by Vivi Holt
“Deep breaths, my dear,” said Camilla evenly.
Charlotte slowed her breathing, her eyes never leaving Camilla’s face. “Phew. That was much better, actually. I think I’ll keep walking.” She stood straight again and shuffled forward.
They continued that way for hours, until Charlotte couldn’t stand any longer. She made her way to the bed and laid back on it with a cry. Mary helped her to get comfortable, her lips pulled tight. The contractions were so close together now, Camilla knew it wouldn’t be long before the baby arrived.
But an hour later, she still couldn’t see the baby’s head, and she began to wonder if perhaps something had gone wrong. She hurried from the room, and found Harry seated in an armchair in the rapidly darkening living room, his head in his hands. He looked up as she ran toward him, his dark hair standing on end where his fingers had run through it. He jumped to his feet, his face clothed in panic. “What is it, Cammie? Is Charlotte okay?”
“I’m not sure, Harry. I think you should try to find the doctor again – I wonder why he hasn’t gotten here yet. She’s not progressin’ and I don’t know what to do about it.”
Harry was already headed for the front door. He put his hat on, grabbed his coat, and was outside as soon as she’d finished speaking.
“Hurry!” she called after his departing figure, then rubbed her hand across her furrowed brow, took a deep breath, and scurried back to the bedroom. She found Charlotte much as she’d left her – prone on the bed, moaning, her knees bent and her face contorted with pain. “There there. I’m here, my dear. You’re doing so well – just keep going. I know you’re tired, but not long now.”
She exchanged a worried glance with Charlotte’s mother, who was pacing back and forth beside the bed, wringing her hands in front of her skirts. She had to get Lady Cheryl out of the room – her anxiety was affecting Charlotte, who needed to stay focused. “Lady Cheryl, do you think perhaps you could boil the kettle? We may need some hot water soon. And it would help to have some extra towels – these are soaked. I think there are clean ones on the line in the backyard.”
Lady Cheryl left with a quick nod of her head.
What now? Mam had always popped her babies out with no trouble at all. She didn’t know how to deal with one who refused to budge. She pressed her fingertips gently on Charlotte’s abdomen, feeling for any movement or change. It seemed as though the baby was quite low, lower than it had been. Why wasn’t she able to push it out?
Another contraction , and Charlotte pushed hard, finishing with a loud sob. Camilla looked for the baby’s head again, and finally saw it – a patch of dark hair was showing through. She sighed with relief. “Charlotte my dear, I can see the baby’s head. We’re almost there. You can do this.”
“No, I can’t,” puffed Charlotte, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Something’s wrong. Why is it taking so long? I can’t keep going, I just can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You‘re an amazin’, strong, determined woman. You can do this. Now focus, and next time you feel a contraction, push as hard as you can.” Camilla’s heart raced and her head buzzed with adrenalin. What if it all went wrong? She was responsible for Charlotte and her baby. Where was that doctor? She glanced at the door, hoping to see him come walking in with his black bag beneath his arm, but there was no one there. If Charlotte died, she doubted Harry would ever forgive her. She knew she’d never forgive herself.
She drew a deep breath just as Charlotte started to push again. This time, the baby barely moved, and Camilla was sure Charlotte was quickly running out of energy. Her face was a dull gray, her eyes looked lifeless, and she panted heavily between contractions. “Almost there, dear. One more big push.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and pushed again. This time, enough of the head and shoulders emerged that Camilla was able to reach beneath the baby’s arms and pull it out in one swift movement. The baby lay limp in her hands, its face and lips blue and its eyes closed.
“Cammie, how’s the baby? Where’s my baby?” whispered Charlotte in exhaustion.
“She’s fine, darlin’. A little girl, right here in my arms. I’m just goin’ to clean her up a bit. You rest and I’ll bring her to you shortly.” She tied off the cord and clipped it, wrapped the baby in a towel and hurried to lay her on top of the dresser, out of Charlotte’s line of sight. Come on, little girl. Come on, my darlin’ …
But the baby lay still before her. Camilla’s eyes filled with tears. Oh God, please don’t let her die. She’s so perfect, so beautiful. It would destroy Charlotte and Harry. Please, help me God. She lifted the towel away from the baby’s chest, and listened to her heartbeat. It was there, she could hear it, but only just.
