Authors: Susan Carroll
Yet he could not seem to urge his feet into movement. He
felt loath to return to Windhaven, dreading the prospect that the squire might
already be there, gleefully dragging Doughty along like a hunter's trophy,
trussed and bound.
As unlikely as that was to happen so soon, Trent was equally
reluctant to face a household of chattering women. In his present humor, there
was only one lady whose company he desired.
He gazed up the street where he had seen Chloe last,
although he realized she would have been long gone. He was correct. There was
no sign of her. But Lathrop was in full view, nearly knocking down some
shopkeeper who was unlocking his front door. Hatless, Lathrop rushed on, not
even pausing to apologize. He came tearing down the street like a madman.
By the time he reached Trent, he was white-faced,
breathless. Gripping the front of Trent's coat, Lathrop stared at him with wild
eyes.
"Charles! What the devil's amiss?" Trent felt a
shaft of dread pierced him. "Chloe! Has something happened to her?"
Lathrop managed to shake his head. "B-baby," he
gasped.
"What?" Trent said, feeling he could not have
heard correctly.
"Baby!" Lathrop fairly roared. "That infernal
Green woman is having her baby "
Relief flooded through Trent. For the first time that
morning, he felt an urge to smile "Calm yourself, Charles," he said,
prying his friend's clutching hands from his cloak. "It is a natural
consequence when a woman becomes that ... er---interesting."
"But the baby! It's coming all by itself."
"It is my understanding that they usually do,
Charles,"
Lathrop eyed him reproachfully. "This is no time for
jesting, Trent. Chloe is back there at that cottage with a woman who is going
to give birth at any moment, and there is only a three-year-old to help."
"What!" Trent scowled. "You left Chloe alone
with a woman in labor?"
"What was I supposed to do? Chloe told me to go fetch
the midwife. Where the deuce does one go to get a midwife?" Lathrop cried,
looking distractedly about him as though at any moment he might start turning
over the rocks themselves in his search.
Trent thought rapidly. "Go to the rectory and ask for
Mr. Henry. If anyone would know where the midwife is to be found, it would be
him. And do strive for a little more coherency, Charles."
"And just what the blazes are you going to do?"
Lathrop demanded indignantly.
"I am going down to the cottage to help Chloe."
Lathrop gaped at him. "You are going to try to deliver
a baby?"
"I don't know what the devil I am going to do. But the
next time I am ever tempted to take leave from the sanity of my ship, shoot
me!"
After this savage request, Trent rushed off down the street
himself. He had been to the Greens' cottage only once before. But in a village
the size of Littledon, there was no difficulty about finding the place again.
The cottage did not rest in the village proper but nestled
on the outskirts, farther down the beach. As his boots crunched over the
pebbled surface, Trent glimpsed the outline of a cold gray sea lapping the
shore.
Yet despite its bleak setting, the small stone dwelling
presented a cozy appearance, wisps of smoke swirling up from its chimney. An
aura of serenity enveloped the cottage, heedless of the sea winds buffeting the
whitewashed walls and rattling the shutters.
Yet when Trent raised his fist to hammer upon the wooden
door, he detected the sound of a high-pitched wailing from within. Growing more
anxious, he barely waited for a response before knocking again.
The door was flung open, and a distraught-looking Chloe
appeared on the threshold, balancing Peggety on her hip. The child had
obviously been crying, but she subsided, pillowing her tear-stained face
against Chloe's shoulder and earnestly sucking on two fingers.
Chloe looked on the verge of tears herself. "Oh,
Will!" she choked. "I am so very glad you have come. Did you bring
the midwife with you?"
"No, I am afraid not," Trent said, easing Chloe
and the child back out of the doorway and then shutting out the fierce wind. He
blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkened interior, the cottage's tiny windows
affording little light. Only the fire crackling upon the hearth served to
illuminate the room's meager furnishings: a table and two chairs, a wooden
stool, a small cot, and a curtained doorway leading into another room.
As Trent focused upon Chloe, he saw her eyes brimming with
despair. He made haste to reassure her. "Everything will be all right. I
sent Charles to see Mr. Henry. I am sure the two of them will locate the
midwife and be here in a trice."
