by Zina Abbott
The soft, puffy pink of sleep still on her face, the child stared up at the sheriff. She next twisted in his arms until her gaze met Kendrick’s. Immediately, her lips began to quiver, and she screwed her face just before she broke into a wail that, to Kendrick, sounded far too loud to come from a being of her small size.
The deputy stepped forward. “Let me take the little tyke. I got her calmed down before. Maybe I can get her to settle down again.” The man named Nate, a soft grin on his face so contrary to the disapproving frown he had worn earlier when he carried in the trunk, reached out his hands. “Come here, little darling. You’re going to be right fine here in your new home.”
The baby, clad in a pink knit jacket over a white gown with white leggings beneath, held out her arms toward the familiar face.
Kendrick’s gaze darted between the two men. His eyes registered the presence of the baby, a chubby little one with round, dark brown eyes set in her fair complexion and dark curls perhaps an inch long peeking out from beneath her bonnet, now being rocked in Nate’s arms. Even as his eyes focused on the child, his brain locked on and puzzled over the words the man had spoken. New home? Here?
The sheriff glared at the deputy until he caught the man’s attention. “Need to hand her on over, Nate. She belongs to him. They both might as well get used to the idea, starting now.”
Feeling his breath catch and the blood drain from his face, Kendrick stepped back. His mouth hanging open, he met the sheriff’s gaze with his. “What do you mean belongs to me? This is a baby. I don’t have a baby.”
“You do now. Had one all along, it seems.”
Kendrick stared at the man, trying to figure out the truth behind his cryptic remark. “No, you’ve got this all wrong.”
The sheriff offered Kendrick a wry smile. “The mother named you as the father.”
“Mother named—” Kendrick choked on the words. “I couldn’t have fathered a baby, especially not this one. You figure she’s what? A few months old? It’s been over three years, long before I came this far south to Columbia—" Kendrick clamped his lips shut. How he conducted his personal life was none of the sheriff’s business. Not to mention, he once again became aware of Jeb, a grin on his face, lurking in the far corner and taking in the entire scene.
“Didn’t say, but I figure about six months. You’re listed as the father in the family’s Bible being held at the courthouse, plus the mother named you as this baby’s father in her last will and testament. No one is going to question the words of a dying woman, not even one like her.”
Kendrick felt anger welling up inside of him. A small part of his brain warned him yelling at the sheriff would not be wise. His present state of being was not conducive to him exhibiting wisdom. His frustration won out. His question came out in a bellow. “One like her? Who—"
The sheriff turned to his deputy. “Nate, hand that baby over now and go get that crate of foodstuffs for her. Don’t forget the carpetbag full of napkins for her backside. Then we best to be on our way.”
After the deputy walked over to the counter, he sat her on top next to the basket and shoved her toward Kendrick’s arms.
Kendrick instinctively grabbed her to keep her from falling as the deputy walked toward the door.
His eyes wide, Kendrick stared at the cherubic face with its dark eyes and lashes.
At first, the baby looked at him in surprise. Next, she scrunched her face into a frown.
His anger transformed into panic, he turned his gaze back toward the sheriff. “No, wait! You can’t leave this baby with me.”
“We can and we will. I’ve got other duties to attend to. I wouldn’t have wasted my time, and that of a deputy, hauling this issue of yours up to you except I figured if I sent word for you to come get her, you’d ignore me. Now, accept the consequences of your actions and live up to your responsibilities. Just because most men don’t get caught doesn’t mean, once the truth is known, you can walk away from your own.”
Wrapping his left arm around the child and propping her on his hip so she faced outward, Kendrick walked around from behind the counter until he stood within a few feet of the lawman. “Sheriff, I’m telling you—I’ve been set up. This can’t be my child. What was the name of her mother, anyway? Where did she live?”
In the staring contest that developed between him and the sheriff, Kendrick refused to be the first to look away. No one played him for a fool. He needed answers.
Finally, the sheriff huffed and glanced at the floor before, once more, his gaze met Kendrick’s. “She lived in Sonora. Died a couple of weeks ago. Took this long to sort things out. The mother’s name was Margaret Pearline Mayfield.”
