Fletcher's Baby

by McAllister, Anne

  “An Empire waistline, I think,” Sam’s mother had said. “How kind of Jane Austen to be all the rage just now. Yes, gathered right below the bosom. I can add extra fullness if we need it. And—” she’d turned to assess Josie’s breasts “—a scoop-neck. Long sleeves or caps? Which do you prefer?”

  “Um,” Josie had said, who’d never considered the question.

  “Long,” Sam’s mother had decided. “Unless I don’t have time. Then we can do short.”

  Josie truly had been just along for the ride. Amelia had consulted her about color. “Ivory or white?” she’d asked as she held up bolts of satin against Josie’s rosy skin.

  “Ivory?” Josie had ventured. She didn’t feel quite virginal enough for white.

  “Ivory,” Amelia had agreed briskly. She had given Josie an approving nod. “You have an eye for what will work.”

  So had Amelia, it was apparent. And a determination to bring it off.

  “Can you really make me a wedding dress in three days?” Josie had asked her when they’d come back laden down with satin and lace and zippers and buttons and buoyed by Amelia’s enthusiasm.

  “Well, it won’t be a designer dress,” Amelia had said. “But it will do, I should think.”

  Now it was Sunday morning, and as she looked at the young woman standing in front of the mirror admiring herself in the Empire-waisted, scoop-necked ivory satin dress with the lace and satin bodice and the long lace sleeves, she waited for the verdict.

  “Suit you?” she asked at last when Josie simply stared and turned and stared some more.

  Josie could only smile and say, “Oh, yes.”

  Sam didn’t know why he was so nervous. It was just a wedding after all. Just he and Josie doing what was necessary for the child they’d begotten. Important, yes, but hardly earth-shaking.

  So why was he? Shaking, that is?

  He held out his hands and studied the fine tremor in his fingers. He reached up and eased a finger inside his shirt collar, hoping to find a bit more air. He wore a tie almost every day of his life and he’d never been strangled by one yet.

  But this one—this one just might.

  The cellist was playing something suitably serious that Sam recognized but didn’t know the name of. Not the piece Josie was going to enter on, he knew that much. But he couldn’t help lifting his eyes to the stairs as if she might already be there.

  He hoped she would get down the stairs in one piece. Personally he didn’t see why she didn’t just walk into the parlor through the dining room and join him in front of the fireplace where the minister was standing now.

  “She needs to make an entrance,” his mother had insisted. “She’ll come down the stairs.”

  “She’s not supposed to go up the stairs,” Sam had pointed out. “You’re not,” he’d said to Josie flatly in case she got the same stupid idea in her head that his mother had.

  “She’s not supposed to climb them,” Amelia had agreed. “So you can carry her.”

  For an instant, Sam had gaped. But the same instant’s flare of eagerness in Josie’s eyes had made up his mind.

  “Right,” he’d said. And he strode across the room, swung her into his arms and carried her up then and there.

  “You can’t! I’m not—I’m not dressed!” Josie had protested.

  Sam had stopped and looked down at her very proper trousers and smocked top. “You’re not?” he’d said in his most hopeful lascivious tone. He’d been gratified when she almost smiled.

  She’d punched his arm lightly. “You know what I mean. My dress.”

  “I’ll bring your dress up,” Amelia had said. “Sam’s not supposed to see you in your dress until the wedding anyway.”

  Like this was a traditional wedding, Sam thought now, wiping damp palms down the sides of his black trousers.

  And then the cellist stopped playing, and Benjamin appeared on the landing. He studied the assembled group below—Sam’s relatives, a couple of friends of Josie’s, the foster-parents she’d lived with before she’d come to stay at Hattie’s—then looked at Sam. The murmuring stopped and a hush fell over the room. Benjamin nodded his head.

  The cellist turned the page over and began to play.

  Standing by the fireplace, Sam watched as Josie, one hand on Benjamin’s arm, came slowly down the stairs, making the entrance his mother had promised.

