Judith Bowen

by The Man from Blue River

  She’d never dreamed Fraser was carrying around this kind of burden. She hadn’t known his wife had died in childbirth. Why hadn’t Birdie told her? Martha swallowed uncomfortably. Of course, Birdie wouldn’t. Fraser had wanted to forget it, Birdie had said. Birdie had warned her that it wasn’t her place to tell Martha even the little she had.

  But still, no matter how horrifying the memory, couldn’t Fraser understand that it had been simply a freak thing? That his wife had just had the bad luck to be the one in how many thousands to die in a complication of pregnancy? Women had often died giving birth in the past, true—but in this day and age? Martha felt a sudden panic, as if her own dream was being consumed by something terrible beyond her control. She couldn’t let that happen.

  “I want a child, Fraser,” she said quietly. He stared straight at her, and his eyes burned into hers. “I’ve always wanted a family and a child of my own, and it’s— well, it’s never happened. I’d never dreamed I’d be standing here offering to marry you if you’d give me the baby I want, but…” She looked down, couldn’t bear any longer to meet the fire in his eyes. “When you brought this whole thing up, especially the part about not marrying for love, about just wanting to give Brenda’s girls a real home, I—I guess I just realized that maybe this was my chance.” She looked up at him and swallowed. “I might never get another.”

  Fraser walked toward her and took the coffee mug from her nerveless fingers. “Sit down,” he said gently, putting his hands on her shoulders. She sank onto the sofa, grateful that he didn’t sit beside her.

  He stood, hands in his pockets. “I’m going to tell you what happened that night, Martha, and I want you to know that I’ve never told another soul what I’m going to tell you now. Not all of it, anyway.” He stopped and was silent for so long that Martha thought he’d changed his mind.

  “I want to tell you because I want you to understand why I’ve sworn I’d never…” He paused, then went on gruffly, “Well, never do what you want from me.”

  He stared down at the floor for a minute or two, then raised his head. “I didn’t think much about having children one way or the other before I got married. I suppose a lot of men don’t. I’d been in love with Charlotte since I was a kid. So had my brother Weston. We fought over her, but in the end I married her. She was pregnant when we got married, not with my child, but I didn’t care.”

  Martha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Or the matter-of-fact way he was telling her.

  “I was crazy about her, always had been, and when she said she’d marry me, I was happier than I’d ever thought I could be. Then she lost the baby. A common enough thing, the doctors said. She was less than three months pregnant. A miscarriage. They said it happens all the time. But Charlotte wanted a baby. She never got over the miscarriage. A couple of years later she got pregnant again.”

  Fraser ran a hand over his face, and Martha could see what this was costing him, despite the flat way he was telling her about his life, his deepest intimacies, things between husband and wife she had no business knowing.

  “Everything went fine until she was about six months along. One day I’d been up with the sheep, and all the other hands were out. Just a freak situation. Birdie wasn’t around—she was off on a private job.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I came home late and found her lying on the kitchen floor m a pool of blood.”

  Martha tried to stifle her gasp.

  “She’d had the…the child. It was dead. Charlotte wasn’t dead, not yet. When I tried to pick her up to take her to the car, she wouldn’t let go of it.” Again he paused. Martha’s eyes were swimming.

  “She wouldn’t let go,” he repeated heavily. “I had to carry them both to the car, and then I drove like a maniac, but it wasn’t any use. She died before we got to Pine Ridge. When I…when I tried to lift her out of the car—I thought they could do something, bring her back somehow—she still wouldn’t let go of the baby. It was dead. It was cold already. She was dead. There was nothing anybody could do.”

  “Oh, Fraser-”

  “Don’t say anything, Martha.” His voice was hard as ice. “I can’t stand sympathy, not from anyone. I can’t stand kind words. I just wanted you to know why I can’t do what you want me to do.” He walked toward the door.

  Martha didn’t say anything; she couldn’t. Shè heard him walk through the kitchen, the small familiar sounds as he pulled on his coat and hat, the whine of the dog, the slam of the door, and then silence.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MARTHA DROVE to meet the school bus, her mind whirling, her body numb. Had she really just asked a man to marry her? Had she really just asked a man, practically a stranger, to father her baby? Dear God— she felt one burning cheek with an icy palm—what would Gran Thomas think if she were still alive?