Kendrick suspected his face looked as blank as his mind felt. The name meant nothing to him.
“She’s better known by some of the finer residents of Sonora as Miss Pearl.”
Recognition of that name struck Kendrick about the same time he grew aware of Jeb’s snicker and shuffling footsteps in the front corner. He stared at the sheriff without seeing him. Only upon hearing the thud when the deputy dropped the wood crate topped with a carpetbag on his counter did Kendrick return his attention to the others in the room. “I don’t travel to Sonora, but I learned about her a couple of months ago. If what I heard was correct, there were a number of men who could have fathered a child with her.”
The sheriff twisted his lips and nodded. “Possible. Then again, word has it, she started getting sick over a year ago. Reckon she became more—selective—in her choice of partners.” The sheriff paused long enough to eye Kendrick from his head to his boots. “Not sure what she saw in you, but if you were among the few, and you and she—well, evidently, she saw men seldom enough toward the end, she was able to pinpoint who got this little one—" The sheriff pointed at the baby. “—started.”
“What about the goat and the feed, sheriff?” The deputy, standing in the open doorway, turned to Kendrick with a grin. “The goat’s name is Waggles.”
The sheriff glanced at the crowd that had gathered outside. “Better bring the goat and feed inside. We’re about ready to get on out of here. Mr. Denham can do what he wants with the goat after that.”
“I’ll bring the rocking chair in first.” The deputy again faced Kendrick. “The woman who was taking care of the baby said you’ll need that. Don’t leave Waggles next to it too long, though. She tried all morning to turn the armrest into her breakfast until I tied her to the wagon where she couldn’t reach it. Then we had to keep her from gnawing on the bench back.”
I’ll need a rocking chair? Feeling like his brain whirled inside his head, Kendrick watched the deputy exit through his door. He noticed the lawman spoke sharply and pushed aside several men other than the two, plus a third who had joined them, by his window. This business with the sheriff and his deputy had turned his butcher shop into a circus—a traveling peep show.
His arms akimbo, the sheriff again focused on. “The woman who was taking care of the baby says she is trained to drink from a cup now, but still needs her goat milk.” He pointed to the wooden crate. “There’s a crock filled with what’s left from this morning’s milking. Don’t know if it’s still good or not. Goat will be ready to be milked again this evening.”
Kendrick turned his gaze toward the crate. He began to feel the situation close in on him with no escape in sight. They not only brought a baby to him, insisting the mother claimed he fathered her, they also brought a goat to feed her. He turned his attention back to the sheriff, sighed, and spoke softly. “I’ll take care of the goat. I’ll find someone to take care of the baby. However, sheriff, I need you to keep looking for the real father. I swear, this child is not mine.” All Kendrick received for his declaration was a rueful expression from the sheriff.
“It’s out of my hands now, Mr. Denham. I’m sure you know Mr. Womack.”
Kendrick forced himself to keep his face void of expression. He knew, once the sheriff realized he recognized the name, he would assume he knew Benny Womack as a result
of him having been involved in an assignation with Miss Pearl. The lawman would never believe he never met the man until two months earlier when he, along with an unknown woman, showed up in his butcher shop. Even then, he had not learned the man’s name until after the couple left.
Kendrick purposely ignored Jeb who, still standing in the corner, choked down a laugh. I promise, Jeb, I’ll wring your scrawny neck if you say one word.
The sheriff cleared this throat. “Anyway, Mr. Womack, along with Miss Pearl’s…er…Miss Mayfield’s financial advisors, has been seeing to the sale of her properties. You should eventually receive paperwork from her attorney with information about the money put in trust for the baby for when she gets older. You’ll get a little something to allow you to build a room onto your house for her. In the meantime, as her father, it’s up to you to support your own child.”
Kendrick clenched his jaw. He looked down at the baby on his hip, only to realize she had twisted her body and neck to study him with, if he had to guess, a look of uncertainty on her face. “Someone was caring for the baby before you brought her to me.” He turned his gaze back to the sheriff. “If there will be money from the sale of the mother’s property, why can’t it be used to pay this woman to continue taking care of her?”
