by Lyn Cote
Noah looked up. “Do you need something, Sunny?”
She chewed her lower lip. “I do, Noah. Tell me—why did you go to meeting?” Her voice quavered just above a whisper.
Noah paused in his work.
Sunny waited, Dawn straining to get down from her arms.
“Isn’t it enough that I went?” he asked gruffly, beginning to plane again.
“Noah,” she murmured coaxingly, “I just need to know you. Know why you changed your mind. Before when I asked you to go, you said...you sounded...” She couldn’t think what more to say. She gave up and turned.
“I thought over what you said.”
His words stopped her. She swung back around. “Something I said?”
“About doing it for Dawn, and for us. You were right. We don’t want to stick out, be different. In the army I was the private that used thee and then back home, I was the Friend who had gone to war. I, we, will not stand out as the strange ones here. It just causes talk. We don’t need that.”
She paused, stunned at the amount of words that had just flowed from Noah’s mouth all at once. And then his meaning burst over her. He’d gone to meeting for Dawn and for her, not just himself.
Sunny rushed forward and with Dawn between them, pressed herself against him. He didn’t hug back. He still held his plane, but he bent his head forward, his chin grazing the top of her head.
They silently shared a moment of the most tender connection. Sunny blinked back one tear. And then stepped away. “I need to get busy baking some bread or we’ll have none for supper.”
“Sounds good.”
Sunny hurried into the cabin. Part of her wanted to stay with Noah and talk. So many questions she wanted to ask him. Why had he gone to war? Why had his father been so angry with him? What did he dream in his nightmares?
The moment of being close to Noah, not only physically but also as partners, two people pulling together for their family, had nearly lifted Sunny off her feet. But she couldn’t press her luck. She’d felt dreadful, fearful, when she’d confronted Noah. She didn’t want to spoil this feeling, this special first.
Soon Dawn played with some jar rings, clacking them on the wood floor. Humming, Sunny kneaded the soft, cream-colored bread dough, covered it with a clean cloth and then set it on the mantel to rise.
She still felt like a pot simmering and realized she needed to calm down. Noah was a complicated man. She didn’t want to do anything that might disturb the progress they’d just made. An idea of how she might please him occurred to her. She smiled and set about her baking, still humming and now grating fresh cinnamon.
Chapter Seven
Noah concentrated on planing the table and two benches, but he couldn’t banish the feeling of Sunny pressed against him. Her softness threatened to weaken him. He had to remain strong, keep himself in check. Her questions were getting more and more pointed, closer to things he himself didn’t understand—it made it hard for him to talk to her.
The wood flowed under his plane. He paused to stroke the tabletop—time to start sanding it smooth and then he’d oil it. The thought of sitting at a table tonight, a real table, pleased him. It would please her, too. If he couldn’t answer her questions, at least he could give her a table on which to serve her meals.
Later in the afternoon Noah first carried in the broad tabletop, standing it against the wall. Then he brought in the trestle and two substantial squared and footed table legs. While he put the base together, Sunny held Dawn. He felt her intense gaze on him. He then lay on his back on the hard floor under the table and fastened down the top, pounding in the wood bolts he’d whittled.
Dawn was making urgent sounds and straining to get down to come to him. He got up and pinched her cheek. As he bent over his work, he hid a smile at her preference for him. The preacher’s words about how lucky he was rang in his ears.
He stood back for just a moment, admired his handwork and then ducked outside to bring in the benches.
“We have a table, Mrs. Whitmore.” He couldn’t keep the pride of workmanship out of his tone. But he stepped out of reach so she wouldn’t hug him again.
“Oh, Noah, it’s lovely.” Sunny set Dawn down and stroked the tabletop. “The wood grain is beautiful and the table just fits our room.”
“Should sit up to ten easy.” More of the preacher’s words came back to him about Sunny and he having a family large enough to fit their cabin. Hot shame at his inadequacy as a husband sent him swiftly out the door. “Got to water the stock,” he said, excusing himself.