  Martha had been raised a lady, in an old-fashioned home. And ladies didn’t ask near strangers to marry them. They certainly didn’t ask near-strangers to father their children, although Martha was pretty sure the topic hadn’t been covered all that thoroughly in the usual society bibles. She wanted to giggle, but recognized the urge as a crazy reaction to the events of the past hour.

  That sobered her. She blinked rapidly to clear sudden tears. What hell had Fraser been living all this time? How long? Three years, had Birdie said, since his wife had died? Four? Too long to go on blaming himself for something he couldn’t have prevented. Of course, Fraser would say he could have prevented it— if Charlotte hadn’t become pregnant, if his ranch wasn’t so remote, if he’d made sure one of the hands was always around when he couldn’t be there. But as Gran Thomas would have said, “If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no work for tinkers.”

  Who would have planned so meticulously for disaster? No one. No one would expect such a tragedy and then make complicated plans to avoid it. As Fraser had pointed out himself, the fact that Birdie, a trained nurse, wasn’t home, and that all the hands happened to be away, was just a freak situation.

  Did he intend to go on blaming himself forever? She had to convince him that he wasn’t to blame. Her entire happiness depended on it.

  And so did his.

  Martha frowned. Where had that thought come from?

  She saw the school bus just coming around the bend. At least she wasn’t late. She pulled to a stop at the side of the Westbank Ranch road and switched off the ignition

  But then, considering what he’d just told her, she didn’t think it was very likely he’d change his mind. Still, he might.

  No, she thought with a sigh and a glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror to make sure she didn’t look too disheveled. If things didn’t work out here, she’d just go on, as Fraser had suggested and as she’d known she must one day. She dug in her bag and pulled out a brush, quickly tugging it through her hair.

  She’d never been an unhappy person—that wouldn’t change. If she didn’t end up married, with children of her own, one day fairly soon, well, she’d just throw herself back into her work. She’d always enjoyed that. There was always work for a clever writer. Perhaps she’d go back to the television people and relaunch her food show, or go into business for herself doing something exciting. There were a million things to do if a person had a bit of imagination and some energy.

  It was a lie, every word. All she wanted now was Fraser’s baby growing inside her, the feel of his hands on her body, the knowledge that she could heal his spirit and help him forget. All she wanted was to gather these two orphans close to her, protect and nurture them, never let this cobbled-together family go again.

  “Hi, honey. How was school?” Martha helped Anne toss her book bag onto the back seat. Anne looked tired and sad and even smaller today than she usually did.

  “Okay, I guess.” Then Anne smiled hopefully. “You bring any cookies today? Where’s Daisy?”

  “Starved, huh?” Martha reached into the back seat for the bag of cookies she’d brought and the flask of hot chocolate. “Daisy’s at Birdie’s. I
thought we might take a little drive for a change, instead of going straight home.”

  “Where?” Anne’s eyes flickered with interest. She thrust a hand into the bag and pulled out two chocolate-chip cookies.

  Martha reversed the Bronco and glanced at the girl. “Where do you want to go? I thought we’d just drive around some of the roads here on the ranch. There are a lot of places I haven’t been yet, and I thought you might like to show them to me.”

  “Okay.” Anne munched in silence for a few moments as Martha drove. “I want to go to my mama’s place if that’s all right with you,” she said quietly. “Up where Gram and Gramps used to live.”

  Martha hadn’t expected that. She felt her heart lurch. “Where’s that, honey?”

  “I can show you. Its this next turn here to the right.” Anne took another bite of her cookie.

  “I guess you miss your mom a lot, don’t you?” Martha ventured. Maybe now Anne would talk. She’d been concerned about the child’s lack of emotion. Except for her outburst the day they told her Brenda was dead, she’d hardly said anything.

  “Not really.”

  Martha slowed to take the corner Anne had pointed out. She waited. Anne was silent.

  Martha tried again. “I guess you miss the place where you and Daisy grew up.”

