He gave her an exaggerated look of offense. “You had to tell me yours was a bear. I thought it was a monkey!”
“It didn’t have a long tail,” Emily retorted. She turned to Anna. “Tell him I drew a grand bear.”
Anna’s eyes grew wide with poorly feigned innocence. “Oh, that was a bear? I thought ‘twas a snowman with earmuffs.”
“Fat lot you know,” Emily teased back. “Your snake looked more like a worm than anything else.”
The merriment continued. John deeply regretted having to leave for a meeting. He’d seen the O’Briens somber far too much. This slice of time came as a complete surprise—and a delightful one at that.
Adding to his relief, Duncan, Anna, and Emily had observed his one stricture: They didn’t mention Edward’s name in their discussions when others were present. Now that he thought of it, they didn’t even mention his brother in his presence either. Whether ‘twas out of embarrassment or obedience, he didn’t know. The simple fact that Edward’s name remained unspoken and his honor and reputation were spared satisfied John.
When the situation warranted some form of reference, Anna simply said, “My husband.” From that, everyone held the impression that she must be the wife of one of the shipping company’s new captains—a false deduction John neither denied nor confirmed. As far as things went, the situation continued to unfold far more amiably than he’d expected.
“I’ll have to look around the house,” he said as he left. “I recall a cribbage board.”
“Oh, that would be fine,” Anna smiled.
“And Duncan could speed up on doing his sums by counting the hands,” Emily chimed in.
“Do you play chess?”
Emily’s brows knit. John had a wild urge to reach over and smooth the furrows with a gentle stroke of his finger. Instead he clasped his hands behind his back and listened as she said, “That’s far too fancy a game for us simple folk, Mr. Newcomb.”
He winked, then gave her a look of mock severity. “Miss O’Brien, no one can be terrible at everything in life. I’ve seen how you can draw. Surely your ability to play chess would have to be an improvement. Anything would be an improvement!”
“I think I’ve been insulted,” Emily groused.
“Oh no. Not in the least,” Anna twittered. “Mr. Newcomb was trying to express his faith in your ability to learn the game of kings.”
“Kings are boys,” Duncan said. “If it’s a boys’ game, maybe Mr. Newcomb had better teach it to me instead.”
“We’ll make a date of it. I’ll bring cookies and milk tonight after supper. I’ll teach you all how to play chess,” John promised.
Duncan started to chortle. “Oh, now you know what our Em will say about that!”
“No, I don’t. What will Em say?” John’s brows hiked as he looked to Emily.
Emily shrugged.
“Remember what I told you once before? Em used to tell me that God brings meat; the devil brings cookies!”
“Duncan!” Emily gasped. Her cheeks went bright red—as red as the peppermint sticks John decided to bring that night.
A few days later, Dr. Quisinby dropped in. After he examined Anna, he sat down to have some coffee with Emily. “Between that tonic and eating well, you and Duncan are looking far better.”
Something in his tone made Emily stop cold. She set down her cup and stared at him in dread. “Anna—?”
“She’s not recovering, Emily.”
“What shall I do? Does she need other medicine? Should I—”
“Emily,” he broke in. He shook his head sadly. “I had my suspicions when I saw her the first time. This visit merely confirmed them.”
“You have to be wrong. She has a babe. A son needs his ma. Surely there’s something—” When he shook his head again, Emily propped her elbows on the tabletop and buried her face in her hands. “I should have—”
“No,” he interrupted. “She told me she was sick the last three months of carrying the baby.”
“If she’d eaten more, stayed warm—”
He rose and came around the table and pulled her to face him. “Emily, none of that would have made the difference. I have rich, fat women who suffer this same malady. My medical text discusses it, but there is no cure. There is no blame to assume, no situation to second-guess.”
“I don’t want Anna to know. I don’t want her to worry about her little one.”
Dr. Quisinby nodded. “I concur. Let her last days be happy ones.”
“Duncan—I don’t want him told either.”