“I’m making cinnamon buns for supper!” Sunny called after him.
He caught the worry in her tone. She sounded afraid he was irritated with her. How could he tell her that wasn’t true? The irritation, frustration, aggravation he felt—it was all directed at himself.
* * *
In the small sunlit meadow Sunny bent over the green leaves, moving them to reveal the tiny red berries hiding underneath. Only a few feet away Nan bent in the same posture. They were picking wild strawberries, and Sunny’s mind was racing with ideas about what she could make with them. The cinnamon buns hadn’t had the desired effect on Noah, but perhaps fresh strawberries would draw him closer.
“I’m so happy you let me know,” Sunny said. “I love strawberries.”
“Well, my auntie had a nice berry patch at home and hers were bigger, but these will do with some sugar on ’em.”
Dawn and Nan’s little boy, Guthrie, crawled among the plants and wild grasses, entertaining themselves. Careful not to bruise or crush the soft velvety berries, Sunny gathered and dropped them into a wood bucket she’d brought. Nan appeared to have such an easygoing life compared to Sunny’s. And, of course, their pasts obviously separated them. This difference constantly niggled at Sunny.
Sunny had become accustomed to Nan’s ways and that in itself made her especially wary. She continued to fear that she might, by some chance remark, reveal her past. She couldn’t let herself get too comfortable with anybody or she might lose everything she’d worked for since leaving Idaho. She and Noah couldn’t move on to make another fresh start. They had their cabin finished and they were becoming part of the community.
“Well, I can’t bend over another second. I’ll just have to sit and scoot,” Nan declared with a bit of humor and a deep sigh. The woman’s pregnancy was obviously drawing to a close. She eased herself down to sit among the wild vines and began picking in this new position.
“How are you doing?” Sunny asked with sympathy.
“I’m getting to that stage where I just want it over!”
Sunny recalled how she’d felt the last few weeks before Dawn had been born. The breeze through the high leaves overhead sounded something like laughter, a cheery, soothing sound. “I understand.”
Nan sighed loudly again. “You only been pregnant once?”
“Yes.” Sunny stilled within. Why had Nan asked that?
“This is my third time. I lost my first.”
Sunny snapped upright. “Oh, Nan, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m just tellin’ you because it’s got Gordy worried. My first delivery just...” The young woman fell silent. “It was bad. And the baby didn’t survive. It was a little girl.”
Sympathy swamped Sunny as she tried to imagine what that had been like. She chastised herself for thinking that Nan’s life had been easy.
“Will you ask your man to stay with Gordy during my birthing? He’ll need somebody to talk with. Even though Guthrie came out right, my husband’s worried I’ll have a bad time again.”
Sunny moved swiftly to Nan, bent and hugged her shoulders. “Yes, of course. And you’re going to be fine. Mrs. Ashford will know how to help. And I’ll be there, too.”
Nan squeezed Sunny in return. “I know and I’m praying every night fo
r another safe delivery. My mom birthed thirteen and she only had trouble the first time. That’s what I keep telling Gordy, but...” The young woman shrugged.
Sunny straightened up and moved back to where she’d been picking, thinking of how everyone seemed to have secrets, or private pain. Suddenly, she caught movement from the corner of her right eye. She glanced over and nearly screamed. “Nan,” she whispered, shaking, “there’s a bear at the edge of the clearing.”
“Which way?”
“Over your right shoulder.” What had Noah told her to do if she met a bear? Had he told her what to do?
“Don’t act riled,” Nan said soberly. “I’m going to stand up slowly and start talking so it’ll know we’re humans. They don’t see very good.”
“Okay.” Sunny’s knees weakened but she kept on her feet. She located Dawn nearby, crawling on the ground, pursuing a butterfly.
“Well, good afternoon, bear,” Nan said conversationally. “I know you like berries, but we got here first. We’ll leave you some—don’t you worry. Sunny, I’m going to start singing now. Only humans do that. You sing along. ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.’”
Sunny tried to sing along but couldn’t get her voice to work.
