“How much time?”
“An hour. Maybe less.”
Beatrix invoked a protective instinct within him. Spurred by a remarkably strong emotion, Colton made his decision. All his life he’d been atoning for Joseph’s death. This was another penance, though a weak penance. He couldn’t save Beatrix—but Leah was correct, the shame did not rest with her. If giving her baby a name provided the dying woman with a modicum of peace, then his path was simple.
He was not meant to be happy, and there was no joy in this occasion.
“When Reverend Taggart arrives,” Colton said, “I’ll marry her.”
* * *
Beatrix started. The next pain hit with a force that sucked the breath from her lungs. She panted and squeezed her eyes shut, stifling a moan. For an eternity she could focus on nothing but her body, on the all-consuming need to push her child into the world. When the pain subsided, she crumpled against the pillows.
At least she had the man’s halting German. Speaking English required concentration, and she was exhausted. Colton Werner, he’d called himself. A German name. He spoke with a German accent. Her father would hate him. As an Austrian, since the war, her father loathed the Germans.
Colton was a giant compared to the men in her family. Dark-haired and handsome, without a hint of callowness in his bold features. The skin on his face was tanned and weathered, with a slight stubble of shaven whiskers casting a dark shadow over his jaw. He adjusted the pillow behind her head with work-roughened hands.
Numerous nicks and burns covered his fingers, and a raised scar slashed the back of his hand, disappearing beneath his cuff. His shoulders were broad, and his biceps stretched the fabric of his ready-made canvas shirt. The only softness to his fierce visage were his eyes, a curious shade of bottle green surrounded by a lighter hue of brown that was almost golden.
“Do not let my baby suffer for my mistakes.” Beatrix spoke slowly, flattening her accent, willing him to understand.
She was too weak to mitigate her sordid tale, too tired to care what these people thought of her. They may judge her, but her child was not to blame. She didn’t regret her baby, only the foolish person she’d been.
“There are no judges here.” Colton pressed a hand against his chest. “Only here.”
The anguish in his eyes mirrored her own remorse. This was a man who understood shame. The sure knowledge of his kinship in suffering created a bond between them. His ability to speak her language only drew her tighter into the sense of familiarity and comfort he provided. How long since anything had been familiar? Everything was unfamiliar: the sights, the sounds, the smells.
“Talk to me,” she begged.
“I understand the words better than I speak them,” he replied sadly.
“Do you know a song? A poem? Anything.”
Her insistence provoked a frustrated sigh, and she was immediately remorseful. “Never mind.”
He crooked his finger and reverently touched the side of her cheek. An instant later he jerked away, a flush of hot color washing over his weathered cheeks. “I will try.”
He spoke a few words of a childhood poem, his pronunciation thick, his forehead creased in concentration over each syllable.
Despite his awkward phrasing, she took a desperate comfort in the sound of his voice. She fought the tug of sleep, certain that if she gave in, she would never wake. But staying alert was so difficult. She’d exhausted the last of her strength on the journey. A journey that never should have been.
Peter had promised her marriage, but when his father had arranged his courtship to another girl, he’d turned his back on her. He’d turned his back on their child. She pressed the heel of her hand against her throbbing forehead. Marriage to Peter would have been a misery, but at least her child would have had a home, a family.
Her father thought women were weak, yet she doubted he could withstand the pain she was suffering. Her father thought women were weak, and yet his eight girls had survived into adulthood, and her three brothers had not lived past infancy. He thought women were weak, and yet Peter was the weak one. He had not been strong enough to face his family. He had not been strong enough to face her father.
She wanted to shout against the injustice. He had not been strong enough to face her.
For the whole of her life she’d been told that women were the weaker sex, yet women were the ones left to bear the burden when men turned feeble.
She placed a limp hand on Colton’s sleeve, halting his torturous recitation with a grateful smile. “Danke schön.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I know a little English,” she spoke haltingly. “But my English requires much thought.”
He smiled, softening the harsh lines of his face. “Then I will speak my poor German.”
How long had it been since she’d smiled herself? Nothing had turned out as she’d planned.
When the pastor had arranged her marriage to Quincy Davis, she’d been certain of his strength. He was a sheriff. He’d survived the War Between the States. There’d been no love between them, no promise of future love, only a simple partnership against a harsh land. He’d chosen to marry her and care for her baby even when Peter had chosen another and her father had shunned her.
Quincy Davis had been her last hope. But now he was gone. There was no one left to count on but herself.
Moments later another pain struck. The agony bloomed from her spine around her middle, sending her head throbbing with bone-crushing pressure. She’d had a backache since early that morning, but she’d been traveling for weeks; of course her back ached. As for the rest of her discomforts, she’d thought the traveling had made the swelling worse. Her headache had been from the meal she’d skipped. She hadn’t wanted to believe that anything could be truly wrong. She’d been so very close, and now everything was slipping away.
She caught Colton’s hand and forced him to look at her. “My baby?” she asked in her native tongue. “Will my baby survive?”
