Baby In His Cradle

by Diana Whitney

  “Mountain so hi-igh,” Ellie sang without turning around.

  Samuel muttered, retrieved the spoon and scooped up a generous portion of hot cereal along with one raisin eye. The singing stopped.

  “Danged woman has eyes in back of her head,” he muttered to Baloo, who gave a knowing whine and laid his chin on the mattress. He eyed the hound, slipped a furtive glance toward the kitchen. As soon as Ellie was distracted by Daniel’s happy splashing, Samuel offered the heaping spoon to Baloo. The animal licked it clean in a flash. Samuel held his breath, waiting. When Ellie neither burst into song nor spun around to skewer him with a reproachful stare, he gave Baloo another bite, then another and another.

  By the time Daniel’s bath was over, Baloo was happily licking his whiskers and Samuel’s bowl was empty.

  “Wonderful!” Ellie exclaimed when she retrieved the breakfast tray. “You see, you were hungrier than you thought.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Would you like some more?”

  “No, thanks, I couldn’t eat another bite.” Samuel patted his stomach to deflect attention from sounds of whisker licking and doggy lip-smacking. Ellie would have ignored Baloo entirely if the dog hadn’t chosen that moment to deflate himself with a three-decibel burp.

  “Goodness,” Ellie murmured, turning toward the satisfied hound.

  Samuel snagged her wrist. “I wouldn’t mind some water, though, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Oh, sure. Coming right up.” She flashed him a sunny grin, took the tray into the kitchen.

  Samuel pointed at the dog bed, mouthed the appropriate command. Baloo obediently lumbered past Ellie, who was on her way back with a filled water glass. Samuel accepted the glass, drank greedily and regretted it. With his lungs twisting in warning, he barely managed to set the glass aside before the coughing fit attacked, and continued until his face was afire and he was wheezing for breath.

  It didn’t help that Ellie was whacking his shoulder blades hard enough to knock his lungs out through his nose. He would have told her to stop, except it took another ten seconds before he stopped coughing long enough to draw even the shallowest breath. They were the longest ten seconds of his life.

  By the time his head fell back against the pillow, Ellie was clutching his shoulders, her eyes huge with panic. “You’re burning up.”

  “It’s nothing.” A weak wrist-flick did little to reinforce that proclamation, so he added a thin smile. “Really, I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t fine. She knew it. And he knew it.

  Her face was whiter than Snowdrift’s ears. “I’ll get the aspirin.”

  “No, please.” There was no way he’d keep them down, but he didn’t want to worry her further. “I, er, have to go to the bathroom anyway. I’ll get them myself.”

  Ellie studied him for a moment. “It might be better if I brought the bathroom to you, if you know what I mean.”

  Samuel knew exactly what she meant. “I am not going to pee in a bucket.”

  “It’s not a terrible thing, you know. If I recall, you were quite helpful to me before I was strong enough to, well—” she blushed adorably “—you know.”

  “That was different.”

  “How?”

  He folded his arms. “It just was.”

  “All right then, alpha man.” Frowning, she stood back, swung her hand toward the open bathroom door less than ten feet from the bed. “Go for it.”

  “I will.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” Samuel mumbled, wishing the room would stop swaying long enough for him to get his bearings. He pulled back the covers, swiveled awkwardly around until his feet touched the floor. Every breath burned like fire, and his chest ached as if his lungs were pinched in barbed wire. He licked his lips, watched the target door undulate wildly. Puffing his cheeks, he sat rigidly for several long moments, then swung his legs back into bed and yanked up the covers.

  Ellie sat beside him, rubbing his shoulder. “You can’t do it, can you?”

  “I don’t have to go anymore.”

  “Samuel—”

  “Baloo does.” When her eyes widened in shock, Samuel nodded toward the front door where the hound was hopefully poised, wiggling in obvious discomfort. “He’s waiting for his morning walk.”

  “He can wait a few more minutes.”

  “That’s cruel,” Samuel replied, managing to look both stung and reproachful at the same time. “It’s not his fault he’s a helpless animal depending on the kindness of humans for the basic necessities of life.”