“As you wish. Perhaps ‘twould be wise to let Mr. Newcomb know. Would you like me to inform him?”
Emily nodded. The doctor and room blurred as the reality sank in and tears started to flow.
“Of all of the idiotic things in the world!” John roared. He lengthened his stride and hastened toward the small cottage as he served Emily his hottest glower. She stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped about her sister. The two of them looked ready to topple over any second.
John wedged himself between Anna and the doorframe, then swept her into his arms. Weak as she was, she melted against him like a candle accidentally left out in the sun. Appalled at the thought that they’d have both tumbled down the steps if he’d not happened along, he locked eyes with Emily. “Just what do you think you’re doing, letting her get out of bed?”
“Anna was wanting some sunshine,” Emily explained as she allowed him to hold the load she’d been struggling with. She tugged the hem of Anna’s nightgown down to cover her limbs. “You cannot blame her—she’s been inside for nigh onto three months.”
“If she falls, she’ll spend centuries in a pine box until the eternal trump sounds!” John was horrified by this whole turn of events. Emily’s stricken look let him know he’d almost spilled the truth. Regret swamped him. He immediately softened his tone. “Forgive me. I’m complaining for no good reason. Here. Let me help.”
In the recesses of his mind, he couldn’t be sure whether he worried more about Emily or Anna though. Neither of them was in any condition to endure the slightest exertion, let alone a tumble. Though rest and decent meals had perked up Emily, she had no business half carrying Anna when she still limped.
Dr. Quisinby had spoken circumspectly, but his message had come through clearly. Anna had little time left, and Emily—John gritted his teeth. The way she’d swooned the day he brought them to the cottage alarmed him. In those moments he’d finally seen beyond her fiercely brave facade to how truly weak, thin, and ragged she’d become. He’d held her in his arms and known for the first time a wave of inexplicable protectiveness. At that moment he’d determined to do whatever it took to shield and care for this woman.
Quisinby had confirmed his suspicions when he said Emily had undoubtedly given her own portion of food to her sister and suffered hunger out of the selfless hope that Anna and the babe would fare better due to her sacrifice.
Even when she’d been sagging from exhaustion, Emily had clung to his kerchief and tried with touching sincerity to thank him for all he’d done for her brother and sister’s suffering—and never once confessed she’d been even more hungry and cold than they. And even as he’d tucked her in on that settee, her last thoughts had been of the baby and another vague whisper of thanks. He’d bent forward and taken up the kerchief again. The generous dose of laudanum the good doctor had given her had kept her placid as John dabbed one last smudge from her temple.
Now he wished he could wipe away the worried look in her eyes just as easily. Keeping the secret from Anna had to be so very hard on her. To his astonishment, Emily hid this burden just as she’d hidden her hunger and thinness. To look at her quick smile and listen to her cheerful talk, anyone would guess she didn’t have a trouble in the world.
Over the last week, John had thought to stay away from the small cottage. It wasn’t easy—in fact, it rated as impossible. Every day something essential gave him cause to stop by. While there, he sought signs that the sister
s were resting and eating well. He’d ordered his cook over at the main house to send down hearty meals thrice a day. The place looked tidy as a spinster’s parlor, and the tray of washed dishes bore mute testimony to the fact that the O’Briens were eating adequately.
At times John found himself wandering through the warehouse at the shipping yard to find things to deliver to them as an excuse to check in again each evening. For the first time since he’d taken command of Newcomb Shipping, he found his mind straying off business and onto the welfare of Emily’s family. He’d never thought much of the fripperies that went out in the spare spaces of his vessels, but those caused him every bit as much happiness as they did for the O’Briens. Knowing how Emily felt about charity, he made it a point to have his cook leave the teapot and tea. He left the ball after tossing it with Duncan—stating they’d play with it again. Indeed they did—both for a good excuse for him to return and because playing with the lad was fun.