His gaze flickered for a moment, the barest second, and her hope drained.
“Ja,” he said. “Dein Baby ist stark.”
Your baby is strong.
Her English was lacking, but she wasn’t a fool. She’d seen the sad shake of the doctor’s head; she’d noticed how the midwife’s brow had furrowed. After attending the births of numerous nieces and nephews, she understood full well that what she was experiencing wasn’t normal. The next pain tortured her bones. The agony intensified until she feared she would split in two. She fumbled for Colton’s fingers once more, craving the reassurance of human touch. Even as her life slipped away, he was vital and alive. Strong. She clutched him as though she could tap his power for her own.
Closing her eyes, she pictured the mountains of her homeland. She’d left Austria behind forever.
Another voice spoke, and her eyes flew open. A man stood in the threshold of the room. Older than Colton, he was shorter and stouter, with light brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His face was set in a grim line, and his eyes were filled with sympathy. The collar of his neat shirt marked him as clergy.
“Nein!” Beatrix called. “No.”
Chapter Two
She wasn’t dying. Her baby wasn’t dying. She wanted to see her child’s eyes and touch the tips of her baby’s tiny fingers. She wasn’t leaving this world without a fight.
With his heavy enunciation, Colton spoke, “The reverend will marry us.”
The offer took Beatrix aback. “You have no wife?”
A grim smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Nein.”
Certainly he’d been married before. He was handsome and kind. Not old, but not young, either. Surely that sort of man had been married by now? A widower, perhaps.
“Warum ich?” she asked.
Why me? Why h
ad he offered? She was nothing to him.
“I will give your baby a name.” He clasped his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. “If that is your wish.”
Some of her confusion eased. He was offering her a name, not a life together. Though no one had said the words aloud, they were all avoiding the same truth. Her life was slipping away. If she lost her struggle, her child would be an orphan. An orphan at the mercy of these strangers. But that prospect was not so frightening when she thought of the mercy already shown by this gentle giant of a man.
Her time was running short. Decisions must be made. She didn’t know Colton Werner, but she hadn’t known Quincy Davis, either. At least with the sheriff, she had the word of his cousin. This man was unfamiliar to her. Through her pain and misery, she sensed a contradiction in Colton. He was offering the marriage as much as a kindness as a sacrifice.
What had he done in his life that required a sacrifice?
Leah, the midwife, spoke, and Colton translated.
“She says that I am a good man.” His face flushed. “She says that your baby will always have a home. You will always have a home.”
Despite their charity, a part of Beatrix held back. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. The kindness of these people, strangers, was almost too much to bear. Dare she trust in their generosity? Colton brushed the tear from her cheek. “What about your family? How can we reach them?”
“No. No family.”
Let her sisters believe she was settled and content, as she had planned to be. Let her father believe whatever he chose. Though weak in body, her consciousness had not diminished, only narrowed, and she battled with herself. Her hope in the future warred with the experiences of her past.
Another labor pain struck, and the urge to push temporarily robbed her of any rational thought. Leah voiced instructions, and Colton translated.
“Very soon,” Leah said, her eyes kind. “You’ll meet your baby soon.”
Colton Werner would give her a baby a name. A strong, German name her father would loathe.
“There are better men,” Colton’s voice grew thick. “But there’s no time.”
His admission flooded her with reckless gratitude. Her grandfather had said that only the blessed could see beautiful things in humble places. Colton was a humble man.
Beatrix studied her unexpected savior. “You served in the war?”
“Yes. Four years.”
He was hearty and fit. She’d read about the War Between the States, and she’d seen the faces of the boys at home who’d served in the Battle of Königgrätz during the Austro-Prussian War. Colton Werner had the same haunted look in his eyes. He was a survivor. From the train window she’d seen the endless stretches of merciless prairie punctuated by the occasional lonely town or solitary outpost. Only a strong man would seek to build a life here. He’d be the defender that her child needed in this stark and unforgiving land.
The nearer she came to death, the more focused she became on life. There was an odd kind of power in accepting the inevitable. She knew with a certainty born of suffering that everything she did in this moment changed the next. Not just for her, but also for the life she’d cradled within her.
Allowing herself only a moment to grieve for the future she’d never see, Beatrix touched Colton’s sleeve. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you.”
* * *
Her rushed gratitude sent Colton’s stomach folding. He wasn’t worthy of her admiration. He was a fraud, and if she looked into his past, she’d see the proof. His intervention was no more substantial than a false storefront. Leah had already assured him that if the baby survived, she and Daniel would raise the child along with their own baby—Colton had done nothing, save answer the call for a translator.
The reverend cleared his throat. “These are very unusual circumstances.” Before Colton could voice his justification, the reverend held up his hand. “I’ve grown accustomed to unusual circumstances around Cowboy Creek.”
Leah snapped her fingers, drawing their attention. “You’ve got about four minutes to perform the ceremony before the next contraction arrives. The baby isn’t far behind.”
