkle and see Mrs. Hampden shut the door and turn over the open sign.
She scrambled down the wagon wheel and rushed to the door. She couldn’t have driven all the way into town on a day they closed early. She couldn’t return without even inquiring about the bathtub.
She knocked several times. Mrs. Hampden couldn’t have waddled far enough from the door not to hear.
The closed sign moved a bit, but she couldn’t see in because of the sun. A key jiggled in the lock, and Mrs. Hampden opened the door. Her face appeared peaked and sweaty.
Julia frowned. She’d thought she’d been miserable with this heat, but she couldn’t imagine being pregnant and swollen during summer. “I know you’re closed, but I won’t take up much time. All I wanted to do was inquire about our tub.”
Mrs. Hampden nodded, but her eyes turned glassy as she stared out into the street.
“Are you all right?” She almost reached out to touch her brow to check for a fever.
Mrs. Hampden shook her head.
Julia slipped her arm under the lady’s shoulder and walked her back into the stuffy interior and stopped. Maybe it would be better if she sat outside. At least there was a breeze. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”
“No. Lock the door if you would. Help me get up—” Mrs. Hampden squeezed her arm hard, the muscles in her face bunching int
o tight bundles.
Julia’s heart tripped. “Oh no, you’re in labor.”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“I need to get Rachel.” She took a step back, but Mrs. Hampden squeezed even harder, her nails gouging into her flesh.
She let out a steady stream of air, followed by a calmer breath, and straightened. “These pains are coming so fast. I don’t want to be alone through another one.”
“Where’s Mr. Hampden?”
“I don’t know. He should have been back hours ago.”
“I’ll go find him.”
“Did you come in with Everett?”
“No.”
“In his wagon then?”
“Yes.”
“Parked in front of the mercantile?”
What did that have to do with anything? But she wasn’t going to argue with a laboring woman. “Nearby.”
“Then as soon as Carl sees Everett’s team, he’ll rush over.” She gave a faint smile that turned into a twist as she tensed again. She clamped down hard, almost collapsing them both to the floor.
Julia bore the woman’s weight until Mrs. Hampden could speak again.
“Please get me upstairs before I have this baby in the middle of the store.”
Anchoring the slightly taller woman’s arm around her shoulder, she half shuffled, half walked Mrs. Hampden to the back of the store and up the stairs, pausing twice as Mrs. Hampden stopped breathing while her whole body tensed.
“You ought to try to breathe, Mrs. Hampden.” The silence grew longer, and Mrs. Hampden grew paler. Julia jiggled her. “You’ll turn blue. Breathe in.”
Mrs. Hampden sucked in a breath and blinked. “Call me Kathleen.”
“Well, Kathleen, you need to breathe—otherwise you’re going to faint, and I don’t think I can carry you up the rest of these stairs.”
“That would be a funny picture.” Kathleen giggled, and thankfully her flesh regained the pink color it had lost so quickly.
Now was the time to move, not laugh. “Let’s go.” She rushed her as quickly as the woman could waddle, stopping only once at the top of the stairs to shout at her to breathe and to keep her on her feet. Kathleen seemed intent on doubling over and falling to the floor.
“The bedroom is to the right.”
Julia helped her onto the lovely thick mattress, envy stealing in for a second before Kathleen’s snarl of pain and contorted face chased away every ounce of jealousy.
She could not stay here. “I have to get Rachel.”
Kathleen snagged her by the arm. “Rachel told me you’d help.”
“I can’t help, not all by myself.”
“Carl will be here any minute now. He can go for Rach—” Her breath stuck and her eyes turned flat.
Her mother hadn’t had this many pains this close together until the end. But she had vocalized much more than this. “How long have these pains been coming?”
Kathleen hissed, then relaxed. “Three hours, but Rachel said this would take all day.”
“I don’t think you have all day.” She stood, but Kathleen wrenched her closer.
“You will stay with me.” She narrowed her eyes and growled when another contraction hit.
Julia placed her trembling hand on her shoulder until the woman’s rumblings died away. She wadded up the quilts behind Kathleen and ran to look out the window. Not a single person walked down the sunbaked street.
A mewling moan escaped Kathleen’s chapped lips.
“Kathleen?” A male’s voice boomed down below. “Everett?”
Kathleen sat up in bed and scrunched her face. “Everett wouldn’t be up here helping me birth your baby, you ninny!”
Clomping footsteps hit the stairs at a run.
“When are you going to get over worrying about him? What I need is a man who’ll—” A screech like that of a mountain lion staunched her words as she drew up in a ball.
Julia bit her lip. She had no idea what Everett had to do with anything, but after seeing the look on Kathleen’s face as she dressed down Carl, she wasn’t about to ask.
The door crashed open against the wall. Carl looked at Kathleen and then toward her. “Why aren’t you helping my wife?”
She let go of the curtain. “I was looking for someone to yell at to get Rachel. But now that you’re here, I can go.”
“No!” Kathleen strangled the quilt beside her, her voice ascending. “He’ll be no use to me, look at him.”
Carl’s face had turned white and glassy like his wife’s, his eyes so wide they looked ready to pop.