  Ellie rolled her eyes, stood with a huff. “All right, I’ll take him out, but you are not—I repeat not to leave that bed until I get back. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.” Of course, understanding and acquiescence were two entirely different things.

  “I mean it, Samuel. You’re a very sick man.” With that, she opened the door for the exuberant hound, and left the cabin.

  Samuel closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth to extract more oxygen with less effort. He was sick, all right. Damned sick, and if Samuel had correctly assessed his own condition, things would get a hell of a lot worse before they got better.

  Jasper was just a formless bump of ice now. Samuel’s precious Sacramento Kings hat and sweat shirt had been rescued weeks ago, when the poor shrunken snowman had become too fragile to support the garments.

  Now Ellie stood beside the melted symbol of freedom and safety, mourning its loss even more than she’d mourned the departure of the bunny to which she’d become so emotionally attached. It was silly, she supposed, but she couldn’t help herself. At least Snowdrift was alive and well, probably burrowed into a warm hole somewhere happily creating a new generation of flop-eared babies with a demure but ever-so-sexy Mrs. Snowdrift.

  Yes, there would be more bunnies. There would never be another Jasper.

  Ellie sighed, laid a hand over her heart as the melody of “Taps” ran through her mind. “Spring has come,” she sang softly. “Jasper’s gone,/ From the snow,/ Don’tcha know,/ Seems so wrong—” A pinecone plopped at her feet.

  She frowned at it. “What am I supposed to do with that?” Baloo wagged his tail, encouraged her with a yelp. “You want me to throw it?” Ellie doubted that the hound really nodded, but from her perspective, it looked as if he did. She shrugged and scooped up the pinecone. “Okay, boy. Go fetch.” She flung the pinecone as hard as she could.

  It bounced on the ground about thirty feet away.

  Baloo whined.

  “Go fetch, boy! Bring it back.”

  The hound gave her a dubious stare.

  Ellie stared back. “Wait a minute. You don’t expect me to go get the darned thing, do you?”

  Baloo barked.

  “Listen, bud, you are dog, I am human. Humans throw, dogs fetch. Those are the rules.”

  Saggy dog eyes blinked in disbelief.

  “I take it this is news to you?”

  Whining, Baloo shook his head, then wandered over to relieve himself on a nearby bush. Ellie noted the process with her own sense of relief. “It’s about time you took care of business. Let’s go inside now.”

  Ignoring the request, the dog lumbered to a particularly intriguing area at the edge of the clearing, sniffing and circling.

  “I’m going inside,” Ellie informed the. indisposed animal. “Just scratch on the front door when you’ve finished your business.”

  Anxious to check on Samuel, she gave the melted snow mound a sad pat, heaved a regretful sigh and returned to the cabin, gushing about the beautiful weather before she’d even pulled the door shut behind her. “It is positively gorgeous today. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and there are new buds on the buck brush—” Her gaze fell on the empty bed. “Samuel?”

  Silence.

  Her heart leapt into her throat, her voice was shrill with fear. “Samuel?”

  The bathroom door was closed. Ellie dashed forward, pounded frantically. “Samuel, are you in there? Are y
ou all right?”

  Silence.

  Modesty be damned, Ellie grabbed the knob, burst into the room and found exactly what she’d feared.

  Cedar steam wafted from the simmering pot atop the woodstove. Ellie added fresh branches gathered from the forest, stirred the fragrant soup with a wooden paddle. Two days had passed since she’d found Samuel unconscious and bleeding. Two long, grueling days during which his condition had continued to deteriorate. Ellie was petrified.

  In the cradle, Daniel cooed happily, blissfully un-aware that the direction of his young life, and indeed his entire future rested on decisions his mother would soon be forced to make.

  Ellie shuddered, absently petted the worried hound that now followed her like a four-legged shadow. Animals instinctively understood crisis. Unfortunately they couldn’t deal with it any better than their human counterparts. At least Baloo couldn’t. The heartbroken hound hadn’t eaten in two days, and was practically paralyzed with grief.

