Mama must have had to go a long way to look for water, or maybe she needed the ladies’ room too. The only people in this hall were a nurse carrying a baby at one end and a man at the other. They walked toward each other, not slow, but not running either. They knew the rule about no running indoors, and of course when you are holding a baby you want to be careful. Mattie knew that from watching all the ladies at church and the gentle way they handed new babies around and cooed and made goofy faces.
Mattie hugged the wall and watched. In the quiet hallway, without even stopping, the nurse put the baby in the man’s open arms and then pivoted to walk alongside him.
A blue blanket slid between them to the floor as they passed him.
Mattie waited for one of them to stop and pick it up. Because it was the baby’s, they would want to wash it after it had been on the floor, but it was important not to lose it.
They kept walking.
Toward an outside door.
Mattie stepped into the hall. “Wait!”
They didn’t look back.
“You dropped something!” Mattie picked up the blanket.
They were near the door to the outside now. The nurse glanced at Mattie as he held up the blanket. But she only turned away to hold the door open for the man. He left with the baby, and she went around a corner in the hall and disappeared.
Mattie fingered the blanket. It had letters on it. Mama said she was going to teach him to read before he went to school, but they hadn’t started yet. He only knew his letters. A big J, like his father’s name, Judd. And a big A, like his mother’s name, Alyce. And some others that didn’t matter. They must be the baby’s name though. Someone made the blanket and put the baby’s name on it when he was born, so they would be looking for it. He could give the blanket to Mama when she got back. Or Papa. Or Mrs. Gibson. A grown-up would know what to do with it so the man could come back and find it.
Whenever Mama wanted him to fold his clothes neatly, Mattie didn’t do a very good job. She wouldn’t think he did a good job with the blanket either, but he tried before he took it back into the waiting area.
Papa was there. “Where were you?”
“Just in the hall.”
“You were not supposed to be anywhere but right here.”
“I saw somebody—”
“You were not supposed to be in the hall.” Papa snatched the blanket from Mattie’s hands. “Where did you get this?”
“Someone dropped it. You could—”
“Did you see who?”
“Yes, sir. You could—”
“You shouldn’t have been in the hall.”
“I’m sorry, sir. You could still—”
“Sit down, Matthew.”
Mattie sat in a wiggly chair and didn’t try to explain again. He only pictured the man with the baby getting farther and farther from the hospital without knowing he had dropped the blanket. The real Papa was here, the one who didn’t let Mattie finish sentences. He could still go out those doors at the end of the hall and catch the man with the baby and give him the blanket so the baby would have it. If he was the baby’s father, who had come to take the baby home from the hospital, he would want the blanket. But Mattie couldn’t explain that to real Papa.
“Why are you speaking to Mattie that way?” Mama sat down next to Mattie and offered him the promised cup of water.
“Where did you go?” Papa said.
“I told you I was stepping out for water. It’s stifling in here. You did say you were almost finished.”
“What took so long?” Mattie said.
“The water fountain was broken. I had to go over to the next hall.” Mama stroked Mattie’s head. “What are you holding, Judd? Is that…?”
Papa dipped his head once.
“How did you get that?”
“The boy found it.”
Mama tugged at one corner. “It’s hand-embroidered, Judd.”
Papa was silent. Mattie drained his water cup.
“Somebody cared about that child.” Mama’s voice was like she had a sore throat.
“It’s done,” Papa said.
“What’s done?” Mattie handed his empty cup to Mama.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” Mama thrust the blanket back at Papa. “I only stepped out for five minutes, Judd, to take care of our child. This is a problem.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m taking Mattie outside,” Mama said. “At least there will be some fresh air. We’ll find a bench out front and wait for you. My parents are expecting us for supper. We can still get to St. Charles on time.”
Mama took Mattie’s hand and led him through the hallways, which felt like the harvest maze they went to with his grandparents, where the walls were made out of hay and made Mattie sneeze. Finally, they were out the front door, and Mattie yanked at his collar, wishing it were unbuttoned. Only when they were alone on a bench under an oak tree did he dare speak.
“Why did the nurse drop the blanket and leave it on the floor when she gave the baby to the man?”
“I don’t know, sweetie.” Mama opened two buttons on his shirt.
Mattie wondered what Papa would do with the blanket now, but he couldn’t ask that question.
“Why did the nurse give the baby to the man? Don’t they give babies to the mamas?”
“Perhaps there were special circumstances,” Mama said. “Nurses do what they think is best.”
“Jackson said he was born at home, not in a hospital.”
“Yes, many babies are born at home. Most babies, I suppose.”
“Unless there are special circumstances?” Mattie tried out the big words.
“That’s right.”
“Jackson says only rich people go to the hospital to get babies.”
“Jackson is only four years old, just the same as you. There is a lot he does not know. Different mothers have different needs. Different babies have different needs.”
“Special circumstances.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you think that baby was all right? The one the nurse gave the man?”
“Goodness, Mattie, you are full of questions.”
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I’ve always known you are a curious child.”