The sheriff huffed out a breath and shook his head. “Look, Mr. Denham, I need to get back to Sonora. All I can tell you is, the woman, Mr. Womack’s sister, is leaving with her brother to return to San Francisco where they came from. There is no one in Sonora you can return the baby to. Besides, like I said, all the official records name you as the father of this baby. You might as well accept it and deal with it the best you can.”
Kendrick opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
The sheriff tipped his hat, spun around, and walked toward the exit. “That’s all I’ve got to say, Mr. Denham. There’s a letter from the mother Miss Womack said she tucked down the side of the basket they use for the baby to sleep in. From what I read on the outside, the baby’s name is Madeline. Whatever is written inside should tell you more. Good day.”
Kendrick, feeling like he had been cold-cocked, watched the man leave. He firmly closed the door behind him. Good day? How was he going to have a good day—or even a good next twenty years—with a baby dumped into his life?
He returned his gaze to the baby—what did the sheriff say her name was? Madeline? Panic welled up within him—panic like he had not felt since the battle to take Mexico City had heated up to where he had doubted he would survive. He was far from an expert on babies. However, from the way her eyes watered, her lower lip quivered, and her face remained scrunched, he suspected she was about to start crying. He closed his eyes. Would he survive this? Please, don’t cry, baby.
Chapter 4
“B est do something with that goat before it messes all over your floor. Not to mention, she’s eyeing that rocking chair awful heavy.”
Jeb’s words pulled Kendrick out of his befuddled state of mind.
You’re going to have to sweep more often now you got that little one. I’d put that fancy basket on the floor first, and her in it. Can’t fall off the floor all that easy, but she sure could that counter, if you put her up there.”
Kendrick stared down at the child he held in his arm like she was a sack of grain.
Her wide, tear-filled eyes no longer studied his face as she turned her gaze to look in the direction of the door through which Deputy Nate had disappeared. As much as he resented having this situation forced on him, Kendrick began to feel a touch of sympathy for this child. It struck him that Deputy Nate was only the most recent in a long line of adults who, of late, had abandoned her to the care of strangers.
“You’ve got a good point.” Kendrick, still holding the baby around her middle, picked up the basket with his free hand and carefully looked for a clean spot on the floor. Unfortunately, the spot he found that was almost clean enough for a child was against the side wall halfway across the room between the counter and front wall of his building. After carefully placing the basket on the floor and the baby in it, he turned to Jeb. “What can I get you, Jeb?”
Jeb grinned and shrugged. “Oh, I didn’t come here to buy. I was running late today, and on my way to my claim, saw the sheriff riding into town. There he was, hauling all that gear in the wagon. I moseyed on over to see what the fuss was about. Overheard him ask where you lived. Planned to beat him here so I’d be in good position to get in on the scene first hand. Figured this was going to be too good to miss. Was I ever right.”
A growl in his voice and shaking a finger, Kendrick stepped toward Jeb. “Not one word about this, Jeb. I’ve got enough problems without a bunch of gossip flying around town. You say anything to anyone, I swear –”
Jeb met Kendrick’s outburst with a laugh. “Better cut back on that swearing, Rick. You’re a papa now. Besides, judging from that crowd outside getting an eyeful and earful, I won’t have to say nothing for word to get around town.” Jeb grew serious. “I’ll stay with her long enough for you to get that goat and its feed in your backyard.”
Perplexed, Kendrick moved toward the goat he had inherited along with the baby its milk was intended to feed. “I’ll take you up on that offer, Jeb.” Untying the rope holding the goat to a leg of his counter and grabbing the sack of feed to toss over his shoulder, Kendrick led the animal through his kitchen to the door that opened to his backyard.
Several minutes later, he returned to find Jeb holding the baby in his arms. He teased her with the brim of his hat. Kendrick paused while he watched this aspect of Jeb he had never seen before. “Fatherhood looks good on you, Jeb. Instead of wasting your money in the saloons and an occasional night at a bordello, I’m surprised you haven’t sent for your family to join you.”