“Sunny,” Nan said after a moment, “it’s a mama bear with a cub. Are you good at climbing trees?”
Sunny didn’t think she could budge, much less climb. “No.”
“Okay, we’ll just sing some more and back away real slowlike. Let her know we’re not going to mess with her baby.”
How could Nan sound so calm?
Sunny stared at the bear, trying to join the song, and took a few halting steps backward.
The bear paused as if listening and then rose a bit, sniffing the air.
“Oh, good, she’s smelling us.”
Sunny didn’t know how this could possibly be good. But then the bear herded her cub away and ambled off into the woods.
Giving way, Sunny sank to the warm earth.
“Are you all right?” Nan walked awkwardly to her side.
Sunny stared up at the woman. “Weren’t you scared?”
“Yes, but I’ve seen bear before. She’s just naturally going to protect her young. We can understand that. We’re mamas with cubs, too.”
This simple statement of fact sent Sunny into a storm of laughter. Then Nan began laughing, too. The two children wandered over to watch their mothers collapse on the ground and laugh themselves silly. Yet, Sunny also experienced a new strength. She’d faced a bear and hadn’t panicked or done anything foolish. And she could laugh about it.
* * *
“You what?” Noah demanded, stopping his coffee mug halfway to his mouth.
Sunny turned from the hearth where she was stirring tonight’s stew. “I said Nan and me saw a mama bear and her cub when we were berry-picking this afternoon.”
“Didn’t I tell you to be careful of bears?” He realized he was gripping the handle on his mug so tight that if it had been china, he’d have snapped it.
“I was careful.” Sunny looked puzzled. “Nan told me what to do and then the bear herded her cub away from us. It was really funny.”
Funny? A mother bear with a cub—was there anything more terrifying than that? He imagined Sunny and Dawn ravaged and left for dead. He set his mug down with a clunk.
“You look upset with me,” she said, her voice tentative.
He clasped his hands together, holding in the anger and terror that flashed through him. He wanted to rage at her, You could have been killed. Dawn could have died. He chewed the insides of his mouth, trying to release his rage, keep from upsetting Sunny. “I’m not angry with you. Just be careful, all right?”
“I did just what Nan told me to do. I’ll be careful, Noah.”
He nodded woodenly, still roiling inside. “Good. Good.”
Sunny bustled around the kitchen, then halted.
“Noah,” his wife said with audible hesitation, “Nan asked me to ask you a favor.”
“Nan wanted a favor from me?” He couldn’t think of what another man’s wife would want from him.
Sunny didn’t look up while scooping stew into bowls and getting them on the table. “Nan’s first baby didn’t survive the birthing.” She glanced up and then down quickly. “She didn’t have any trouble when she had Guthrie. But Gordy’s still worried about this baby coming.”
What can I do about that? He forced himself to calmly sip his coffee.
“Nan hopes you’ll stay with Gordy while he’s...while she’s in labor. She thinks it will help him get through it easier.” Sunny looked him full in the face then, and then bent to pick Dawn up.
Of course he’d rather refuse this request. Nonetheless he couldn’t say no. Gordy had become a friend. He wanted to make one thing clear, however. “I don’t know anything about birthing.”
“You just need to keep Gordy company outside till the baby’s born,” Sunny assured him.
“I said when Nan’s time came, I’d go to town for him,” Noah recalled.
“And then when you return with Mrs. Ashford, you can sit outside with him, keep him company. Will you?”
Noah nodded. “I can do that.” Suddenly he wondered, How would I feel if Sunny lost a baby? Our baby? He forced down a sudden lack of breath. “I will.”
Sunny exhaled. “Good. It will make it easier on Nan.”
Dawn squirmed and Sunny let her down. The little girl crawled straight to Noah and pulled herself up at the end of the bench next to him, grinning.
“I’m almost jealous,” Sunny teased. “She prefers your company to mine.”
He grinned at the baby and ran his fingers through her red-gold curls. “Hey there, Dawnie.”