  She looked, Sam thought, like an angel descending from on high.

  His throat constricted slightly as he stared at her. Exactly like an angel and an earth goddess combined, with her glorious motherly shape draped in soft yet elegant satin ivory, her arms encased in the finest lace, the tops of her wonderful breasts just barely peeking out from the scooped neck of the dress his mother had made her. Her long dark hair had been swept up away from her face and caught in a band of orange blossoms. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark and serious and unblinking as they zeroed in on him. She looked radiant. The way a bride ought to look.

  If only she would smile.

  He wanted her to smile.

  He stepped forward almost before she reached the bottom of the stairs. He held out his arm to her before she’d even begun to relinquish Benjamin’s. He heard someone murmur something and someone else titter.

  He didn’t notice. He didn’t care. He saw only her.

  He remembered the night he had gone to her room. He remembered her tear-streaked face. After that he remembered only bits and pieces. Touches and nibbles. Gentle caresses and urgent needs. But it was enough.

  He remembered her kisses. He remembered her smile.

  Smile, he urged her silently now. Smile for me.

  “Dearly beloved,” the minister began, and out of the corner of his eye Sam saw the color drain from Josie’s face. He felt her fingers clench against the fine wool of his coat. He reached over and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. They trembled until he curved his own around them tightly.

  “Will you, Samuel, take Josephine...?”

  The words flowed over him—love, cherish, honor, sustain. Richer, poorer. Sickness, health. As long as you both shall live—and then the minister was looking at him, waiting for him.

  He said, “I will.”

  “Will you, Josephine, take Samuel to be your lawfully wedded husband...?”

  He looked at his fingers wrapped over hers. He looked at her belly which was the reason they were here. He wondered what she heard in the words the minister was saying.

  She said, “I will.”

  “Rings,” said the minister.

  Sam’s head jerked up. So did Josie’s. They stared at each other. No question now what she was thinking, Sam thought. Same thing he was thinking: Omigod, I forgot the rings.

  He remembered lying to the guests about having Josie’s rings resized. He’d never thought of it again. Cletus poked him in the side with an elbow. Once. Then again. Sam turned to glower at him. Cletus pressed a ring into his palm.

  Sam stared at it. Cletus arched his brows expressively, then stepped on Sam’s foot for good measure.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” the minister intoned, and looked at him expectantly.

  Sam fumbled the ring, then got it between his nerveless fingers and took Josie’s hand in his.

  He slid it on.

  Josie looked at it, then up at him. “It’s Hattie’s ring,” she said.

  And then she smiled at him.

  It was a good thing they had Benjamin and Cletus and Amelia, Josie thought. If she and Sam had been left to get married on their own, there was no telling the hash they might have made of it.

  But with a little help from their friends—and Sam’s relatives—the wedding had come off perfectly. There was even a ring for Sam.

  Amelia had pressed a plain gold band into Josie’s hand seconds before the minister looked at her expectantly. Later she found out it was the ring Amelia had given Sam’s father.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m interfering,” Amelia said afterward, during the reception. They’d
finished the dinner the caterer had served—tender, buttery chicken Kiev with fresh asparagus and twice-baked potatoes—and were now listening to Sam’s uncle toast the newly wedded couple with long-winded enthusiasm.

  “Of course not,” Josie said. She managed a smile for the woman who was, for however short a time, her mother-in-law. She liked Amelia at lot. She wished she weren’t going to lose her when she lost Sam.

  “Sam would have had it eventually anyway,” Amelia went on, “but it’s lovely that he had it for his wedding. Unless,” she amended, “you want to give him one of your own?”

  “N-no.” Josie shook her head. “It’s fine.”

  It would be one less thing for him to give back to her when he left her.

  She twisted the matching band and diamond solitaire on her own finger. She would have to be sure he got Hattie’s ring back as well.

