Wyoming Bride

by Joan Johnston

  Those three words didn’t have quite the same effect as I love you, but they were a step in the right direction. Flint didn’t want to fail her, but he was going to be in trouble if something went wrong with the delivery, or if the child wasn’t able to survive on its own once it was born.

  “Are you sure about the date you got pregnant?” he asked.

  “Good God almighty! Why would you ask me something as stupid as that?” Then she gasped and grabbed her belly and began making those raw, grating sounds again in her throat.

  Flint had asked because he was wishing for a full-term baby, rather than a child whose lungs might not be fully developed or one who might be too frail to live outside the womb.

  “I have to push!” she cried.

  Flint wasn’t ready. “Get that hot water up here!” he yelled. “Where the hell are those scissors? Get me that twine!”

  The door burst open and Emaline stood there, white-faced, scissors and twine in hand. “The water’s not boiling yet,” she said in a small voice.

  “Set those things down on the chest and get over here,” Flint snarled.

  “But—”

  “Move, Emaline!”

  Emaline dropped what she carried on the chest and hurried to his side, then stood frozen with her hands wrapped around her elbows.

  “Sit down beside Hannah. Hold her hands. Talk to her.”

  “But—”

  “Do what I say!”

  Emaline sank onto the bed beside Hannah, but Flint was too busy to notice whether she’d followed his instructions.

  “Fliiiiinnnnnnt!” Hannah cried.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” Flint said. His insides cramped as tears of pain slipped from the corners of her eyes. “Scream all you want,” he croaked past a throat knotted with emotion. “It won’t bother me.”

  “It’s bothering me,” Emaline muttered. “Look at me, Hannah. Look at me!”

  Flint couldn’t afford to pay attention to Emaline. He made sure both Hannah’s feet were flat on the bed and lifted the sheet that had covered her for modesty’s sake to see whether the baby’s head had crowned.

  Flint realized that Hannah had stopped screaming and shot a look at her to see what was wrong. He saw that the two women were speaking to each other in hushed tones. “What the hell is going on, Hannah?”

  “Shut up, Flint,” Hannah snapped. “Shut the hell up!”

  Then she was writhing on the bed and wailing like someone had died.

  “Push, Hannah. Damn it! Push!” he ordered.

  “I aaaaaammmmm!”

  “The head is out, Hannah,” Flint said.

  “What did you say?”

  Flint turned and saw Ransom standing in the doorway holding a pot of steaming water and looking stunned. “Set that down and bring me those scissors and the twine from the chest,” Flint ordered.

  “I have to push again!” Hannah cried.

  Flint saw the shoulders slide out and then the rest of the baby slipped out easy as butter. He turned the baby over and saw it wasn’t breathing. He opened the baby’s mouth and slid out a wad of mucus, but still the child didn’t cry.

  “Give me the damn scissors and twine!” he said to Ransom. He cut the cord and tied it off, then took the baby in his hands and turned his back on Hannah, so she couldn’t see it.

  “Flint? What’s wrong?” Hannah said, pushing herself upright.

  “Don’t get up,” Emaline warned. “You still have to deliver the afterbirth.”

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah insisted.

  “She’s not breathing,” Ransom said.

  “It’s a girl?” Emaline said.

  It’s a dead baby, Flint thought. And then, Like hell it is! He checked the child’s mouth again and found more mucus, which he removed. Then he put his mouth over the baby’s mouth and nose and breathed air into its lungs. He watched the chest expand and then deflate. And nothing.

  Breathe, kid. Damn it, breathe! I’ll do anything, God. I’ll be a perfect husband. A perfect father. Please, do not let this baby die.

  He put his mouth over the tiny girl’s mouth and nose and gently, carefully, breathed air from his lungs into hers again. “Come on, sweetie,” he begged. “Breathe. You can do it.”

  The baby coughed. And then gave a feeble wail.

  Flint’s eyes closed in hosanna.

  He heard Hannah laugh and say, “Lauren! Is that any way to greet your father on your birthday?” Then she said, “Oh!”