“Go get Rachel,” Kathleen spit before hunching over and moaning in escalating tones.
He turned and sped down the stairs faster than he’d come up.
Julia swallowed. She wanted to run after him. She couldn’t be here. Not alone. Kathleen didn’t know what she was asking—she wouldn’t want her here if she did. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”
All Kathleen did was grit her teeth and stare, but the promise of wrath blazed from her intense expression. She hollered and sunk lower into the quilts. “It’s coming.”
Not already! She ran to the end of the bed and tried to remove Kathleen’s clothing to accommodate the birthing, but she had no hot water, towels, nothing. Kathleen writhed in tempo with her staccato howl.
Legs devoid of strength, Julia lowered herself onto the foot of the bed and stared at Kathleen and the blood. Blood everywhere, just like when she was nine.
Blood and screams. Endless screams.
Time ceased, replaced by writhing and moaning and shrieking. The baby should have come already. She was a curse. She should get up and prepare some swaddling clothes, but then she could miss it. Surely it would be there any moment, but it wasn’t, and Kathleen’s cries grew strangled. She gripped Kathleen’s knees to steady them both, waiting in agony. What should she do? Surely anything she did would be wrong, just like her choices at the last birthing she’d attended. But what if doing nothing was the wrong choice? She had no idea what to do with a baby still tucked away inside the mother.
She swiped the tears from her eyes and whispered against Kathleen’s raging, “Come on, baby. What’s wrong?”
Kathleen cried all the more and nothing happened, nothing happened, nothing happened.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel’s firm hand crushed her shoulder, and Julia almost fainted with relief.
“My mother, my . . . my . . . Kathleen. The baby. It’s right there, but it won’t come.” She glanced up at Kathleen, white and pale and listless. “I think Kathleen is dying.”
Rachel shoved her aside and examined Kathleen. “Take some deep breaths, girl.”
She didn’t know whether Rachel was talking to her or Kathleen, but she worked at breathing and reached over for Kathleen’s hand. The weary woman held on, but without the fervor or a tenth of the strength she’d had an hour ago.
“The baby is turned funny.” Rachel nodded toward the head of the bed. “Hold her down, this is going to hurt.”
While Rachel grunted, Kathleen screamed anew and sank her fingernails into her arm.
Blood seeped from the punctures in her white skin on her wrist. Blood trickled down her arm. Blood stained the blankets. Blood marred the midwife’s dress. Blood spilled out of her mother and onto the floor.
And then, once again, a blue baby boy was handed to her.
“Slap it! Get it to breathe. I gotta stop this.” Rachel turned back to the bed.
Julia held out the boy. Another dead one. Her curse. The sound of her mother’s voice declaring that this newborn son would regain her husband’s love echoed in her skull. The feel of her cold, shivering brother, whom she’d forgotten to swaddle against the winter drafts as she watched her mother die, was as light and cool as Kathleen’s baby.
She’d lost her chance to be loved when her mother passed into eternity and her father blamed her for his only son’s death.
Rachel swiped the child from her arms some moments later. “What are you thinking?” S
he whacked the child upside down and when he gurgled slightly, she handed him back. “Get a hold of yourself. I need you to help the baby.”
Julia swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the here and now. She picked up a discarded shirt and wrapped the limp infant, though it was hotter than an oven in the bedroom. Holding him close, she rubbed and jiggled him. “Come on, cry.” But there was no hope, he was too blue. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and she let him slip onto her lap lest she drop him. If Kathleen lived, how could she face the woman again when it had been her fault, her incapability, her fear that had kept her from doing something, anything? She thumped the boy’s back harder, thinking she could see him coughing up something.
“Please.” Kathleen’s voice was a weak, low hum.
Afraid to look, Julia glanced over, but instead of a dying woman in a pool of blood, Kathleen smiled wanly at the bundle and reached out her hands.
The baby wriggled and murmured. She couldn’t pick him up; her fingers wouldn’t work.
Rachel swooped him off her lap and swiped her finger inside his mouth. “He’s not breathed well for quite a while. Only time will tell if he’ll suffer from it.” She blew in his face and he mewled, quiet and pitiful.
“I . . . I didn’t kill the baby?” Her voice squeaked.
Rachel placed the whimpering baby in Kathleen’s ready arms. “Of course not.” She gathered up the dirty sheets. “You look as if you’ve seen a haunt. Don’t do well at the sight of blood, eh? Perhaps you should go outside and get some air.”
If Rachel hadn’t been there, she’d have killed the baby and Kathleen. She was worthless, just like father and Theodore said. Nothing more than a pretty face, and that wasn’t worth much and would be gone in years.
She staggered out of the room and nodded at Carl, who rushed past her. She only had one place left to prove she was worth anything. She clambered up into the wagon and drove home.
Chapter 14
“Looking good, my friend.” Dex entered the new cabin’s main bedroom, surveying it with his hands on his hips.
Everett pounded the last nail into the bed frame. “Thanks. I couldn’t have gotten to this point without you.” The smell of new wood and the fact that the wind rushed in only when Dex opened the door did his heart good. “Are you here to help?”
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