She opened the baby’s mouth and saw it was full of mucus. Aha! With her fingers, she wiped it clear, then covered the baby’s mouth with her own to push a deep breath into the baby’s lungs, a technique she’d learned from the doctor in Greyburn when one of the children at school had been stung by a bee and swelled up until he stopped breathing.
There was a movement. Then the baby gasped, coughed, and finally let out a small cry. Camilla scooped her up to hold against her chest. “Good girl! What a good darlin’ little girl you are!” The baby continued to squall and mewl into her bodice as she carried her carefully to Charlotte, placing her in her mother’s raised arms.
Just then, Lady Cheryl ran into the room, her arms full of towels, a jug of water in one hand. “Charlotte! Oh my, let me see.” She placed the jug on the dresser, dropped the towels beside the bed and hurried with hands extended to see her granddaughter for the first time.
“It’s a girl, Mother. A beautiful little girl.”
Lady Cheryl knelt beside the bed, and stroked the back of the baby’s head as she ceased crying and began to nurse vigorously. “A girl. Oh my dear, you did so well. Look at her – she’s divine.”
“I’m going to call her Anna Cheryl Beaufort Brown,” said Charlotte, tenderly watching the baby feed.
Lady Cheryl clapped her hands to her mouth with a cry. “It’s perfect,” she said with tears in her eyes. Camilla felt her own eyes moisten at the sight of three generations of Beaufort women, all embracing in this special shared moment.
Harry rushed in with Dr. Potter close behind. The doctor pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and swung his black bag onto the foot of the bed. “What do we have here?” he asked jovially. “A little girl, by the looks of it. Well done, Charlotte – she looks healthy and strong. Feeding already, eh? She’ll do just fine. I’ll have a look at her when she’s done.”
Harry hurried to Charlotte’s side to meet his daughter, and Lady Cheryl stepped away to give the couple some space. “Edward is watching Johnny and is probably at his wit’s end by now. I’d better go help him and tell him the good news.” She smiled and marched from the room.
Camilla followed her with a sigh. She wandered outside to wash her hands and face at the water pump. A crescent moon glowed above the junipers, and banks of stars twinkled between voluminous clouds. She tipped her head to one side, then the other, stretching the tension from her sore neck muscles. Thank you, God, she prayed. Things didn’t look very good in there, and I had no idea what to do, but You helped me and now everything is simply wonderful. Thank You.
She felt warm all over, tingling with joy and excitement. The stress of the labor peeled away as she gazed at the serene landscape. She heard the call of an owl flying by in search of prey, the soft nicker of a horse in the yard, the sudden clucking from hens Harry had bought and settled in a coop in the barn a few weeks earlier. All of it brought peace to her soul, and she smiled into the darkness, relishing the feeling that all was well in her world.
Chapter Sixteen
Clifford pulled his Stetson down to shade his eyes as he rode into Cheyenne. The fledgling town had grown quickly due to the arrival of the railroad four years earlier, and he eyed the busy street warily. Drunken cowboys burst out the door of a nearby saloon, followed by several railroad wor
kers. A fistfight broke out, making Clifford’s mare skitter sideways. “Whoa,” he said, steering her away from the fracas.
Several saloon girls hung from the windows above the saloons to watch the fight, jeering and calling to the men below, their bosoms spilling over the top of their tightly-laced bodices. One with brightly-colored hair piled in messy curls on top of her head whistled at him and shook her chest provocatively with a laugh.
He lowered his eyebrows and looked away. This town was certainly nothing like Cutter’s Creek – and not for the better.
It didn’t take long to locate the sheriff’s office, only a few doors down from the string of saloons and disorderly houses on the main street. He tied Tilly to the rail outside and sauntered in, removing his hat as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
“Can I help you?” asked a man behind a simple desk, his feet propped on top of it. He watched Clifford beneath drooping eyelids, chewing a piece of straw.