  Emaline said, “That’s the afterbirth.” She wrapped it in newspaper and set it aside to be taken out and buried.

  Flint rose and realized he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to have a blanket in which to wrap the baby.

  “Get one of my long john shirts out of the top drawer,” he instructed Ransom.

  “I have clothes for the baby,” Hannah protested.

  “You can dress her when you’re up and about. Right now she’s going to turn into an icicle if I don’t get her wrapped up snug and warm.”

  Ransom spread the shirt open in his arms so Flint could lay the little girl—Lauren, he amended—in it and wrap her up like a papoose. Flint smiled as he met his brother’s eyes and said, “I have a little girl.” He took the bundled child in his arms, then turned to Hannah and said, “We have a little girl.”

  Hannah felt like her prayers had been answered. She would treasure Flint’s words for the rest of her life: We have a little girl. “May I hold her?”

  “Lauren, your mama wants to hold you,” Flint said, laying the tiny child in Hannah’s arms.

  “Did you check?” Hannah asked anxiously. “Does she have all her fingers and toes?”

  “Ten of each,” Flint assured her. “And your blue eyes.”

  Hannah unfolded the long john shirt long enough to check for herself. Then she beamed up at Flint. “She’s beautiful.”

  “And redheaded,” Flint said.

  Hannah smiled as her fingers smoothed over the amazing mass of red curls on the baby’s head. “Mr. McMurtry had the most beautiful red curls.” She glanced at Flint and saw his lips had pressed flat. “You’ll be the only father Lauren will ever know, Flint.” She lifted her chin and continued, “But I’m glad she’ll have her red curls to remind her of the father who rescued me from that awful orphanage and then died bringing me and my sisters west on the Oregon Trail.”

  “Hannah!” Emaline said.

  “What?” Hannah cried, afraid something had gone terribly wrong.

  “You’re not bleeding! I mean, not excessively,” she corrected. “It looks like you’ve come through the delivery with flying colors. You’re going to be fine.”

  “Of course I am,” Hannah said. “And so will you, Emaline, when you deliver your baby.” She grinned mischievously and said, “Especially now that we know what good midwives Flint and Ransom are.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Flint said. “The next baby born around here is going to have a doctor in attendance.”

  “I second that,” Ransom said.

  “You won’t get an argument from me,” Emaline said. “Although, this was lovely, wasn’t it? All four of us here to see Lauren born. It’s a story she can tell her grandchildren, how her father and mother and aunt and uncle were all there for her birth.”

  Lauren began to root around, and Hannah realized the baby wanted to nurse. She turned to Emaline and said, “If you and Ransom will excuse us, I’d like to be alone with my husband and our daughter.”

  “Of course, Hannah,” Emaline said, looping her arm through Ransom’s. “I’ll be up later with some supper. Come on, Ransom.”

  When the door had closed behind them, Hannah opened the tie at the front of her nightgown and lowered it so the baby could find her breast.

  Without a word, Flint crossed and sat beside the two of them on the bed, watching with as much fascination as Hannah felt herself. The baby’s nose brushed Hannah’s breast once or twice before she found the nipple. She latched on and began to suck.

&nb
sp; Hannah laughed, giddy at the thought of holding her child in her arms and having it nurse at her breast. She looked up and met Flint’s gaze. She couldn’t keep the smile of satisfaction and pride off her face. “We have a daughter, Flint. Our first child.”

  He reached out and brushed the baby’s cheek with his finger. “She’s so soft. And everything about her is so tiny—eyelashes, fingernails, fingers, and toes.”

  He looked worried, so Hannah said. “We’ll take very good care of her, and she’ll grow fast. You watch and see.”

  The wrinkles on his brow were still there, so Hannah asked, “Is something wrong, Flint?”

  “I’m not sure I want any more children, Hannah,” he said. “Lauren’s enough for me.”

  “What are you saying? I can’t count the number of times you’ve told me you want a big family.”