  “Sometimes.” Anne shrugged. Then she turned and looked directly at Martha. “You don’t have to worry about me, Martha. I’m already used to my mama bein’ dead. I told you she was dead, didn’t I? I don’t know how I knew exactly. I just did.” The huge sigh that followed nearly broke Martha’s heart.

  She clung to the wheel hard as the rough track tossed the Bronco from side to side. It was so darned unfair!

  “Anyways,” the girl continued in a small voice, “I ain’t worried. Fraser’ll take care of us. He said he would and Fraser ain’t never told me’n’ Daisy somethin’ he didn’t do.”

  Martha shot the girl a swift look, stifling the urge to correct her ain’ts and her ain’t nevers. Anne’s face was calm as she brushed the cookie crumbs from her hands, slowly, methodically, then wiped her palms on her jeans. Horror struck Martha’s heart—what if Fraser’s plan didn’t work out? What if he couldn’t adopt these children? What if he had to turn them over to the authorities?

  That must not happen. Somehow Martha had to convince him either to marry her or go ahead with his original plan to marry someone else and adopt the children. Katie Barker. Her heart sank. Either way, the girls’ needs had to come first. Fraser was prepared for that. Was she?

  “There it is, Martha!” Anne slid to the front of the seat, as far as her seat belt would permit, and peered ahead. “Behind those trees.”

  Martha made the turn and geared down. The Bronco growled over the unplowed road with very little difficulty. Thank goodness. And she had four-wheel drive if she needed it.

  The trailer where the girls had grown up was a sadlooking affair. It was old, its roof patched many times with sheet metal and tar, its wooden stoop sagging. There were faded curtains at the window, and Martha could see a blackened metal chimney sticking through the roof, probably for a wood-burning stove, judging by the stack of neatly piled wood at the side of the trailer.

  No doubt the snow hid a multitude of sins, Martha thought. She shivered. She couldn’t imagine a greater contrast than between this forsaken place and the trim two-story mock Colonial where she’d grown up in one of the immaculate well-treed and green-lawned Madison suburbs. There, the fireplace and chimney had been used mainly by Santa Claus; here, the wood stove no doubt heated the entire place.

  “Careful!” Martha picked her way through the snow behind the running, leaping, laughing Anne. Anne scooped up a handful of snow and pitched it at Martha, just missing her. She shrieked with delight.

  Martha was surprised. She’d thought Anne might be sad when they came here, to the place she’d been born.

  “C’mere, Martha!” Anne was squinting through one of the windows. She’d already tried the door, but it was locked. Martha had to admit she was relieved. To see the remnants of Brenda’s life here, her clothes, the cupboards no doubt containing foodstuffs—stale breakfast cereal, half-empty pots of jam, mismatched crockery—would be depressing. She didn’t think Anne was ready to face that, despite her apparent high spirits. The truth simply hadn’t had a chance to sink in yet, no matter what the child said.

  Martha stepped up beside Anne, wiped the frost off the window and peered in. She was right; it was unutterably depressing.

  “Look, there’s Daisy’s old slippers.” Martha saw a small worn pair of beaded moccasins on the floor by the ancient fridge. “They used to be mine, and then they got too small and I gave them to Daisy. And there’s the fairy-tale book Gram gave me! Darn, I wish I could get in there and get it.”

  Anne pointed to a shelf by the television set where Martha could see several books on their sides.

  “We’ll come back sometime with the key,” Martha said. “Fraser’s probably got one.”

  “C’mon!” Anne grabbed Martha’s hand and, laughing, pulled her away from the trailer and around the back. They took big steps through the snow, which was nearly as high as the tops of Martha’s boots. “Let’s make angels and—Hey, look! There’s our old swing.”

  Martha saw two rope swings and a tire dangling from a crossbar lashed between two trees. At least Brenda had made an effort to make life happy for her children. She’d had no money to spare, but Anne obviously didn’t have sad memories of this place. On the contrary…

  “Okay.” Martha flopped down in the snow. “Bet I can make a better angel than you can.”