  The dog followed Ellie into the kitchen where she tried to console him with some hand-fed kibble. The offering was refused with a pathetic whine. “There’s no sense in all of us starving,” she told the reluctant animal. “Samuel would be very upset if he knew you weren’t taking proper care of yourself.”

  The admonition wasn’t given in a particularly stern tone since Ellie’s appetite hadn’t been any better than Baloo’s. She forced herself to eat, but only to maintain a sufficient supply of nutritious breast milk for her son.

  Heartbreak had never been so painful.

  She glanced at the awful fish-shaped wall clock, then went to awaken Samuel as she’d done every two hours since he’d passed out in the bathroom and struck his head on the sink.

  She sat on the edge of the mattress, felt tears sting her eyes. He was so very pale. The rugged creases that had once seemed so virile now looked like sunken chasms in gray rock. She stroked his dear face, smoothed hair that was no longer glossy, but felt dry and brittle to the touch. His breathing was labored, shallow. Gurgling.

  She bit her lip, buried her fear with gentleness. “Wake up, Samuel.”

  A quiet groan slid from his slack lips.

  “I know,” she soothed. “I know, but you have to wake up just for a few minutes.”

  His eyelids fluttered, refused to rise.

  Ellie moistened a cloth in the basin by his bed, cooled his face with it. “There, doesn’t that feel good? I think your fever has gone down. You don’t feel nearly as warm today.”

  True enough, although that gave her little solace since he seemed to be having even more difficulty breathing. The cedar steam that had been so beneficial in Daniel’s first days of life didn’t appear to have any effect now.

  Samuel’s chest vibrated as he sucked a noisy breath, and painfully opened his eyes. Hollow eyes. Dead eyes.

  It took every ounce of strength she could muster to keep from weeping. “Good morning,” she whispered. “Again.”

  He blinked, focused. A small glow of recognition sparked in his eyes. “Hi.” The word was forced out with great effort.

  On the other side of the bed, Baloo hoisted his forepaws to the mattress and sniveled. Samuel turned his head to acknowledge the animal. “Hey, boy. How’s—” a breath “—it going?”

  The hound licked Samuel’s wrist.

  Samuel turned away coughing, too weak to protest as Ellie raised his shoulders, held him until the spasm had passed. She fluffed the pillows, settled him back into the semisitting position that seemed to ease his breathing.

  “Can you take a little water?” When he nodded, she retrieved a glass from the nightstand, held it to his lips. He sipped cautiously, made no attempt to hold the glass himself. When he turned his head, she exchanged the glass for the med kit penlight which was also on the nightstand and forced an airy tone. “It’s time for me to practice all the neat medic tricks you taught me. Open your eyes for me.” He complied and she shined the light into each eye. “Everything is dilating nicely. Still no sign of concussion.”

  “Lucky me.” There was no edge to his voice, only profound sadness.

  Ellie swallowed hard, managed a bright smile. “Actually you really are lucky, considering the size of that blue golf ball on your forehead. I was afraid you’d fractured your darned skull.”

  “Too thick.”

  “I’d agree with that.” She returned the penlight to the nightstand, picked up the stethoscope.

  Samuel raised a weak hand, shook his head. “Don’t bother—” A coughing spasm cut off his breath. When it was over, he looked like death on a stick.

  Ellie laid the stethoscope aside without argument, used the damp cloth to sponge his face. She didn’t have to listen to his chest again to know that every breath he took sounded like the ocean being sucked through a straw. “You have pneumonia, don’t you?”

  At first he gave no indication that he’d heard. After a moment, he nodded weakly.

  The confirmation was no surprise, but still hit her like a fist in the gut. Pneumonia was serious, damned serious. People died from it.

  She set the cloth aside, fearing the frantic trembling of her hands would reveal her terror. “All right, now that we know what we’re dealing with, how can we treat it?”

  He shook his head again, looked away.

  Ellie stood suddenly, spun to focus on the med kit in the corner. She rushed to open it, dug through the contents with hysterical abandon. “Antibiotics,” she mumbled stupidly, tossing ointment tubes and bandages onto the floor. “There must be antibiotics in here somewhere.”