Jeb jerked his head back and, wearing a surprised expression, met Kendrick’s gaze. He turned away and shook his head as he carefully laid the baby, rubbing her eyes as she fell asleep once more, in the basket barely long enough for her to stretch out in. He continued to stare at the child as he again stood. “No, me and the missus weren’t getting along so good when I left. She was wanting me to work on her father’s farm. I don’t much care for farming and insisted on us getting by on the work I could pick up. Only, even I saw it wasn’t enough. Then I heard about the gold out here and decided I’d do her a favor by giving her a frontier divorce. If she has any sense, she’ll wait her seven years and divorce me all legal-like. I still send money to her when I can and hope it makes it back to her.” Jeb shook his head. “I do miss my young’uns, though. Junior ought to be about eight by now, and my Ella…well, this little one reminds me of her.”
“Jeb, you know, if your wife divorces you, she might be free of you, but her reputation will be ruined. Society will shun her. Men will steer clear of pursuing a match with her. To have any kind of life at all, she’d have to leave her family and go live in a place where she’s not known so she can pass herself off as a widow. In other words, you won’t be doing her a favor. Maybe things have settled down between you two enough you should give it another try. Save your money and send for her.”
Again, Jeb shook his head. “The few times I wrote, I told her I was doing real good in the gold fields, but prices out here were high. Only the second part is true. I’m too embarrassed for her to know the truth.”
“What did you do back home that you preferred to farming?”
“Brick-laying—you know, masonry. Did a little carpentry work, too.”
“I think she would prefer to know the truth. Your children need you, if nothing else. At least, think about it. If you aren’t getting ahead searching for gold, there seems to be enough construction going on in these parts for you to find plenty of work. The way we’re surrounded by forest and everything’s built of wood, it wouldn’t hurt if more buildings were made of brick. Not everyone knows how to be a good mason. I bet out here, you could use your skills to support your family. Once she gets away from her parents’ influence, things might go sm
oother between you two.”
Neither man spoke for several seconds. The only sound came from the baby softly whimpering in her sleep.
“I’ll think on it.” Jeb lifted his gaze until it met Kendrick’s with a knowing gleam. “Maybe you should take your own advice. Whether you claim her or not, this baby was given to you. She needs a father. I hope you aren’t planning to dump her in some orphanage, because I don’t think there’s one anywhere close by in these parts.”
His hands on his hips, Kendrick again focused on the cherub asleep in the basket. “I’d hate to do that to her, but I don’t know the first thing about taking care of babies, Jeb. You’ve been married and have two young’uns of your own. Maybe, for today, you can stay with her for a little longer? I’ve got meat deliveries to make.”
Jeb dramatically tossed his head side to side. “Nope! I said I’d stay long enough for you to get the goat settled. I got a claim to work. This baby, she’s your problem. Better figure out how you’re going to take her with you while you make your deliveries.”
Exasperated, Kendrick grabbed his hair with both hands. “I can’t do that, especially not today. I need someone to watch her until I can find someone to take her off my hands.” Kendrick turned to Jeb once he realized the man had grown quiet as he studied him.
“For whatever reason, she was given to you, Rick. You can’t shove her off on just anyone. You know there’s not too many women in town. Those that are here, either they already have their fill with their own young’uns, or they’re not the type to take in a baby, if you know what I mean. You better read what that woman wrote to you before you do something stupid with her baby. Meanwhile—“
Jeb’s words were interrupted as the door to Kendrick’s shop burst open. In walked the one woman in Columbia Kendrick least wished to see any day, but especially not this day. After a fashion, she was his back-fence neighbor. Due to the hilly nature of Columbia, and in spite of efforts made to plat the lots in deep rectangles, not all the side and back property lines met at nice, neat ninety-degree angles. Her home on the next block over shared five feet of back property line with his lot. Only five feet but, in Kendrick’s estimation, considering the complaints she constantly leveled at him regarding his use of his property, it was a thousand feet too many. If it wasn’t criticism about Rochester crowing too early in the morning and waking her children before she wished to have them rise, it was the smell of the blood from his butchering shed or the odor of mesquite smoke coming from his smokehouse.