“Howdy. I’m Sheriff Clifford Brentwood of Cutter’s Creek, Montana Territory. Just stopping in to pick up an outlaw wanted in Bozeman – Pee-wee Hungerford. You got him?” Clifford flashed his sheriff’s badge at the man.
He jumped to his feet and shot out a hand to shake Clifford’s. “Yes, sir. Welcome, Sheriff – I’m Deputy Jim Miles. Good to see ya. We got ‘im alright, just back here.” He turned to pull a ring of keys from a nail in the wall behind the desk and beckoned Clifford to follow him to the jail in the rear of the building.
“Thank you kindly,” said Clifford.
“Don’t mention it. We’re just glad ya offered to do it, since otherwise it’d be one of us goin’ north. My missus is real close to poppin’ out our first babe, so I didn’t wanna leave her. I’m sure ya understand.” He grinned and pointed to one of two cells. Both were occupied, but the one he indicated held a bull of a man, his neck almost nonexistent between muscular shoulders. His clothing was soiled with blood and his nose looked broken. His vacant eyes stared at them both with disdain. “There he is. Though I dare say ya’ll wanna get some rest ’fore ya set out again. Ya got somewhere to stay?”
“I was going to stay in a hotel, but …”
“Nah, ya don’t wanna do that. Why don’t ya come home with me tonight? The missus won’t mind, and she makes a mean stew.”
“Thank you, I will. I wanted to talk to you and your boss about something as well, if you’ve got a few minutes to spare.”
Jim wandered back to his desk, pulled a chair over for Clifford, sat down in his own and crossed his legs. “Well, the sheriff’s out with most of the deputies, dealin’ with some bounty hunters west of town. It’s just me and two other deputies in town right now – one’s sleepin’ and the other’s breakin’ up a fight over at the Horse Shoe Saloon. So ya’ll have to make do with me, I’m ’fraid.”
Clifford sat and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. “No problem, I’m sure you’ll be able to help me as well as anyone.”
“Shoot,” said Jim.
“I’ve been tracking an outlaw, Wild Clay Craddock, for nigh on a decade now. I’ve never come close to finding him. But I heard some weeks back that there was a sighting near here of some of his gang, including a man named Hairy. Craddock’s supposed to be in New Mexico, but his gang could be anywhere. I’m just wondering if you’ve heard anything.”
Jim frowned and rubbed his hand across his bearded chin. “Hmmm … can’t say as I have. There were a few no-good thieves lurkin’ ’round town – that’s who them bounty hunters are after. But I ain’t heard nothin’ ’bout ’em being part of Craddock’s gang. Think they was from Nebraska, actually, out here rustlin’ cattle and such.”
Clifford sighed. “That’s disappointing. But, I’m not giving up. Let me know if you find out anything, won’t you?”
“Sure will,” said Jim.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Clifford leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips against his tired eyes. He’d been so anxious to get here and find out what they knew about the gang, he hadn’t stopped to think that perhaps the rumor was wrong and it wasn’t even Craddock’s men robbing the local ranchers. He groaned inwardly over the disappointment. It seemed every time he thought he was inching closer to Craddock, the man disappeared into the ether like a ghost. Could it be that he’d never receive justice in this lifetime for what he did?
For the first time, he began to believe it was likely. He’d always been so sure in the past that one day he’d catch Craddock, but now doubt was seeping into his spirit. He might never find the brute, might never be able to give Marlene’s family the peace and resolution they no doubt longed for. The thought made his stomach churn, and he forced down the bile that rose in his throat.
***
Clifford left Cheyenne the next day, anxious to discharge his duty in Bozeman and get back to Cutter’s Creek. Pee-wee Hungerford rode ahead of him on a bay nag of a gelding whose head was already drooping low, even though they’d only been on the road a few hours. He hoped the animal would make it all the way to Bozeman. Pee-wee’s wide shoulders sagged too, and he rocked from side to side with each step the horse took.
Tilly pranced and jogged, eager to stretch her legs, and he patted her neck. Sorry, not today, girl. Today we have to plod, since I doubt this bay could gallop if he tried.