Chloe shook her head. "They will be too late."
"Nonsense," Trent said. His reassurance was
already belied by a frantic cry coming from the next room.
For a moment, Chloe's shoulders slumped. Then she
straightened, shifting Peggety slightly in her arms. Chloe raised her head,
tilting up her stubborn chin.
"I shall just have to help Mrs. Green myself," she
announced.
"What! But, Chloe, how would you know—" Trent
started to protest, but she interrupted, saying, "Here! You must look
after Peggety."
To his horror, Chloe thrust the child into his arms. Trent
balanced her as stiffly as though he held a block of wood. Peggety removed her
fingers from her mouth and began to howl.
"What the deuce am I to do with her?" Trent asked,
but Chloe had already vanished behind the curtain into the next room.
"Chloe!" He started to follow but drew up short.
Somehow that thin curtain, veiling as it did such solemn female mysteries, was
a far more daunting prospect than any enemy vessel he had ever attempted to
board. Damning himself for a coward, he could not bring himself to go barging
in there. Never in his life had he felt so blasted helpless.
But another earsplitting wail from Peggety forced him to
focus on his most immediate problem.
"Hush, hush," he said, sinking down onto the
stool, jiggling the child ineffectually on his knee.
Peggety regarded him reproachfully through the tumble of her
curls, her plump lower lip a-tremble. "Warnt Marmar. Warnt Marmar."
"You shall have your mama presently," Will said,
pausing his vigorous bouncing in some astonishment. By God, he had actually
managed to understand something the child said. Feeling heartened, he resumed
the bouncing, but Peggety apparently failed to understand that some sort of
diplomatic breakthrough had been reached. She continued to cry.
Trent racked his memory for anything he had ever heard about
children. What did one do with a crying babe? Rock her? Tell her stories? That sounded
vaguely as though it might have some merit. Though he had no idea of any tale
fit to beguile a weeping child, Trent drew in a deep breath and plunged in.
"Once upon a time," he began desperately, praying
that Charles would arrive with that midwife very soon.
It could not have been more than an hour later, but Chloe
felt as if she had spent all day closeted with Sukey Green in the cramped,
gloomy quarters of the bedchamber. Her head tossing against the pillow, her
damp curls so like Peggety's, Sukey looked achingly young herself. She gripped
Chloe's hand hard, pressing her lips together in a valiant effort to stifle her
cries while her babe struggled to be born.
But by the time the midwife finally arrived, another cry was
heard, softer, like the mew of a kitten. The old woman bustled in, elbowing
Chloe aside. The midwife had a crooked nose and breath reeking of garlic, but
she set to work with practiced hands. After such an unendurable vigil, it
seemed that in no time at all, Sukey rested with a small bundle tucked into her
arms, the face of her infant son peeking from the folds of the blanket. Chloe,
her limbs shaking with relief, sagged down on the end of the bed.
"Bless me!" The old woman cackled. "What a
new year this has turned out to be. Wasn't I just finishing with the birthing
of Mrs. Catesby's wee girl when round comes the vicar to fetch me. But you
lasses appear to have been managing quite nicely. Quite nicely, indeed."
She bestowed a toothy grin on Chloe. "'Tis all over and done, miss. So don't
you go a-swooning on me now."
"I wasn't about to," Chloe said indignantly,
forcing herself to her feet, although she did feel a little wobbly. "I
have helped at a confinement before, when our old dog whelped her
puppies."
The old woman slapped her knee and roared with laughter, but
Sukey gave Chloe a wan, grateful smile.
"Thank you so much, Miss Chloe. I don't know what I
would have done if you hadn't come round. There is only one more thing. I must
get a letter to my Tom, tell him about the boy."
"I am sure Captain Trent will know how to get a
dispatch to your husband as soon as possible," Chloe said soothingly.
But even as she gave this assurance, Chloe recollected
guiltily in what case she had left Will. With a sobbing three-year-old in his
arms, the captain might not be feeling particularly obliging.