  “Ellie—”

  “There must be!” Ignoring Samuel’s thin plea, she heaved an instrument tray out to root beneath it. “You have everything in here. Dear Lord, you even have latex gloves and condoms.” The items in question hit the floor along with a pack of tongue depressors and several rolls of over-the-counter antacids. “You have everything in here, everything—” Her fingers clamped around an official-looking prescription-type bottle. She read the label. “What’s this?”

  Samuel sighed. “Allergy medicine.”

  Ellie was already shaking tablets into her palm. “Take them. They might help.”

  “No—”

  “Take them!” She stumbled to the bed, thrust the handful of pills at him. “Please!”

  Somehow he mustered the strength to lay a hand over her wrist, speak brokenly between strained breaths. “There’s nothing you can do...has to run its course.” His eyes were calm, determined. Weary. “Do something... for me.”

  Ellie clutched his hand. “Anything.”

  He gave a tired nod, licked his lips. “Take Daniel and go.”

  The implication of his request didn’t sink in right away. “Go where?”

  “Anywhere. Chicago, Boise—” He turned away, coughed, took a shuddering breath. When he could speak again, he sounded like a man resigned to his fate. “It’s time, Ellie. It’s time.”

  A cold terror settled in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not leaving you, Samuel. I’ll never leave you.”

  “You have to. For Daniel.”

  “No.” She stood, spun away. Her fingers absently clawed her scalp, her feet moved without permission, and she paced the cramped cabin like a caged animal. “You’re getting better every day.” She fervently believed that. She had to believe it. “We’ll leave when you’re well, Samuel, and we’ll leave together. All of us. Together.”

  “The drawer,” he whispered.

  Ellie jerked to a stop, looked over her shoulder. His eyes were sunken, bruised, like lumps of coal in a colorless, winter-white face. Like a snowman melting in the sun, dying before her eyes. She was helpless to stop it.

  “Kitchen drawer,” he repeated, paused to lick his lips. “Truck key. Take it.”

  Unable to speak, Ellie refused by shaking her head.

  “My wallet. Credit cards. Take them, too.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. She wouldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t.

  Samuel’s soft voice ech
oed as if reading her mind. “You have to leave.”

  Panic cracked inside her, shattered into stinging shards of hopeless terror. Blood rushed to her brain, whooshed like a roaring river, drowning thought, drowning logic, drowning everything but the hideous fear. It was pulling her under, squeezing her lungs until she wanted to scream from the searing pain. But she couldn’t scream because she couldn’t breathe.

  You have to leave.

  No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

  For Daniel.

  No.

  It’s time.

  The room spun wildly. Air rushed into her starved lungs. Tears spurted from her eyes. All her life she’d dealt with problems by running away from them. It had been easier that way because she’d never wanted anything badly enough to endure the pain of confrontation. Never until now.

  For the first time, Ellie was willing to stay, to confront, to pay any price, endure any anguish to save the man she loved more than life itself. And she did love Samuel Evans, desperately, irrevocably, with every fiber of her being, every atom of her soul.

  She wouldn’t leave him. She couldn’t leave him.

  But if she didn’t leave him, she could lose her precious son forever.

  “Ellie.”

  The weak whisper caught like a cruel hand, spun her around. Samuel was ashen, his eyes dark with desperation. She hurried to his bedside, clasped his icy hand between her palms, pressed it to her heart.

  He coughed weakly, tried for a thin smile. “Thank you.”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You brought joy into my life.” His fingers contracted as if he’d tried to squeeze her hand. “So much joy, so much laughter. Thank you for that.”

  Still clutching his hand with both of her own, Ellie dipped her head to wipe her wet face on the shoulder of her shirt. It was a delaying tactic allowing an extra moment to gain composure, to steady the emotional crack in a voice over which she barely had control. She licked her lips, focused her mind, faced him with forced reproach. “I will not allow you to give up on yourself, Samuel. Not this time.”