“Maybe the baby was in the hospital because he was sick. Maybe he wasn’t just born.”
“Yes, that could well be.”
“Or maybe the baby’s mama died, so they gave the baby to the daddy. That would be a special circumstance, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would. A very sad special circumstance, but sometimes it happens.”
“Then we should pray for the family with the special circumstance, shouldn’t we?”
Mama’s shoulders lifted. “That’s my good Mattie.”
“Was I born in a hospital, Mama?” If he was, Mattie hoped the nurse gave him to Mama and not Papa.
“Look, here comes Papa.” Mama stood up. “We can find the car and be at Grandpa Ted and Grandma Bea’s in time for supper. You can tell Grandpa Ted all about the loose screws in the wiggly chairs. We’ll stay the night. Maybe Uncle Alan can take you fishing in the morning. Won’t that be fun?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Nolan filled his lungs and held the air as long as he could. Immaculate mountain air, free of Denver traffic and city smells and anything smacking of congestion. This is why he and Bella had come to Canyon Mines twenty-six years ago, when Jillian was just two, and spent nearly every penny of their joint net worth on rehabbing the old house.
He let out his breath with a burst and a gasp and a cough. The air was not only clean but once again frigid. The meteorologist promised sun would warm the Saturday air, but it was still the first weekend in January and early in the day. Nolan wore shoes with thick tread to tramp through the residue of snow still on the sidewalks between the house he shared with his daughter, who was working on a Saturday to make up for playing hooky on Friday, and the downtown stre
tch of shops that were a twenty-minute walk from home. He and Jillian kept their property shoveled—most of the time—but some of their older neighbors could use help. Nolan resolved to attack the task later in the afternoon.
His target today was the hardware store over on Second Street for some lightbulbs. Jillian didn’t trust him to buy appropriate groceries, but it never occurred to her to buy lightbulbs or vacuum bags. While he was on the right block, maybe he’d mosey into Catch Air and get the story on those expensive boots straight from Leif.
“Well, I’ll be.” When no one was within earshot, Nolan considered it perfectly acceptable to speak aloud to himself. He was good company, after all.
In the next block, Tucker Kintzler was trotting in Nolan’s direction with a yellow and green striped blanket in one arm. It was simple to see his aim. Harv Reicker was readying to cross the street with his granddaughter, a firm grip on her hand while her eager feet itched to leave the curb.
“Harv!” Nolan called.
Harv turned his head. “Morning, Nolan.”
Nolan quickened his pace. “How did you manage such a lovely Saturday morning date?”
“Better than I deserve, that’s for sure.” Harv beamed at the little girl.
“Is she three now?” Nolan glanced at Tucker, who was almost there.
“Just last week.”
“Princess party?”
Harv laughed. “Star Wars.”
“Of course! What was I thinking? Forgive my gender stereotyping!”
Tucker was slowing enough to catch his breath. “Excuse me, sir.”
Harv pivoted his attention to the new voice. “Oh my goodness. The blankie. I didn’t even realize we’d dropped it.”
“I was hoping it was yours. I didn’t see anyone else with a child.”
“That’s mine!” the little girl said.
“Then I want you to have it.” Tucker handed it to her.
“I’m Nolan Duffy.” Nolan offered a handshake.
Tucker accepted it. “Tucker Kintzler.”
“Harv Reicker.” Harv pumped Tucker’s hand. “She may think she’s a Star Wars Jedi, but if I took her home without her blankie, I would never hear the end of it.”
Tucker squatted in front of the child. “Now I know everybody’s name except yours.”
“Trillia.”
“Hello, Trillia. Meeting you is the best part of my day so far, and I don’t think anyone else can make me smile as much as you have.” Tucker produced a huge, ridiculous grin.
Trillia pointed at him. “You’re silly.”
“That’s the best way to have fun.”
“Thank you again, Tucker,” Harv said. “You rescued my whole family from sleep time trauma.”
Harv led Trillia across the street.
“You have a way with the little ones,” Nolan said.
“It’s nothing,” Tucker said. “Just comes from being around them.”
“Do you have children?”
“Me? No.”
“Others in your family?”
“Somehow my grandfather seemed to attract them. Or seek them out, actually. He loved to have a group of them around.” Tucker shrugged and grinned. “It rubbed off.”
“I was about to visit Canary Cage for coffee,” Nolan said. “Care to join me?”
“I should let you get on with your day.”
Nolan smiled. Serendipitously running into Tucker was a perfect excuse for revamping his morning’s agenda. “I always have time for coffee with a gentleman running with a blankie.”
“I did have two cups at the B©B, but that just gets me started,” Tucker said. “My treat.”
They fell into step and walked the final half block to the Cage.
“Coffee doesn’t wind you up?” Nolan said.
“Never. ‘Keep it coming’ is my motto.”
“A man after my own heart,” Nolan said, “though I admit the older I get the more I have to cut myself off at some point in the day.”
It was Jillian who lived on coffee to the point of forgetting to eat some days. Her mother had done the same thing.
