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“He’s mine.” She splayed her hands over the baby. Her lips tightened.
Well, he never expected that. Had kind of thought she might see how relieved he was to know she wasn’t married. Why, all of a sudden, was she insisting the baby was hers? He hadn’t even considered otherwise, but her quick insistence and the defensive tone of her voice triggered misgivings in his mind. He carefully added up the things he noticed without heeding.
She didn’t know enough to warm the milk.
Nor remember to change the wet pants without his reminder.
She was out in a storm. What could be bad enough to drive her out in this weather?
It all added up to suspicious. Was she in danger? If so, he would protect her. Or had she done something that would bring a posse down about the rafters? Even then, he would see she was treated fairly.
“I’m going to town to find Joshua’s father. We’ll make things right. You’ll see.”
He nodded, then turned to peer out the window. Snow plastered against the glass as if painted there by an unseen hand. His insides churned like he’d guzzled a gallon of sour milk. Why had this storm dumped her into his life, upsetting the peace his ma needed…triggering thoughts and desires he thought he’d successfully buried years ago?
He stilled the impatience in his heart knowing he could do nothing to change the weather except pray. He leaned against the wall, staring at the whitewashed window. Lord, with one word You stopped the stormwhen You were on earth. Maybe You could see fit to say a word or two today to stop this storm.
As soon as he could see to find his way, he’d take Vivian and her baby to town. Before Ma came apart at the seams. Aware of a faint call from some distant part of his heart, he added, before his carefully constrained life exploded out of control.
In the meantime, they needed shelter.
And the cats clamored to be fed. He rescued the bucket from the floor where Ma abandoned it and poured the milk through the clean cloth saved for that purpose. He filled the half-dozen pans under the table and the cats happily lapped at their dinner. He set jugs of strained milk to cool. Good thing Ma insisted on keeping the cow producing. Otherwise, how would they feed the baby?
Funny, Vivian didn’t nurse her baby. He mentally added it to the list of things causing suspicion.
Vivian sank into the rocking chair where she could keep her gaze on Ma’s back. The air quivered with tension from both women.
Billy stood at the cupboard, wondering how one entertained a pretty, young guest. He could think of nothing to talk about.
Cat and Fluffy crawled into Ma’s lap and she stroked them. Maybe that would calm her.
Billy eased back to the fireplace and hunkered down on the stool he’d built specially for his weight. His insides settled into claylike heaviness at the way Vivian’s arms tightened, and how she blinked as if startled. She might be kind but she still feared him.
“Got to be hard—on your own with a new baby.”
She chuckled softly. He liked the sound of her amusement—soft and calming, reminding him of the wind through the top branches of the trees along the creek.
“Much harder than I dreamed.” She ducked her head but not before he saw a flash of stubbornness.
He allowed a one-cornered smile to tip his mouth. He admired a person with lots of grit when it came to facing life’s challenges. And he suspected Vivian had more than her share of difficulties tossed her way and yet she’d come back to Quinten as if to defy those circumstances. His smile fled, replaced with wariness that tightened his mouth. A stubborn woman could mean trouble for him and Ma. And no, he wouldn’t welcome a bit of trouble for the enjoyment of some time spent with Miss Vivian.
The wind howled around the house, rattled the windows and sent shafts of cold across the floor. He didn’t need to stir himself to know the storm worsened rather than let up. The room seemed overcrowded with Vivian and the baby in one corner, and Ma shivering in the other, and he went to the window and stared out. He longed to be able to trot out to the barn and check on the animals. But he didn’t dare leave Ma alone.
Vivian’s kindness had been so easily given when they were both at school. Truth was, he placed her on kind of a pedestal. Yet every instinct in him said she was going to turn his life inside out and upside down if he wasn’t careful.
If only the storm would end.
Lord, why have You put me in this situation?
Was God expecting him to see no harm came to that little baby?
It was the only thing that made sense.
As if to confirm his thinking, the baby started to cry.
Ma let out an echoing protest and covered her ears. “Don’t like baby crying.”
