Prairie Wife (21 page)

Once Rachel was in bed, Amy helped her remove her shoes, stockings
and drawers, and urged her to let her see the baby's progress. The head wasn't
crowning yet, but Amy guessed it wouldn't be long. She'd never delivered a baby
alone before. She'd had her own mother and a doctor present when her child was
born. And she'd been present for only one other birth. If something happened,
she'd be responsible.
If the baby died...
Amy's chest felt as though the
weight of the world rested on it. She couldn't be responsible for another
child's death. She had to help her friend and make sure the baby was okay.

She looked into Rachel's eyes, trying to give her reassurance.
"Try to rest. I know it hurts and you're scared, but try to relax your
body and not fight this baby. I'm going to get water and towels and linens.
You're going to be just fine." She smoothed the hair from Rachel's
forehead. "Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

Marching out, she stirred the coals in the stove, then added
kindling. In the litter on the floor, she found a bucket and carried it toward
the door. "I'm going for water."

The man lurched toward her, but she opened the door before he could
reach her. She would let that man kill her before she'd lose this baby. Leaving
the door open, she walked across the yard to the well.

To her surprise and relief, her father was crouched behind the
stones. He started to rise.

"Get down." She spoke low enough that her voice wouldn't
carry. "He doesn't know you're here. I couldn't see you from the
window."

Attaching the bucket to the hook on the rope, she turned the crank
and lowered it.

"What's goin' on, Amy?"

"That's the man Eden was in cahoots with. The man with the
scar."

"George Gray?" Sam asked.

"He found some jewelry in your place."

"What kind o' jewelry?"

"Something worth a fortune, I'm guessing."

"Eden hid it there."

"I'd suppose." She used the opportunity to glance about,
locating Jesse, Jack and Pitch where they were concealed.

"This is my fault, then," her father said.

"If it's anyone's fault, it's that woman's," she
whispered. The bucket was full and she cranked it back up. "Rachel's baby
isn't going to wait. Maybe a few of the men should leave, so he thinks you've
all gone. Maybe he'll try to ride out then."

"You're goin' back in there?"

She unhooked the full pail. "I have to. Rachel needs
me."

"Be careful, girl."

Carrying her load carefully, she walked back to her father's
house, entered and closed herself in.

George Gray glared at her. She returned the look of contempt,
walked past and poured water into a kettle on the stove.

She finally thought to remove her coat and noticed she was still
wearing her apron.

"Leave that door open and stay where I can see you,"
George demanded as she headed back to Sam's bedroom.

Rachel's sounds of discomfort and distress had grown louder by the
time she returned. Amy bathed the younger woman's face and hands with a cool
rag and did her best to keep her calm.

The sound of riders drew her to the window beside the bed. She
moved the curtain aside and spotted three men riding away. "They're
leaving!"

She glanced to the other room to see that George watched the
retreating men too.

"They're leaving us here?" Rachel's voice held dismay
and her eyes were wide with fright.

"They're gone," Amy called. "You can leave us
now."

"I'm not going anywhere until it's dark."

Amy's hopes sank. Rachel sobbed and she curled her hands into
fists to keep from joining her. Amy had learned to hold in every emotion that
threatened her composure, and she could hold back these as well. She would not
panic. She would not give in to fear.

A movement beside the window caught her attention, startling her.
She flattened her palm against her breast, then realized one of their men was
hiding outside.

George was still at his station at the front. "You need a
little air," she told Rachel, and eased open the window.

She made out Deezer's youthful face, etched with worry as he
whispered, "Come quick, Miz Shelby. You and Miz Douglas slip out this
winder whilst he's busy at the front."

Amy shook her head. "She can't ride."

And they both knew Amy wouldn't leave her.

She left the window open and pulled the curtains closed. It was
only small reassurance to know he was right on the other side of the wall, but
reassurance all the same.

"I didn't know it was going t' hurt this bad." Rachel
bit her lip.

Amy sat beside her on the bed's edge. "Don't bite your lip,
sweetie. You got a rough start, but we're going to do this together, you and
I." Amy leaned to her ear and whispered, "Having a few men leave was
just a distraction... to make him think they've all gone."

"Woman!" The shout came from George in the other room.

Amy got up and stood in the doorway.

"I'm hungry." He gestured toward the stove area.
"Find me something to eat."

She looked back at Rachel, assuring herself the baby's arrival
wouldn't be at that moment, and stepped her way around books and pans and
broken dishes.

Fury rose like a fire in her neck and face before she ever reached
the cooking area. He'd made a shambles of the kitchen and now he expected her
to neatly whip together a meal. If she thought her father kept rat poison
around, she'd gladly lace George Gray's food and watch him suffer.

The thought got her to thinking of something that might make him
sick and not necessarily kill him. After adding wood, she found a tin of meat
and another of beans and dumped them into a skillet over the hot stove.

She picked around in the debris, finding a metal plate and a fork.
Her eye caught a familiar-looking medicine bottle that had apparently been
inside a crock that now lay broken. With a quick check to see that George was
looking out the window, she slipped it into her apron pocket.

"I'm going to check on her while that's heating." She
entered the bedroom and sat beside Rachel, discreetly taking the bottle from
her pocket to read the label.

"Is that for me?"

"No." She read the doctor's nearly indecipherable
directions and remembered giving doses of the drug to her mother for pain
during the last weeks of her life. "It's for him."