Her urgency spurred them into action.
“Duly noted.” The reverend adjusted a pair of spectacles over his nose and opened his Bible in the palm of his hand. “Please, join hands.”
Colton took Beatrix’s tiny hand, sensing the tension in her trembling fingers. Without stopping to think, he dropped a kiss on her flushed cheek and brushed the damp hair from her forehead.
Her eyes glistened. “Danke schön.”
The reverend scooted nearer the kerosene lamp and bent his head. “A wedding is the celebration of the marvel of love. Colton Werner and Beatrix Haas, today, in the presence of God, we celebrate this wonder of your lives.”
Colton started to translate, but Beatrix held two fingers against his lips. “This I understand in my heart.”
The reverend dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. “Do you, Colton Werner, take this woman, to live together in marriage; will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in health and in sickness, in prosperity and in adversity; and forsaking all others, be faithful to her, so long as you shall live?”
“I do,” Colton replied, his throat tight.
The reverend repeated the words for Beatrix, and Colton interpreted the sentiment as best he could.
“Ja,” Beatrix replied. “I do.”
“Since my arrival in Cowboy Creek,” Reverend Taggart said. “I have come to admire a passage from an Indian ceremony.” He closed his Bible and held the book before him. “‘Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth for the other. Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two persons, but there are three lives before you; His life, Her life and Your life together.’ Soon there will be a child to complete your family. Amen.”
“Amen,” Beatrix and Colton spoke in unison.
The word fittingly translated into both languages.
“In accordance with the laws of the state of Kansas, with the authority of God’s Word, and with great joy, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Reverend Taggart leaned closer to Colton’s ear and spoke low. “I’ll file the paperwork with the town clerk tomorrow. Tonight you’re married in the eyes of God, and that’s what matters.”
Beatrix nodded, and her eyes fluttered and closed.
Fighting back his panic, Colton’s heart hammered in his chest. He’d stepped into this commitment knowing the grave nature of the situation, fully aware of what he was undertaking. With the moment nearing, he raged against the inevitable.
“I’ll leave you,” the revered murmured, his face somber. “The doctor is on his way from the apothecary. There’s a candlelight prayer service for Beatrix and her child at the church.”
The pressure behind Colton’s eyes built. “Thank you.”
The reverend rested a heavy hand on Colton’s shoulder. “You’ve done a good thing here today, son.”
His words sent a flush of heat over Colton’s face. “I did nothing.”
He’d given her nothing. None of them had. Everyone had broken their promises to Beatrix: her own father, the father of her baby, Quincy Davis, even her own body. They’d all made promises they hadn’t kept.
“You gave her peace in a time of need,” the reverend replied quietly. “Who will give you peace, Mr. Werner? We’ll be waiting at the church when there’s news.”
Colton didn’t trust himself to speak, answering only with a curt nod. There was no peace for him, not with the guilt he would carry to his dying day.
Leah glanced up with a frown. “Where is that doctor? I need another set of hands.”
“I can fetch him,” Colt
on offered.
“Don’t you dare leave me alone,” she said sharply.
A hot wave of anxiety slipped along his spine. Leah never lost her temper. At least not in the time he’d known her. The midwife was frightened, and he took a firm grip on his brittle emotions. There’d be time enough to break down later. Leah needed him strong. Beatrix needed both of them at their best.
Another wave of contractions struck, and Beatrix weakly squeezed his hand.
“Almost there,” Leah soothed. “Another push and you’ll have your baby.”
Beatrix screamed. The sound reverberated through Colton’s chest, shaking him to the core.
“It’s a boy,” Leah exclaimed. “You’ve given birth to a boy.”
Beatrix had gone slack. Colton touched her cheek, but her eyes drifted closed, and her breathing was shallow. Needles of alarm punctured his feigned calm.
“Help,” he begged Leah. “You’ve got to help her.”
“The baby first. I can’t help her without finishing up with the baby.”
Colton half stood and cupped Beatrix’s cold cheeks. “You have a baby boy. Be strong. Be strong for your son.”
Her eyes fluttered, and tears pooled on her lashes. “I’m tired.”
“I know. I know you’re tired.” He’d given up on so much in his life; he wasn’t giving up on this. “Fight for your baby.”
Her eyes slid shut. While Leah dealt with the baby, he rubbed warmth into her chilled fingers.
An eternity seemed to pass.
“What’s taking so long?” Colton demanded.
Leah stood, her face a mask of sorrow, she shook her head. “He’s not reviving. I’ve tried everything I know, and a few things that aren’t in the books. I’m afraid I can’t help him.” She stood and crossed toward Colton, then gently handed up the bundle into his outstretched arms. Speaking quietly, she said, “I’ll try and save Beatrix. She mustn’t know about the baby’s condition, or she’ll never fight. Clean him up and wrap him in a blanket. Once the doctor arrives, I’ll assist you.”
Cowboy Creek Christmas Page 14