  The thought of ending their marriage when they’d just begun it made her throat constrict. She blinked her eyes and turned away from Amelia, needing a moment to restore the smile she’d managed to keep on her face during most of the reception. Then she turned back, smile in place—and felt a contraction.

  It caused the smile to falter again, just briefly.

  She’d had a few contractions since the night Sam had taken her to the hospital. This was probably no more significant than those. Just the same, she put a surreptitious hand against her abdomen.

  “Are you all right?” Sam’s voice in her ear startled her.

  She dropped her hand quickly and turned her head to give him a brilliant smile. “Of course.”

  His dark brown eyes searched hers for a long moment. Then he dropped his gaze to where their child curled beneath her satin-covered belly. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if you weren’t?”

  “Yes.”

  “—wish you many years of married happiness,” Sam’s uncle finished, raising his champagne glass.

  Sam and Amelia and the rest of the guests drank deeply. Josie sipped her grape juice and wished Sam’s uncle’s wish would come true. She felt like an imposter, deceiving them all.

  “Come along, dears,” Amelia said. “Time to cut the cake.”

  Josie had another contraction while they were cutting the cake. She didn’t think she called attention to it. She smiled gamely while Cletus’s friend, Ambrose, took photos of them cutting the first piece, then taking turns feeding each other bites. She shivered at the touch of Sam’s tongue against her fingers as he nibbled the piece of cake. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it. It was just—

  Happening again. This time it came from around the back, spreading and tightening, and Josie sucked in an involuntary breath. She dropped the cake she was feeding Sam. He retrieved it and tossed it onto a nearby plate.

  “Let’s try it again,” Ambrose said, waving them back to stand behind the cake again.

  But Sam shook his head. “Once is enough.” His fingers sought Josie’s. “Carry on with the party,” he said to the assembled guests. “I’m taking my bride up to bed.”

  Josie went crimson as all the guests smiled and laughed.

  “We can’t leave now,” she whispered at him under her breath.

  “It’s now and bed, or later and the hospital.” He met her gaze levelly. “Take your pick.”

  Josie sighed and headed for the library, where she’d slept since he’d brought her home from the hospital last time.

  “Not there.”

  And, before she could say a word, he swung her up into his arms again and, parting the crowd, started up the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Josie demanded. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you on our honeymoon,” Sam said.

  “Honeymoon?’ she squeaked.

  “The Captain’s Quarters.” He waited until they were around the corner and on their way up to the third floor before he added, “It seemed appropriate somehow.”

  The Captain’s Quarters. The room in which they’d made love. The room in which their child had been conceived.

  It would have been a perfect place to go back to—if their wedding had been a love-match, if their marriage were going to be real!

  Josie felt like crying. She stayed limp in Sam’s arms until he reached the third floor. Then she struggled to get down. “We’re here. You don’t need to carry me.”

  He hesitated, looking down into her eyes for a moment. She hoped he didn’t read her pain in them.

  She tried to return his gaze equably, as if she were feeling calm and together and matter-of-fact. She must have done a good job for slowly he nodded and lowered her so that her feet touched the floor. But he didn’t let her go as he opened the door.

  Josie went in, eyes averted so she wouldn’t have to look at the bed. She sat down in the rocking chair. “Thank you. I’m fine now. You can go back downstairs.”

  Sam just looked at her. “Not quite. I’m staying here. I meant what I said.”

  Josie stared up at him and swallowed, her eyes wide. “About what?”

  “About taking you to bed.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS not the brightest idea Sam had ever had—taking Josie upstairs and proposing to spend the night with her.

  It was, in fact, pretty stupid.

  Perhaps he could put it down to the champagne his uncle Lloyd had been pouring so liberally. Or to the titters and blushes of his two maiden aunts. Or Benjamin and Cletus’s high fives and winks. Or the tears he’d seen in his mother’s eyes when she kissed him and Josie and told them how happy she was.