Then, too, there was something uniquely delightful about the O’Briens. In the midst of all their trials, Emily and Anna still found reasons to laugh. It seemed like the very sunshine of their love held back the cold season. Indeed, by sheer force of her will, Emily kept Anna blissfully comfortable and ignorant. Due to Emily’s imaginative ideas, energy, and determination, John felt certain the caretaker’s cottage had never contained so much love and laughter.
Until now.
He’d just groused at them and spoiled their joyful anticipation of this insignificant outing. He let out a sigh. “When the doctor wants her out of bed, at least be sure I’m here to help.”
Anna barely pressed her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, please don’t be cross with us. Dr. Quisinby paid a visitation here today, sir. When I asked, he said I could be in the sun if there was no breeze.”
“Most likely he thought you’d have the sense to sit by a sunny window, not come parading outside.”
“Oh.” Anna’s face drooped with dismay.
John felt ten times an ogre. He’d been in a sickbed a few times and recalled how he’d chafed to be up and about after only a day or two. Other than the carriage ride here, Anna hadn’t been outside in ages. Indeed, she’d never again feel the kiss of a breeze or the glow of the sun unless they gave her that chance now. She may as well relish those simple pleasures one last time. He held her a bit more securely and grumbled, “Did your sister at least have the presence of mind to bring a chair out here and set it someplace secluded?”
Emily shot him an offended look. “Follow me, please.”
Her stiff-backed posture would have amused him had she not seemed so very vulnerable. Emily O’Brien possessed a temper every bit as fiery as her hair, and it gave her a deceptive air of strength. He’d learned now to look beyond the facade she built so carefully and hid behind—but he wondered at times whether that was for her siblings’ benefit or if she’d constructed it to mute the impact of life’s unrelenting and unmerciful blows.
She was a woman of contradictions. The somber face she showed others and the simple joys she found with her family were like night and day. The joy of the Lord shone from her in her tender loving care and sweet laughter—but those moments stayed only within the walls of their home. How very sad she found it necessary to wear that cloak of wariness with others. It was as if she were hiding her light under a bushel—but because she feared the wind would blow it out.
As she crossed the well-manicured lawn, his eyes narrowed when he noticed her uneven gait. It bothered him, knowing she’d injured herself in his shipyard. Just because she endured without complaining didn’t mean she still wasn’t suffering. If he’d come to realize anything at all, it was that Emily O’Brien wouldn’t ask for a scrap of attention or a bit of care for herself—even if she were in dire need. At first he thought pride kept her from it; but over the last days, he’d come to see she was a rare soul—one who simply loved others so deeply that she discounted her own needs as unimportant. He cleared his throat to garner her attention, but since she failed to take that cue, he called, “Emily?”
She paused and looked over her shoulder. “Aye?”
He strove to keep his voice mild. “You should still use the walking stick. Where is it?”
“I haven’t the slightest notion.” She started hobbling again. “I set it aside two days ago. It slows me down far too much.”
John opened his mouth to command her to find and use it, but he quelled the impulse. He’d take up the matter out of Anna’s hearing. Emily did her utmost to make sure her sister had nothing more to trouble her, and he agreed with that merciful decision. Emily’s judgment on what her siblings needed had yet to be anything other than right on the mark.
“Duncan was playing with her walking stick last night,” Anna said. “He pretended it was one of your beautiful horses. He kept himself busy riding back and forth across the bedchamber. I don’t know where he set the cane when he grew tired.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Emily replied blithely.
John paused for a moment when he rounded a hedge and reached the side of the house. Over at the edge of the yard, Emily had formed a little haven for her sister. The location was exceedingly clever. It caught the warm sun yet claimed the nestling shelter of being in the crook where the hedges formed a corner. A small box rested in front of the wicker chair—waiting to support Anna’s feet. Off to the side, Emily had left what looked to be a picnic basket. In a crock she’d even gathered up a fistful of, well, flowery-leafy things. He’d never bothered to learn the names of plants, but the collection of color-changed leaves and dried-out stalks looked quite handsome.