Billy sighed. Life would not settle back to normal as long as this woman and the little one remained. He gave one more imploring look at the window, sent up one more imploring prayer for the storm to stop, then turned to face the room.
Ma rocked Cat and Vivian rocked the baby as it continued to wail.
Billy looked from one to the other. Seemed they both wore similar frantic expressions, each one scared and upset by the other.
Vivian pressed the baby against her neck and rocked harder and harder as the cries grew louder and louder.
Billy scrubbed his fist across his chin. Oh, for the peace of the outdoors.
“What’s wrong with the little guy?”
Vivian shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose I could try feeding him again.” She reached into the basket for the bottle.
That was another thing. The basket looked like something a woman would carry shopping in. Or store sewing materials. Not hardly big enough for the little critter. Was a wonder it hadn’t suffocated. He squeezed at his thoughts, not wanting to shed one whiff of criticism on Vivian but it seemed she was running. From what? Was she in danger? His insides pushed at his bones. No one would hurt her while he was around.
Vivian found the bottle and examined its contents—an inch of old milk. She tipped the baby into the crook of her arm and hesitated.
Surely, she wouldn’t give the baby that. When he saw she intended to do so, Billy reached for the bottle. “I’ll get some fresh milk.” He scrubbed the bottle in hot water before filling it. While it warmed, he studied Vivian.
She must have felt his eyes on her for she gave him a hard look. “What?”
“Nothing.” He handed her the bottle. “Except, how come you know nothing about caring for a baby?”
She turned her attention to the infant. “Haven’t had much experience. Have I, Joshua?”
“You said he’s almost two months old.” He let his words convey his doubt.
She didn’t answer as she tried to persuade the little guy to take the bottle. But the baby screamed and gagged. “Come on, Joshua. Eat something. You’ll feel better.” She struggled to no avail. “Please, take the bottle.” Her voice grew sharp, edged with desperation.
Ma rocked harder and moaned. Cat decided he’d had enough and scrambled from Ma’s arms. Ma tried to grab the cat but it meant uncovering her ears and she quickly returned her hands to the sides of her head.
“Ma, pick up Fluffy. He’ll let you hold him.”
When Ma made no effort to do so, Billy strode over and scooped the cat into her lap. Ma shot him an accusing look as she wrapped the cat into her arms and returned her hands to her ears. At the sight of tears washing her face, Billy closed his eyes and prayed for patience and wisdom. The weather better change real quick before things went downhill any further.
The baby’s protests turned to screaming. Milk ran down his cheeks and pooled in the folds of his neck.
Billy stated the obvious. “I guess he ain’t hungry.”
Vivian set the bottle aside, wiped the squalling face, and cleaned the baby’s neck. The screaming continued, assaulting Billy’s eardrums.
Fluffy squirmed in Ma’s tight grasp. Tom and Tiger edged toward the sound, ears tipped in curiosity. The rest of the cats shrank back under the stove.
“Can’t you make him stop?” Billy demanded.
“I would, if I knew what to do.” She looked annoyed and frustrated at the same time.
“Why don’t you know?” He waited as she scowled at him. “He ain’t yours, is he?”
She snorted. “You wanting him? Right now, you could have him. Real cheap. Free, in fact.”
Billy blinked. His mouth pulled down at the corners. “You can’t give a baby away just because he’s crying.”
“No?” She pushed to her feet, took three steps and thrust the squalling bundle into Billy’s arms. “You make him stop.” She dropped back to the chair as if exhausted.
Billy couldn’t move. He’d never felt anything like this little bitty human. He had to remind himself to breathe.
The baby weighed next to nothing, yet had the lungs of a cattle drover. The little bundle of noise drew in a breath, pulling his mouth into a pout.
The poor thing.
Billy lifted the baby to his chest and patted gently. The wails continued. Billy walked toward the door, turned and walked back. Were the screams less intense? He hummed the tune, “Fairest Lord Jesus, ruler of all nature.”
The baby snuffled a bit, then grew quiet.
Billy let the sweetness of success, the incredible pleasure of holding this baby, fill his thoughts.