Rachel groaned and gripped the sheet with white-knuckled fingers.

"I'll be right back." Amy hurried out. With furtive
movements, she uncapped the bottle and poured the entire contents into the
cooking food, then recapped it and dropped it under the back stove lid, into
the fire. With a wooden spoon, she stirred and scooped the meal onto the metal
plate.

It steamed and smelled not half bad as she carried it toward
George. She'd even poured him a cup of water so he'd think she was behaving
herself. "Here. I'm going back in with her now. The baby's coming."

He eyeballed her and the plate and grabbed it with his left hand,
studying the contents. For a horrible moment she thought he suspected, and she
prepared for his anger. Her pulse battered her eardrums.

"That's what you said an hour ago."

She bit her tongue and forced herself to relax and walk
unhurriedly while she got water and towels and returned to the bedroom.

Rachel was laboring in earnest now, trying to turn on her side and
curl up to avoid the pain.

Amy washed her hands and took time to bath Rachel's face with cool
water.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly. Birth was something a woman did
all on her own, no matter how many people attended her, and Amy could only lend
support and encouragement.

"Jack should be here."

"I
know. He'll be here soon." She prayed that was true.

Another half hour passed and Amy crept to the bedroom doorway to
peer out at George. He still attended his post at the window, but he was
leaning heavily against the wall and he kept jerking the gun back up as though
he was dozing.

Amy checked the baby's progress and placed Rachel's hands on the
rungs of the metal headboard. "Hang on here. You have to push now."

"I don't think I can."

"You don't have any choice. I'll tell you when." She
placed her hand on Rachel's belly and waited for the next pain to make the
muscles taut. "Now."

Rachel gripped the metal rungs and pushed.

The baby's head barely moved.

"Do it just like that in another minute. Rest right
now."

Eternity passed as they waited for another contraction. Rachel
pushed again and made a little progress.

"Amy, is this normal?"

She assured her it was. "Rest in between."

A loud
thud
came from the other room.

"I'm going to go check on him." Amy tiptoed to the
doorway and peered out.

George lay sprawled on the floor, the gun having skidded three
feet from his open hand.

Bolstering her courage, she dashed across the littered floor to where
he lay and grabbed the revolver. He didn't move. Had she killed him?

A shrill scream came from the bedroom.

Torn over what to do first, Amy ran to the front door and flung it
open. She heaved the gun as far as she could throw and it hit the dirt, sending
up a plume of dust. "Come get him! I think I've killed him!"

Jesse stood up from his hiding place behind the wagon. "Run
out here now! Where's Rachel?"

"I have to go back to her." She turned and dashed back
inside, leaving the door agape.

She heard Jesse at her heels. "Are you both all right?"

"We're fine. He's over there." She pointed to the body.

"I didn't hear a shot."

"I didn't shoot him. I drugged him." She slammed the bedroom
door closed behind her to afford Rachel privacy.

The young woman's face was contorted with pain. She made a sound
between a scream and a growl that raised the hair on Amy's arms. Amy checked
and found the baby's head crowning. Terror washed over her in a nearly
paralyzing wave. More frightening than being kidnapped, more terrifying than
nearly being murdered was the thought of letting something happen to Rachel's
baby.

Amy wrestled with inadequacy and dread, then found courage
somewhere deep inside her and coaxed Rachel to hold on just a little longer.
The baby's head was nearly out now and Amy didn't have time to panic. Duty took
over.

"You're doing great. Stop for a breath now."

The door opened and Jack rushed in and fell to the other side of
the bed beside his wife. "What's happening? Is she hurt?"

"Far as I can tell, everything is the way it should be."

Rachel released her hold on the headboard to reach for her
husband. Jack put his arm around her shoulder and she rested her head against
him to cry.

"Prop her shoulders up and help her this time."

Jack did as instructed. After a few more pushes, the Douglases'
baby struggled its way into the world.

After cutting the cord, Amy wrapped the squalling infant in a
towel and washed her. "You have a girl." Placing her in a clean
folded sheet, she handed the baby to Jack. "We have to finish up
here."

Several minutes later, Rachel held her baby and Jack sat beside
her. Until now Amy had handled each moment as it came, not allowing emotions to
get in the way of her judgment or their safety. But studying the new family,
emotion welled up inside Amy and threatened to spill out.

She efficiently tied soiled linens and towels in a bundle and
carried them out, leaving the Douglases alone. She leaned back against the wall
and caught her breath, fighting down the overwhelming feelings that threatened
to overtake her.

Seeing the baby Rachel held and the way the couple sat with their
heads together gazing down at her, widened the crack in the armor around Amy's
heart. Now she felt like crying.

Underlying intense feelings of relief and fear was guilt-provoking
envy, suffocating need and loss so severe she could barely breathe.

Jesse and Sam looked up with stricken faces. Jesse walked toward
her.

"Is she okay? Are you?"

Amy took a moment to regain her composure. She glanced down at her
bloodstained apron and added it to the pile of laundry. "She's fine.
I'm—" She glanced from her husband to her father, recognizing the distress
and worry etched on their faces. Another thought struck her with sick
uncertainty. "Am I a murderer?"

Jesse lunged forward and pulled her against the warmth and
strength of his chest. He felt so good, and she felt so safe in his arms. Tears
stung her eyes and she buried her face, gripping the open sides of his wool
jacket with both hands. His voice rumbled against her forehead.