Strong and Stubborn (34 page)

T
he sack slipped from his fingers, meeting the rough planks of the raised wood floor with an audible thunk. “What? Where is he?”

“Safe.” Paula pushed away from the door. “For now at least.”

“Where?” Mike repeated, tensing to bolt out the door and take off running as soon as his sister told him where to find his son.

She laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Mrs. Roberts has him, but you can't go haring after him. If you do, you might as well carry a banner proclaiming, ‘Follow me, he's right this way!' ”

“Yeah.” Mike closed his eyes, forcing his fists to unclench, his shoulders to relax, his breathing to slow. When he had himself under better control, he followed Paula to the table and drained a glass of water. “When did they come for him? How did you know?”

“God watches over His own.” Paula refilled his glass and slid it across the table. “I kept in mind what you said about not leaving Luke alone but not taking him around more than necessary—that he might be recognized. So when I needed to go to market last week, I took him over to my friend's place. It does him good to romp around with the other boys a bit. Then he's just one more child in a group—easy to overlook by someone snooping around, peering past fences.”

“Are they?” Mike scraped his chair back from the table and flattened himself along the wall, peering through a crack in the curtains. “Looking over fences? Skulking around, asking questions?”

“I'm afraid so. There were two of them waiting for me when I came back with my groceries, wanting to know if you'd been in contact, if I'd seen my nephew, if I planned to see him soon.” Paula smoothed back a strand of hair. “Thank the Lord I thought to put the pot roast in the icebox before I fetched Luke from Mrs. Roberts. If I hadn't stopped by home, those men could have followed me straight to him!”

“Thank God, indeed.” But Mike's gratitude couldn't mask his own lack of foresight. No matter his intent, he'd left Luke behind, left him vulnerable to the hired men sniffing around Paula's place. As the picture became clearer, he turned to face his sister again.

“A week, you said?” He waited for her nod. “Why didn't you send the letter and the telegram? I would've boarded the next train!”

“We've been under surveillance since the day they came.” Paula started wringing her hands but stopped when she realized it. “Two of them I know by sight. One short, stocky, all in gray with a squashed-in nose. Sits on the bench on the far side of the street for hours. Doesn't move, doesn't blink. He's more rock than man.”

“I didn't see him.” Mike headed for the other window to check.

“You wouldn't. We can't see the bench from here. Besides, it might be the other one. Tall and gangly, wears all brown, likes to stand in the grouping of trees on the other end. Sometimes they're both out there at once, so we couldn't get by on either side without them seeing. They follow me to market. They follow my husband to work. Our telegraph operator told me they threatened him if he didn't write down a copy of anything I sent or received, and I just know they'd steal the mail from the drop. As long as I didn't send word, they had no reason to stay. I kept hoping they'd leave.”

“Well, now we'll be hoping they stay.” Mike put his arms around his sister, trying to absorb the tension he'd put her through. “How do you check on him? How does Mrs. Roberts know what's going on?”

Paula's shoulders squared and she stepped back, smiling for the first time since he'd walked through the door. “Our neighbor—she's gotten on in years and her son's away on business, so I do the shopping for her as well. She uses the oldest Roberts boy to do other errands and send messages. So that's how I warned them, and that's how I hear about Luke and know he's still safe.”

“That's brilliant.” Mike knew she needed to hear how well she'd done, needed to know that her worry and caution had been worth it. “There's no other person in the world I would have trusted to take care of him, and no one could have protected him better. Thank you.”

“Don't be silly.” She dabbed her eyes and blotted her nose with a hanky and stuffed it back into her apron. “After all the ways you've helped me? I'd do anything for Luke. Ask and it's done.”

In spite of himself and the situation, Mike felt the beginnings of a grin. “I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that. Now tell me, have you ever gotten a book of wall-covering samples?”

“What are you talking about?” Cora tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and tried to concentrate on Martha McCreedy's explanation. She wasn't managing very well, unable to make out most of the words beneath her own panicked chorus of,
No, it can't be
.

Because if Martha was right, there was nothing they could do. And after they worked so hard to see Arla and baby Dorothy through the birth, Cora's mind refused to accept that. Arla would be fine simply because she had to be fine. Or because too many people had died on—or in—this mountain during the past year. Or because Mr. Lawson certainly wasn't up to the challenge of raising his niece. But whatever the reason God chose as the most compelling, Cora couldn't see beyond her blind need for things to be all right.

“No,” she interrupted Martha, only to realize that the older woman hadn't been speaking for a while. “You're wrong. When I checked on her this morning, Arla was fine. A little tired, but that's to be expected. She's very excited about our plans to make a nursery, and when she's not with Dorothy or napping, she's knitting. The most dangerous thing in Arla's life is those knitting needles.”

Martha's eyes brimmed with compassion and resignation. “I'm sorry, dear. But you're going to have to face the truth and send away for a nursemaid. There won't be much time to find a good one.”

“I'm getting Doc.” Cora abandoned the half-finished ironing but found her exit cut short when Martha grabbed hold of her elbow.