He’d tried not to think about Camilla on the ride south and east, but now that he’d lost his lead on Craddock’s fellow outlaws, he could think of nothing else. Why hadn’t he said something to her when he’d had the chance? Now it was too late. She might well be engaged before he got home, and then he’d have to live with the outcome of his silence the rest of his life.
That is, if he stayed in town – he still wasn’t resolved on it yet. If he did, he’d have to see her and her family at church, Bible studies, dances, picnics … every community event for the foreseeable future. If he moved on, though, he’d be leaving behind his entire life – not that it amounted to much when he thought about it, but it was all he had.
He sighed and tipped his hat back on his head with one finger. He’d been thinking a lot lately about his life, and what he was doing with it.
What was he doing with it? He had friends – everyone in town, really – but none of them were close. He’d never allowed himself to get too close to anyone. He spent so much of his time working, which in Cutter’s Creek was a solitary affair – there wasn’t enough crime to rate a deputy. Almost every other man in town his age was married; most had brought their wives west with them. They were busy with their families, and most of the unmarried females were still young girls attending school.
Clifford’s thoughts returned to Camilla Brown, wondering what she was doing, what she thought of him – if she thought of him at all. Was she engaged yet? Was she happy? Of course she was happy. He remembered her laugh in the still night when he’d caught sight of them from his porch, returning from their Bible study group to the Todds’. She had the look of a woman in love, not that he knew much about that.
Every fiber of his being tensed at the thought of never kissing her lips again, never holding her in his arms. Their kiss had taken his breath away. Her scent, the soft feel of her lips beneath his, the heaving of her chest as she gasped for breath once they parted … he couldn’t wipe the memories from his thoughts. They lingered there, torturing him.
He stood in his stirrups to stretch his legs, and pushed thoughts of Camilla Brown aside. What he really needed was a break – the slow pace was getting to him. Pee-wee hadn’t uttered a word to him since they left, and had only grunted in response to his questions before that. He was no conversationalist, that was for certain.
He frowned and pulled Tilly to a halt. “Pull up, Pee-wee. Time for a rest. Let’s dismount here and have a bite to eat.”
Pee-wee wordlessly halted his mount and slipped gracefully to the ground. Clifford was impressed – he moved well for such a large man. The outlaw sauntered to where Clifford stood, flopped down on the ground with a huff and crossed his lon
g legs in front of him, not making eye contact.
Clifford raised an eyebrow – he was surprisingly flexible as well, it seemed. He stepped away, watching Pee-wee closely, and turned quickly to relieve himself in the undergrowth beside the trail. He watched a meadowlark scamper from the brush to disappear, its feathered head bobbing, behind a bunch of sapling fir trees farther away from him. Its fluting call trailed behind it. He smiled, and his stomach growled. He was famished, but there wasn’t much for lunch today – just some salt pork and hard biscuits he’d shoved into his saddle bags before they left Cheyenne.
He heard the snap of a twig behind him, and turned – too late. The thump of a heavy stick against his temple was the last thing he was aware of before darkness overtook him.
Chapter Seventeen
Camilla slapped Johnny and Anna’s soiled diapers against a large rock in the creek bed, then lathered them with more soap before dipping them in the water to rinse. She lifted her head to gaze up the hill to where the split-log house sat, smoke curling from the chimney. The sun had almost dipped beyond the Bighorn Range behind her, causing long, dark shadows to creep up the valley, bringing the chill wind with them.
She shivered. Fall was almost over – soon it would be Thanksgiving, her third in Cutter’s Creek. She thought back to their arrival, and as always her mind drifted to her friend Maria Holloway. A heaviness settled over her heart. She wondered where Maria was at that moment, if she was even still alive.
She’d spent most of the past week at Charlotte and Harry’s, helping take care of Johnny and Anna, and she was exhausted. At least they had Mary’s help. That woman was a godsend – she cooked, tidied, and made Camilla wish she’d had someone like her back home all those years. But Mary had gone to town for supplies, which left Camilla to take care of everyone this evening. She straightened her tired back, stretched out the kinks, and pressed her fists into it, then lifted her hands above her head and yawned.