  “I do. But … What if something goes wrong during one of those births? I couldn’t bear to lose you, Hannah. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but somewhere along the line, I realized my joy in life comes from seeing you happy. It makes me want to do whatever it takes to keep those dimples showing the rest of our lives.”

  Hannah laughed and felt the dimples her husband found so enchanting appear in her cheeks. Her heart was soaring. Here was the proof of what she’d been unwilling to believe. Flint did love her. He loved her enough to consider her happiness first and foremost. He loved her enough to give up having children of his own blood to hold the land after he was gone.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” she said.

  He took her hand in his and pressed it against his cheek, then kissed her palm. “Anything. Ask me anything, Hannah.”

  “After we have a brood of six, if you don’t want any more, then we won’t have any more.”

  He laughed. “Six? Only six?”

  Hannah laughed with him. Life was good. Life was perfect. Except … “One more thing,” she said.

  “I told you, Hannah. Anything.”

  “Someday, I want to go to Texas to see my sister and brothers. Maybe after the Pinkertons find Hetty and Josie, we can all be together again.”

  “Done,” he said, kissing her lips.

  Hannah was distracted by the kiss, so that when Flint released her lips at last, it took her a moment to remember what else she wanted. “One last thing.”

  He smiled. “I’m listening.”

  “About those six kids …”

  “What?”

  “I think I should warn you. Twins run in my family.”

  Flint laughed and kissed her again. “I can’t wait.”

  Hannah wondered how long she had to wait before they could start on the next baby. Next time, she wanted a boy, a son for Flint. After that, twin girls. Then maybe twin boys. Oh, my. She was going to be awfully busy over the next few years loving her husband and her six wonderful children.

  “What has you smiling like the Cheshire cat?” Flint asked.

  “I’m in love,” Hannah said.

  Flint sat frozen in place. “What?”

  “I love you, Flint. I’m in love with you, too. Head over ears. Crazy like a loon. Silly as a goose.” She paused and glanced at him. “Now you’re grinning like the Cheshire cat.”

  “You bet I am! Ransom! Emaline! Get in here!”

  “Flint, have you gone crazy?” Hannah said.

  The two came on the run and the door opened with a bang. “What’s wrong? Is she bleeding?” Emaline asked.

  “Is the baby all right?” Ransom said.

  “My wife is in love with me. We’re going to have six kids and live happily ever after.”

  Hannah laughed and shrugged. “I’m married to a crazy man.”

  “Oh, Hannah, I’m so happy for you both,” Emaline said, crossing to give her a hug.

  Ransom shook his brother’s hand. “Congratulations. Looks like being a father has sent you over the bend.”

  Flint laughed and said, “Just you wait. You’ll see. You are looking at a deliriously happy man.”

  “Delirious, for sure,” Ransom said, chuckling.

  As Hannah watched, Emaline hugged Flint. She tensed for the barest instant but saw nothing on his face but joy at the birth of their daughter.

  Then Emaline turned back to her and said, “I’ve got supper cooking on the stove. How would you feel if we bring everything up here and have a picnic?”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Hannah said. She was a little sore, but now that labor was done, she felt exhilarated. She thought she could have danced a jig, but she was too happy sitting right where she was, holding her newborn daughter in her arms.

  When they were gone, Flint crossed and sat beside her. He brushed a knuckle against her cheek, then tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I love you, Hannah. You’ve made me a very happy man.”

  “And I love you, Flint. I never dreamed …”

  Hannah’s throat was clogged with emotion, and tears blurred her eyes.

  She’d never dreamed when she left the orphanage and married a stranger that she would someday find her Prince Charming. Flint wasn’t perfect. No man was perfect. But he loved her and he loved Lauren and with a lot of hard work, they would live happily ever after.

  “Whatever your dreams, Hannah,” Flint said in the silence, “I want to make them come true.”

  Hannah smiled through her tears, kissed him with all the love she felt, and said, “You already have.”

  The knock on the kitchen door startled Hannah. She exchanged a glance with Emaline, who was nursing her newborn daughter at the kitchen table across from her, and said, “Are we expecting company?”

  Emaline shook her head.