  Or maybe it had been the sight of Josie herself, smiling bravely and standing tall, even when he could see that she was about to topple over any moment.

  He’d felt a desperate need to gather her in his arms and protect her, to pick her up and carry her away with him.

  So he did.

  And once he was in the room with her, once he’d shut the door on the noise and revelry below, once he’d caught a glimpse of her long legs peeking out from beneath the ivory satin of her dress and of her flushed cheeks and fathomless eyes, he didn’t want to go.

  He leaned against the door and prayed she wouldn’t throw him out.

  Josie looked at him expectantly.

  When he didn’t move, he saw her swallow.

  “Taking me to bed?” she asked warily after a moment.

  He didn’t say anything, staring down into the abyss of decision, knowing even as he stared that the decision was already made.

  “Why not? We’re married,” he said firmly. Then, “I can’t leave, can I? What would they think? The groom can’t just walk out and let the bride sleep alone on her wedding night.”

  “He can’t?” Josie seemed to consider that a moment. Then she shrugged and looked up at him from where she sat on the bed. A small smile touched her lips. “I guess he can’t.”

  Her words let Sam breathe again. But then she moved, her skirt hiked farther, and his breath caught in his throat He shoved himself away from the door and took a step toward her. “So...since I’m staying, let me help you—” he cleared his throat which seemed suddenly tight “—out of your dress.”

  Josie stared at him, blinked, then looked down at her wedding gown. A deep rose color seemed to spread upward from her neckline.

  “It’s not like I—” Damn, his voice made him sound as if he was fourteen again! “I haven’t, um, seen you before...um, without it, I mean.”

  “I...guess not.” She raised her hands and held them out to him.

  He ran his tongue over suddenly parched lips, then reached out and took her hands and pulled her to her knees on the bed. The satin tented out over her belly. Sam moved around behind her and worked loose the hook at the base of her neck. His fingers skimmed over her skin and he felt a shiver run through her. A similar one ran through him. A hungry one. A needy one. One he forced himself to suppress.

  He eased the zipper down and bared her back to view. Then he slid the dress away from her shoulders, drew it down her arms. He stood so clo
se behind her that the scent of her—a heady mixture of lilacs and something that hinted of citrus—tantalized him. He breathed it in, remembered a flash of how it had been to bury his face in her hair and have the aroma overwhelm him. He bent closer, breathed deeper.

  She shivered and gave a tiny, self-conscious laugh. “It...tickles.”

  “What does?”

  “You...um...breathing on me.” She turned her head and slanted a glance up at him. There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face, as if she was afraid to really smile, as if she didn’t know if she dared.

  He’d got a smile out of her earlier when he’d slipped Hattie’s ring on her finger. He wanted another now. He bent his head and nibbled at her ear.

  “Sam!” She batted at him and tried to wriggle away.

  He caught her at the waist with his hands, tickling her gently, and she squirmed, laughed, and toppled onto her side. He fell with her, holding her, drawing her close. His breath touched her neck, his lips followed.

  She made a small sound in the back of her throat, a sound that made all his hormones stand at attention, that made his body press against hers. His hands splayed across the curve of her midsection. He felt it go hard, contract.

  Josie stilled at once. So did he, hands still spread, unmoving, until at last he felt it ease. When it was over, she seemed to relax a little. She shifted her weight and turned slightly away from him, but she didn’t pull away completely.

  “A contraction,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but she nodded.

  And then he felt something different. Not a tensing, a thump—under his hand. He jerked back, frowning. “What’s that?”

  “The baby.” There was the hint of a smile in her voice.

  Sam swallowed. The baby? Their baby? Their baby kicked? He didn’t know why he was so astonished. Surely he knew that babies moved. Kicked. But—kicked him?

  “God.” he breathed.

  Josie turned her head. “Surprised?”

  He nodded. “I’d never... I didn’t think—” He felt foolish. “I’d never thought about it before. Does it... kick very often?”