Ma stopped moaning, stopped rocking.
He kept humming, fearing the baby would begin his caterwauling again if he quit. He sank to the chair across from Vivian and continued the song.
Vivian sighed and tipped her head back.
Convinced there was something not right about this whole situation—a woman who admitted she wasn’t married and obviously knew little about caring for the infant she claimed was hers—he tried to figure out a way to get the truth from her. But she could answer questions any way she chose. Truth or lie.
“You hiding from someone?” He kept his voice the same timbre as his hum, relieved the baby didn’t protest and Ma seemed content murmuring comforting noises to Fluffy. A fragile peace settled about his taut nerves.
Vivian studied him intently.
He thought for a moment she intended to ignore his question.
“What concern is that of yours?”
The baby whimpered and Billy hummed for a few minutes before he answered. “I think it’s my concern if someone is looking for a missing baby. Last thing I need is trouble with the law.”
She gave a tight smile. “It seems to me you can handle most any trouble.”
“You mean my size.”
“I think it would be a good deterrent to any nosy parkers.”
“I ain’t talking about snoops. I’m meaning angry citizens or lawmen. I make a mighty big target for a bullet.”
Again that look of defiance. “I’m not planning to stay.” She glanced at Ma and gave the barest shiver.
Billy guessed she wasn’t aware of it any more than she realized the fear in her eyes.
Tom and Tiger, the most curious of his cats, jumped to his lap and nosed around the baby, sniffing and meowing. Tom, the more aggressive one, laid his ears back as if to say he didn’t approve of sharing his space with this strange creature. “Tom, you be nice.” Tom meowed innocently then edged under Billy’s arm, making Billy chuckle. “You always got to be first, don’t you?”
He felt a little foolish talking to his cats in front of this woman, and shut up.
“I’ll be gone as soon as the storm lets up,” Vivian assured him.
“It shows no sign of doing that.” And suppertime approached. His stomach began squeezing his backbone. He didn’t care to miss a meal. Nor delay it even a few minutes, but Ma didn’t look about to make anything.
Vivian was a guest. She could hardly be called on to prepare food. Besides, she might expect him to eat like she did. In which case he’d leave the table as hungry as he was now.
That left him—with a sleeping infant in his arms. He shifted the tiny bundle and handed it back to Vivian.
The baby protested at the change of arms but didn’t waken.
“I’ll make us something to eat.” He hated cooking. Seemed to take forever to prepare enough food to satisfy his appetite.
They had a good supply of venison; potatoes and turnips from the garden; eggs, milk, cheese and a storeroom with beans, flour and cornmeal. His mouth watered at the thought of fresh-from-the-oven corn bread drowned in molasses, but that took too long.
He pulled out three big fry pans and dropped a dollop of bacon drippings into each. As soon as it sizzled, he put venison chops in one pan and browned them. He cut leftover potatoes into the second and broke two dozen eggs into the third pan. He sliced a roll of Ma’s bread and wished for some fresh green vegetables, but garden season was a long way off.
“It’s ready. Come and get it.” He filled a plate for Ma, filled another with an equal amount for Vivian and set them on the table. The rest he scooped to a platter for himself.
When Vivian rose, Ma jerked to her feet. “Don’t come any closer.”
Vivian stopped so fast she teetered.
Billy stared from one woman to the other, feeling as if he were caught in the middle of two storms, not knowing which one would intensify first, nor what damage each would inflict.
“Ma, we got to feed the woman. It’s uncharitable not to.”
“I’ll leave,” Ma said, and before Billy could think what she meant to do, she dropped Fluffy to the floor, grabbed her plate and retreated past the stove into the doorless pantry. She pressed into the farthest corner, out of sight.
“Ma.”
“I’ll eat here,” she mumbled.
“I can eat here,” Vivian said at the same time.
Billy wanted nothing more than to sit down and fill the hollowness some people called hunger. Instead, he had these two people—three, if you counted the baby—to contend with.
And a storm in his head as violent as the one raging outdoors.
Chapter Three