“He's already with her.” Martha didn't let go immediately. “And you can't go storming in there, demanding to hear pretty lies. Soon enough Arla will know deep down that it's too late, and if you don't start making preparations, she'll be fretting over Dorothy's future instead of enjoying what time she has left. Don't make it worse by pretending things are all right; make it better by promising a mother you'll make sure her daughter is cared for.”

Cora jerked her arm away and glared. “Hope is not a pretense. Giving up doesn't give God room to work and show us His will.”

“
His
will, Cora. Not yours. Not mine.” Martha took a deep breath. “Hope as hard as you can and pray harder still, but prepare yourself for the worst. Send for a nursemaid. If Dorothy needs her, she'll be ready. If she doesn't, I'll happily send the woman home.”

“She seemed fine this morning.” Cora sniffed, trying to ease the prickles of fear and sorrow. “She's seemed fine since Dorothy was born. How did I miss this? Could we have done something sooner?”

“Childbed fever comes on like this.” Martha patted her hand.

“I thought it presented by the third day. We're past that.”

“It can come on as late as ten days after the birth,” Doc's rough voice interjected. He hunched his way forward, burdened by bad news. “If it were just the stiffness in her joints and the headache, I would be suspicious. But she's cold and clammy to the touch, didn't want me to move any of the blankets she's heaped atop herself to try and keep warm. The cold fit confirms puerperal fever, I'm afraid.”

“Some women pull through, don't they?” Cora heard the shrill of her own demand and tried to soften it. “Arla might not die?”

“Few women live once they've contracted it. It's an infection of the blood itself, not something to be isolated for treatment.” He set down his bag and rummaged through, pulling out various bottles. “Next will come the fever—the heat is terrible, so put her in a cool bath until it subsides. She'll have a powerful thirst, so let her drink her fill until her stomach starts to pain her. Then she won't want to eat, and she must if she's to continue feeding the babe.”

He pointed to a small brown bottle, giving directions on dosage and timing to lessen nausea. Then he gave other instructions for a green-bottled syrup to help her sleep. “For now, make her as comfortable as possible. I'm sure Mrs. McCreedy's already spoken with you about seeking out a nursemaid. I'll come back later.”

Cora made it to the nearest chair and plunked herself down.
Not Arla
, she began to importune.
I know I've used up more than my fair share of prayers lately, begging for Braden's recovery and asking for good men for Evie and my friends, but Arla … Oh Lord, why would You take Arla so soon after giving her the joy of a daughter? When Dorothy will already never know her father, why imperil her mother? I don't understand. How could it be Your will to orphan an infant?
Cora swallowed against the tears.
Everyone needs to be loved
.

“I don't like her.” Lacey plopped onto the settee, not bothering to modulate her tones. “Charlotte may be your sister, Naomi, but I refuse to claim such a condescending cow as any relative of mine!”

“You will
not
antagonize my sister.” Naomi fixed her cousin with an icy glare. Lacey may be adept at social sparring, but there was nothing Charlotte loved so well as sharpening her claws on another woman. And this time she'd dipped the points in venom.

“Listen.” Lacey leaned forward, dropping her voice so Cora and Mrs. McCreedy wouldn't hear her all the way up the stairs. “I'll admit, I held a bias against Charlotte even before I met her. You've never complained or spoken ill of her, but I've not forgotten Mr. Blinman courted you first, and she intentionally cozened him into marrying her instead. I can't imagine you've forgotten either.”

“No.” Naomi tried for a wry smile and felt it fall flat. “Some things a woman never forgets.”
Even if she can't remember it all
.

“She wears your face but hasn't your heart. I can't understand how two sisters so close in age can be so far apart in character.”

“Different fathers, different upbringings. I went to boarding school here in the States, but Charlotte's father insisted she be educated at an exclusive finishing school in France. Mother fought against it, but in the end familial tradition held sway.” Naomi shrugged as though she could nudge away the painful memories.

She didn't tell Lacey that she and Charlotte had been close when they were little or how badly she missed her sister when she went to school. She and Charlotte begged and pleaded when they'd learned they were to be separated so often, but their tears changed nothing. Two decades and one debacle later, Naomi knew tears still changed nothing. Whatever connection she and Charlotte once shared had been severed long ago. A quick, clean end might not have done so much damage. But it had taken years of distance and difference to unravel their bond, leaving Naomi with frayed feelings worn raw with regret.

Lacey harrumphed her back to the present. “Well, the French ruined her, I say. I could just throttle Braden for bringing her here.” Her face screwed up as she recited in a low voice, “ ‘No one you would know.' Ugh. Trust a man to forget the important things.”

“Braden might not consider it important when so much time has passed and Hope Falls is in need of investors. He meant no harm.”

“I suppose.” Lacey fell silent as Cora bustled down the stairs, waiting to drag her into the conversation. “Cora! You'll never guess what's happened. Braden's invitations brought two more arrivals!”

Cora joined them, eyes downcast and nose reddened as though from sobbing. Or perhaps from trying not to sob. Sometimes it was difficult to tell. “There'll be one more new person soon enough.”

“What's wrong?” Naomi guided Cora to a chair when it looked as though she might simply sink to the floor. “Who else is coming?”