"Don't be fretting about letters and such just now,
dearie," the midwife scolded Sukey. "You are exhausted. Miss Chloe,
would you mind tending to the babe while I get Mrs. Green settled more
comfortable-like"
Chloe was only too happy to comply with this request. With a
tired sigh, Sukey kissed her son's cheek before Chloe scooped the warm bundle
into her arms. His small face had that newborn scrubbed-red look, but Chloe
thought him quite the most handsome creature she had ever seen.
He already showed signs of being a most saintly child, for
the moment content to doze as though he, too, had found the ordeal of being
born quite exhausting. Cooing softly to the babe, Chloe prepared with some
trepidation to step into the next room and see how Will was faring.
As she nudged the curtain aside, Chloe heard the low drone
of his voice. Will was talking to someone, perhaps the vicar, or maybe even
Charles had come.
But when she slipped across the threshold, Chloe was puzzled
to see no one else present but Peggety. Will had to be addressing the child.
Staring into the fire, he did not seem to realize that Peggety had fallen
asleep in his arms. Snuggling the babe securely against her, Chloe inched
forward, trying to make sense of what Will was saying.
"And the captain knew the folly of pursuing such a
course in a squall, but he was a most stubborn man. When the storm reached the
pitch of its fury, he called to his first mate, 'Prepare to abandon
ship."Aye, aye, sir,' the mate replied, roaring out to the crew above the
wail of the storm, 'Say your prayers, ye lubbers, for I fear we are all about
to meet our Maker.' "
Chloe listened in astonishment, her lips curved into a
smile. A story. He was telling Peggety some kind of story.
"The waves washed over the deck, and the masthead came
crashing down. All seemed lost, but at that moment a miracle occurred. As
though she had heard the captain's cry, the beautiful lady of the sea came
rising up from the ocean's floor. With gentle hands, she quieted the waves,
and—"
Regrettably at that moment a floorboard creaked, betraying
Chloe's presence. Will glanced around, and his face flushed a dull red.
"Oh, don't stop now," Chloe said. "You must
tell me what happened. Did the lady save the stubborn captain?"
"Likely so," Trent said gruffly. "The fellow
was far too obstinate to drown." He shifted carefully, peering down at the
sleeping Peggety, her breath coming in soft, contented sighs. The trusting way
the child nestled against Trent's broad chest brought a curious lump to Chloe's
throat.
"It was all but a pack of nonsense," he said.
"But at least I seem to have bored our young friend here to sleep."
"To dream of three-masted ships and jolly Jack-Tars, no
doubt."
"She is a sailor's daughter," Will said.
"What else should she dream about?" He struggled to his feet, taking
great care lest he disturb Peggety. He settled the child upon the cot in the
corner of the room. She curled up at once, somehow guiding her two fingers to
her mouth even in the depths of slumber. Will tucked the blanket around her and
after a brief hesitation patted the little girl's curls, the gesture both
awkward and tender.
He straightened, keeping his voice low as he asked, "Is
Mrs. Green all right? I mean, did all go well in there?"
"See for yourself. Peggety has a new brother."
Trent started, becoming aware that the bundle clutched so
protectively in Chloe's arms was a baby. As she drew closer, Trent took a polite
but cautious peek in much the same manner he might have viewed some curious
variety of sea life.
"Here, you hold him," Chloe said with her
customary impulsiveness.
Trent retreated a hasty step. "Oh, no. I only recently
mastered the art of keeping a grip on a squirming three-year-old. I would
prefer to work my way down in rank more gradually."
But there was no gainsaying Chloe. She shoved the babe into
his arms with a silvery laugh. "Don't look so terrified. He won't
break."
"Won't he, indeed?" Trent muttered. After he had
held Peggety's sturdy little frame, the babe felt as fragile and weightless as
a china teacup. Trent risked one awestruck glance beneath the blanket. He had
never known human beings could come in such tiny form. A golden dusting of hair
crowned the little one's head, almost invisible lashes resting against soft
cheeks. One diminutive hand stirred against the blanket folds. It was almost
enough to make a man believe in such things as fairies.
When his wondering gaze at last drifted up to meet Chloe's,
he saw that her eyes were aglow with such pride and tenderness, it could have
been her own babe she presented. He imagined she would look just so someday
when she offered up her first-born son to her husband.