  Hannah rose with her eight-month-old baby in her arms and headed for the door. She glanced back at Emaline and said, “I wonder who it could be.”

  Emaline laughed. “Open the door and find out.”

  Hannah decided to lay her wriggling daughter on the pallet in the corner, where she’d created a safe place for Lauren to crawl and play. Then Hannah smoothed her apron, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and headed for the door.

  When she opened it, she found a short man with dark eyes and a thick black mustache standing before her. His black vest and trousers were covered with dust, and a rim of sweat had left a dirty stain inside the collar of his white shirt, which was open at the throat. Despite the warm September weather, he had on a black overcoat that came all the way to his knees. He was holding a black bowler hat in one hand and a cracked leather briefcase in the other.

  “May I help you?” Hannah asked.

  “No, madam. But I believe I may be of assistance to you.”

  Hannah’s heart leapt to her throat. “Are you a Pinkerton?”

  “I am an employee of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, madam.” His lips curved beneath the mustache as he repeated the Pinkerton motto, “We never sleep.”

  “Come in. Come in,” she urged. “Let me take your coat. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Hannah had completely forgotten that Emaline was nursing her baby at the kitchen table. When she turned and saw her she said, “Oh, Em, I’m sorry.”

  “No problem,” she said as she rose and quickly turned her back to the stranger. “I’ll excuse myself and be back as soon as I lay Jesse down for a nap.”

  Hannah saw that Lauren had crawled off the quilt and she abandoned the Pinkerton to retrieve the baby and put her back in the middle of the colorful cloth square. When she turned to him again he was standing exactly where she’d left him. “I’m so sorry.” She gestured toward the kitchen table and said, “Won’t you please sit down?”

  “Thank you, madam. I believe I will.”

  As he seated himself, still wearing his coat, Hannah hurried to pour him a cup of coffee. “My husband and his brother aren’t at home. If you would like to wait and speak to them, they should be back shortly.”

  “My business is with you.”

  Hannah’s heart climbed to her throat and threatened to choke her with excitement. She set
the coffee on the table in front of her visitor and asked breathlessly, “Have you found them?”

  The Pinkerton sighed. “I wish I had good news for you, madam.”

  Hannah’s knees turned to jelly at such an ominous beginning. She sank into the nearest chair and said, “Please tell me it isn’t bad news.”

  “You must decide that for yourself,” he said as he unbuckled the briefcase on his lap and pulled out a folder full of papers. “As you know,” he began, “the Pinkertons were employed last year to search for three missing Wentworth girls. Our search had stalled when your husband contacted your sister, Mrs. Miranda Wentworth Creed, at which point, our investigation began again, focusing on the other two missing girls.

  “As far as your twin goes, we Pinkertons have posted copies of a line drawing—created from the daguerreotype of you taken by one of my colleagues this past January—with the authorities in every city and town in the Wyoming and Montana Territories. We have also shown the drawing to any and all individuals to whom we have made inquiries about your sister.

  “I am here to report that several persons in the mining city of Butte, in the Montana Territory, have admitted to seeing the woman in that drawing.”

  “Then Hetty is in Butte?”

  “Not any longer,” the Pinkerton said. “It seems she was there briefly and moved on. We haven’t yet determined where. One identification in particular, by a Chinese gentleman named Bao—rhymes with cow—proved, beyond a doubt, that your sister is alive. Or at least, was alive and well in the fall of last year.”

  “That’s nearly a year ago! You haven’t found anyone who’s seen her since?” Hannah asked.

  The Pinkerton shook his head. “I am sorry, madam. We have done our very best. We must presume she is somewhere in the Montana Territory, but the land is a vast forested wilderness. Finding her will take time.”

  Hannah didn’t understand how her twin could simply disappear. But if the Pinkertons couldn’t find her, she really must have fallen off the end of the earth. “What about Josie?” she asked.

  “Ah,” he said. “We had better luck there.”

  “You know where she is?” Hannah asked, her fisted hand pressed against her racketing heart to keep it from bursting from her chest.