Inside, Clark Addison was behind the counter, his gray hair in a hygienic braid out of the way of his work. “Morning, Nolan. Two large Colombian coffees coming right up. You two are peas in a pod—except for the milk in his.”
Nolan glanced at Tucker. “You’ve been here before.”
“I might have been a time or two,” Tucker said.
“Are you eating this morning?” Clark asked.
“I think we both ate,” Nolan said. “Just the coffee.”
They took their coffee to a table by the window where they could watch the street.
“That was a sweet thing you did for Harv,” Nolan said.
“It was nothing. I saw right away that it must be the little girl’s and she was out with her grandfather. Maybe a Saturday morning breakfast.”
“You’re probably right about that. Most likely at Ben’s Bakery down the street. Harv has a sweet tooth when it comes to breakfast.”
“He seems like a nice guy. Reminds me a little of my grandfather.”
“Did you go out to Saturday breakfast together?”
Tucker nodded. “We did a lot of things together. I used to love spending time with Grandpa Matt.”
“Did he indulge you behind your mother’s back?”
Tucker laughed. “When he could get away with it. Isn’t that what grandparents do?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s part of the job description.”
“I wish I could remember more from when I was as young as Trillia. The solid memories don’t kick in until I was a little older.”
“That’s normal. We moved here when my daughter was two, but her earliest memory is about age four.”
“That’s what Grandpa Matt said.”
“Did he tell you what it was?”
“Just vaguely. A day trip with his parents while his father worked. But I adored him. In my earliest memories, he’s always there.”
“Same with me,” Nolan said.
“Where did you grow up?” Tucker swished the last few drops of his coffee.
“North of here. My parents and oldest brother still live up there. My Pop Paddy’s family were an Irish immigrant mining family back in the day. The Irish were desperately poor, so they did a lot of the scut work in the mines or the really dangerous jobs and hoped for a big payoff. A lot of them died young of black lung or accidental explosions. Somehow Paddy’s father survived. Half deaf most of his life though. Paddy always said they did a lot of yelling when he was around, but they had a good time.”
“That’s a great story,” Tucker said.
“Stay right there,” Nolan said. “I could use another cup of coffee. How about you?”
Tucker nodded. Nolan refilled their cups from the ready-made coffee urn at the end of the counter, making a guess at the amount of milk Tucker liked, and returned quickly. The more he kept the coffee coming, the more the stories would flow.
“What about your family?” Nolan set the cups on the table. “Any interesting stories?”
“Nothing like that.” Tucker picked up his coffee and sipped carefully. “I didn’t know my father. He left when I was two. My grandfather was the only father figure that mattered.”
“I’m sorry,” Nolan said. “About your father. But I’m glad you had your Grandpa Matt. Is he still around?”
Tucker shook his head but didn’t elaborate.
Nolan switched gears. “I think you met my daughter yesterday.”
Tucker’s eyes flicked up. “Kris?”
“No, the other one. Jillian.”
“Oh. The friend. She doesn’t ski. Who lives in the Colorado mountains and doesn’t ski?”
“You’d be surprised,” Nolan said. “Jillian just never wanted to learn. We lost her mom when she was young, and she developed other, more unique interests.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Tucker muttered.
Nolan sipped his coffee, wh
ich was still scalding hot. “She became a genealogist. She’s very good. I couldn’t be prouder.”
Tucker set down his coffee and pushed it a few inches away.
“It’s too hot to drink, isn’t it?” Nolan’s tongue was burned.
“It’s not that,” Tucker said.
Nolan cocked his head. “Something… about your family story?”
“It’s nothing.” He glanced out the front window. “The snowpack was pretty solid where I was yesterday though I thought they needed to make some artificial powder to top it off. I suppose the pack would be about the same everywhere around here?”
“I guess so,” Nolan said. “I confess these days I don’t have a much better record than my daughter. I haven’t skied in years, so I don’t keep up with the ski reports.”
“I guess you take it for granted if you live here. But I’m from Missouri. Skiing is the thing I came to do.”
“And you’re here alone?”
Tucker nodded. “Needed space to think about some decisions.”
“Nothing like mountain air to clear the cobwebs,” Nolan said.
“I’m counting on it.”
Hidden Run wasn’t just skiing. It was breakneck, madcap temerity—and a decision to be intercepted.
“Have you ever taught anyone to ski?” The words left Nolan’s mouth without premeditation.
“Me, a ski instructor? No, never.”
“Let me rephrase,” Nolan said. “As I said, I haven’t skied in years. I’ve never made a conscious decision not to ski again. Time just got away from me. At this point the common sense thing is to undertake some remedial recreational refreshment.”
Tucker chortled. “Remedial recreational refreshment?”
“Right. Go out with somebody I can have a little fun with who can remind me of the basics at the same time. Just a few outings to get my legs under me again.”
Tucker rubbed his chin, considering. “Sure, why not? I can help you out and still get in the kind of skiing I came to do. I’m in no hurry to go home.”
In the Cradle Lies Page 3