The little girl crowed with delight.
Noah picked her up and swung her high above his head. Dawn’s innocent happiness lifted him. He shouldn’t scold Sunny about the bear. They lived in a forest and nothing had happened. He was glad he hadn’t sparked another argument.
“Children are a joy,” he said without meaning to. His gaze connected with Sunny’s and he couldn’t look away. If only the war hadn’t come and swept away the joy of living, he and Sunny wouldn’t be separated by the past, his past. He set Dawn down on her feet again.
The baby flapped her palms against the bench, scolding him.
He touched her nose. “I’ve got to feed the cattle quick, little lady. We will meet again.”
He left without meeting Sunny’s eye. “I won’t be long.”
* * *
The next morning, Gordy, his curly blond hair wild from the wind, came running into the clearing. “Noah!”
Noah had been busy laying a rock foundation for the spring house, a place where they could keep food like milk cool. He intended to buy a cow before winter. Now he climbed out of the trench he’d dug around the spring. “What is it?” But even before the words left his mouth, Noah knew what had brought Gordy hurrying to their door.
“It’s Nan’s time. Will you—”
“I’ll just wash my hands and be off to town,” Noah replied. Hiding the jolt Gordy’s words brought, he turned and called, “Sunny!”
“I heard, Noah.” Sunny stood in the open door. “Just let me get a few things together, Gordy, and I’ll come with you.”
Noah washed his muddy hands in the basin by the door. He could hear Sunny opening the chest inside. Gordy stood in the midst of their clearing, plainly jumpy with nerves.
Noah didn’t bother to saddle his horse. He just threw a blanket over his mount and climbed on. He waved to Gordy and took off. “See you at the Osbournes!” he called to Sunny.
Careful to keep his mount on the faint wagon track, Noah let his horse go at a brisk run, which the animal appeared to enjoy. Soon he arrived at Ashford�
�s store, hitched his horse and swung down. The bell jingled as he opened the door. “Mr. Ashford!”
After the bright sunlight Noah paused just inside the store door to let his eyes adjust to the fainter light inside.
“What can I do for you?” the storekeeper’s familiar voice came from the shadows.
“I need Mrs. Ashford. Mrs. Osbourne’s time has come and your wife said she’d help.”
“I’ll get her right away.” Ashford turned and hurried up the steps to their living quarters over the store.
Then Noah noticed that a rough-looking stranger stood near the old preacher who was also in the store with his daughter-in-law, a tall, spare woman with silver in her hair. Belatedly removing his hat, Noah nodded politely, hoping the older man wouldn’t start a conversation.
“You tell Mrs. Osbourne that I’ll continue praying she has a safe delivery,” Old Saul said.
“I will, sir.”
The stranger lounged against the counter, eyeing Noah. The man’s expression made Noah uncomfortable. He hoped Ashford kept an eye on him. The storekeeper hurried down the stairs. “Mrs. Ashford says she’ll come right after her bread is out of the oven.”
Noah didn’t welcome this delay. He propped his hands on his hips. “Does she know the way to the Osbournes?”
“Give me the directions,” the storekeeper said, “and I’ll explain them to her.”
Noah told him and then stood there anyway, wanting to move the man’s wife along quicker.
Ashford chuckled and winked. “Don’t worry, young man. Babies aren’t usually in a rush to be born. There’s time.”
The preacher’s daughter-in-law spoke up. “I’ll come, Mr. Whitmore. We haven’t spoken, but I’m Lavina Caruthers. I’ve helped deliver babies, too.”
Wanting to avoid more contact with the preacher, Noah hedged. “That’s nice of you, ma’am, but I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no problem. Old Saul can drive home by himself and I’ll come with you. We brought our extra horse into town to be shod, so I’ll ride over. Sometimes an extra pair of hands are good to have.”
Noah said his thanks and walked outside. He threw a leg over his horse and headed toward the Osbournes. He didn’t like returning without help—what if Ashford was wrong? What if the baby came before the midwife?