  “Bigger maybe,” Anne shouted, flopping down near her, “but not better!” She industriously began waving her arms and legs to form the angel’s skirt and wings. When they both stood up again, Anne remembered to take a big step away from her angel, leaving the image clear and crisp, while Martha forgot and stepped all over her angel’s skirt.

  Anne crowed with delight, and Martha laughed until her stomach hurt. “Another one. Make another one, Martha,” Anne begged, and skipped away to find a fresh expanse of snow. They made half a dozen more angels, then Anne got on the swing and began to pump, higher and higher, singing at the top of her lungs. Martha lay in the snow. She had rarely heard Anne sing. She felt terrific. She hadn’t felt this good for a long time. She’d forgotten how much fun it was to play in the snow. Even a grieving child still had a child’s heart for play.

  Martha stared up at the wide blue sky. She could see forever. Dear Lord. How in heaven’s name had she ended up in Wyoming? She smiled and closed her eyes for a few seconds, relishing the thin November sun on her face. This was so pleasant, so peaceful. All the tension she’d been feeling seemed to have drained away.

  She couldn’t hear a thing for the racket Anne was making and the added racket from a flock of curious crows that had settled in the cottonwoods around them. So it was with utter shock that Martha suddenly realized a dog had appeared out of nowhere. Spook.

  Dazed, Martha watched Daisy run past her to jump onto the other swing, shouting with excitement. That must mean…

  “Cold?” Fraser stood for a few seconds, looking down at her from very high up, his face dark against the bright sky. Then he hunkered down beside her, and Martha could see the teasing light in his eyes. In the brightness, his eyes, which she always thought so dark, were shot with gold.

  “Not very.” She smiled in response to his sudden grin and felt a rush of joy sweep through her entire body. Every nerve sang, and her inner pandemonium blended with the cries of the girls, the excited barking of the dog and the relentless censure of the crows. “I’m going to be a little wet when I get up, though. I’m not exactly dressed for this.”

  He surveyed her jacket and jeans, his eyes warm. But he said nothing. Martha felt her cheeks burn. “H-how’d you know we were here?”

  “I picked up Daisy at Birdie’s, and then on the way back I saw your tracks head off the road.” He frowned briefl
y, then looked at her and smiled again. “I figured I’d better see what you two were up to.”

  “Anne wanted to come here.”

  Fraser nodded, eyes serious.

  “You don’t think I did the wrong thing to bring her, do you?” All at once Martha was worried he might not approve.

  He shook his head. “No. I’ve been wondering when they’d ask to come back for a visit. This is the first time. I think Anne was afraid to while there was a chance her mother’d come back. Now—” he shrugged “—I don’t know. I’m no shrink. I guess maybe she can handle it now she knows she’s not coming back here to live ever again.”

  “But she seems to like it well enough.”

  He shrugged again. “I think they both did. And heck, Brenda was just like a kid herself most of the time. Sure, they had fun.”

  Martha studied him as he watched the girls. Here they were, the two of them, having an important conversation, with her flat on her back in a foot of snow as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. She struggled up on one elbow and he quickly offered his hand. She took it, warm and hard in hers, and sat up. Then, without his assistance, she got to her feet.

  “Here. Let me help you.” Fraser brushed the snow from the back of her jacket, and she twisted around to brush it from her backside and jeans. How could anything as absolutely boring and unsexy as a man brushing snow from a two-inch-thick down jacket make her feel so…so jumpy.

  “Thanks.” Martha quickly straightened and stepped back a foot or two. She shook herself. Fraser seemed not to notice her discomfiture. He was still watching the girls on the swing, eyes narrowed, brows slightly drawn. The silence between them stretched and stretched. Martha wondered if he was thinking about what had happened back at the house…

  “I’ve thought about your suggestion since we talked, Martha,” he said seriously. He’d been thinking exactly what she’d been thinking. He cleared his throat. “I realized maybe I was wrong not to give it a little more consideration. I have to say, uh, that I like your idea in general, more than my original idea. And I want you to know I appreciate your offer to help me out, but—” he paused and her cheeks burned and her stomach turned over at the but “—I hope you’ll understand why I can’t accept your terms.”