John marveled at Emily’s ability to turn what little she had into someplace so inviting. She’d done it here in the yard just as she’d scrubbed the cottage until it sparkled. Even that dreadful shanty had been neat as a pin, and she’d hidden the newspaper insulating its window with a colorful bit of cloth. There was something novel and admirable about a woman who found contentment so easily. Emily relished simple sunshine and a tiny, plain cottage.
Emily patted the chair. “Now here you are, our Anna dear. Won’t you have a grand time, turning your pretty face to the dear Lord’s sun?”
“That I will.”
After he settled Anna in her place, John straightened up and studied her for a moment. “Are you warm enough?”
She self-consciously gathered her shawl about her thin shoulders. “Aye. Thank you for asking. Would you care to join us? We’re about to have nooning.”
He didn’t feel the least bit hungry, yet he nodded. “I’d be delighted to join you. Thank you for the invitation.”
Emily murmured something unintelligible, then hastened back into the cottage and returned with the baby. John stood by Anna’s side and took pains to be sure he didn’t block the sun so she’d benefit from its meager warmth. He looked at the new mother and wondered aloud, “You know, I’m so used to hearing you call him the babe or man-child, I don’t recall ever hearing the little one’s proper name. So tell me, Anna, what are you calling your son?”
Anna’s gaze dropped. In a heartbroken whisper, she answered, “Timothy Edward O’Brien.”
Emily slipped her bundled nephew into Anna’s arms. As she turned away, John saw how tears started to fill her eyes. He’d expected Anna to mention only a first name—not a full name. The ache in her voice made his gut clench, and he knew Emily heard it as well. He cleared his throat. “Timothy is a fine name for a boy. Strong. A fine man in the Holy Bible, too.”
Anna refused to look up. She protectively fussed with the blanket to be sure the babe’s ears were covered. She avoided any eye contact as she said, “Mr. Newcomb, I thank you for your care. As soon as Em and I can arrange employment and housing, we’ll be leaving.”
Chapter 9
That’s not necessary!” John stared at them in horror.
Emily drew close and set her hand on Anna’s shoulder. She subtly shook her head to let him know she didn’t agree with her sister. “We ought to stay awhile yet
, Anna. Mr. Newcomb’s been generous to help out, and I’m wanting you to be stronger before we go off on our own again.”
Anna stubbornly asserted, “A change of arrangements will be for the best.”
“Whose best?” John folded his arms akimbo and glowered. He’d just been congratulating himself on how happily things had turned out, and now he had to squelch this harebrained plot! At least Emily was being practical. Anna acted as if she didn’t have the sense God gave a minnow. “You were starving. Freezing, too. You’re both still weak as kittens. Think, Anna—who will care for Timothy while you work?”
“We’ll work different hours.” She mumbled the words to her lap and still didn’t look at him. “I have no proof or papers. Your brother isn’t home to confront, and I’ve decided I don’t want to. ’tis my son, so my voice is all that counts.”
“Anna, if you don’t want him to see you—”
“I don’t want to see him ever again. What if he tries to take my baby?”
“Anna, I’m not concerned about Edward in the least. He’s a rascal in some ways, but I cannot fathom he would ever stoop so low as to have done this to you. Truly I think ’tis one of his crew. I’m sure you and Timothy are safe.”
Emily gave him a horrified look.
He cleared his throat. “On the obscure chance the babe is my brother’s, I’ll haul Edward to the altar. He’ll wed you properly, Timothy will be legitimate, and I’ll keep the Cormorant assigned to long voyages if that would make you happy. Instead of troubling ourselves about tomorrow, though, we need to concern ourselves with the present. You sweet women can’t possibly make it on your own. Anna, your health is too poor. I can’t allow this.”
Anna looked up at her sister and whispered in a thready voice, “Emily, we can find work to do at home. Many other women do it. We can, too. Duncan will help. We’re a family. We’ll pull together.”
John pressed. “I won’t let anyone take Timmy from you. You cannot let foolish pride come before the welfare of your child.”
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