The Flame and the Flower (46 page)

She drew a laugh from all present, and with a questioning look at Heather, she turned her attention to her mistress' comfort.

"How you feeling, honey child? Don't tire yourself out sitting too long. That baby gonna come soon enough without nobody rushing it. Master Bran, don't you let her do too much, you hear?"

"I hear, Hatti," he chuckled.

It was well after dark when the meat was pronounced ready and torches were brought out to provide light. Savory dishes from different families were brought together on a long table, and the guests avidly devoted themselves to the food. The beef and pork were sliced right over the pits and heaped on eagerly presented plates as everyone formed in lines. Heather and Brandon moved around the table with their own plates and selected those foods which tempted them most. He pointed out the dishes unfamiliar to her but which he thought she might enjoy. As they walked from the table to the pits she looked down rather amazed at her plate.

"I am so fat that my eyes cannot see my feet and yet I burden my plate like this." She lifted a corn pone from her plate and giggled happily as she fed him a bite. "You'll just have to help me eat it, Brandon. That's all there is to be done."

He chuckled and pressed a warm kiss upon her lips as she gazed up at him with her smile bright. "Anything to please you, sweet. Anything at all."

When they returned to their chairs, Heather watched her husband place his plate upon his knees and slice off a juicy bit of rare beef with the greatest of ease, while she sat in indecision, not knowing where to put her plate. She contemplated his long legs, then her own loss of lap. Brandon glanced up at her as she gazed doubtfully at her belly and chuckled with amusement. Getting up, he handed her his plate and went to fetch a small table for them.

"I believe you'll be able to manage here, madam," he grinned when he set it before them.

As they sat together Brandon caught sight of a disgruntled George sitting at the far end of the porch, whittling on a twig with vicious intent. Puzzled by this display of temper from the old man, he beckoned him over.

"What ails you?" he questioned when the manservant stood by his side.

George glanced hesitantly at Heather and was slow to answer. "There were some varmints in the stables, cap'n."

Brandon raised an eyebrow at him. "Varmints?"

The servant shuffled his feet and peered at Heather again. "Aye, cap'n. Varmints."

Brandon thought this over for a moment and then nodded in understanding. "All right, George. Take yourself a plate and settle your thoughts on some of this beef and forget what you may have seen or heard."

"Aye, cap'n," the man replied.

When he had gone, Heather looked at Brandon with a puzzled expression. "Did George find rats in the stables?"

Brandon laughed heartily. "You might say that, sweet."

The party continued into the night. Brandon took Heather for a stroll among their guests and then once again settled her in the midst of the ladies. He was drawn away by a group of men and it was a late hour before he could free himself from their hold and return to her. She sat quietly, listening to several middle-aged women talk of their current illnesses and womanly upsets. Mrs. Clark was no longer present but had retired some time earlier to one of the bedrooms upstairs. Mrs. Fairchild had left for home with her husband and their brood. Brandon took Heather's hand and drew her from the chair.

"Ladies, I must beg that you excuse my wife now. She's had a long, tiring day and needs her rest. I hope you don't mind."

They hurried to assure him that they did not mind, and smiled among themselves as they watched him so considerately help his young wife up the steps and into the house. Inside, Heather released a tired sigh.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she murmured. "I'm afraid they thought me quite dull. I couldn't think of anything to say that would impress them with my intelligence, and besides, that chair was most uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry, sweet. I would have come sooner, had I known."

She dropped her head against his arm and smiled. "I fear you'll have to drag me upstairs. I'm so tired I don't believe I can manage them alone."

He stopped and lifted her into his arms amid her protests.

"Put me down, Brandon," she pleaded. "I'm so heavy. You'll hurt yourself."

He chuckled. "Hardly, madam. You still weigh no more than a mite."

"Well, well, well. What can this be?" a woman questioned from behind them and there was no mistaking Louisa's soft, purring voice.

Brandon turned slowly with his wife in his arms and met the woman's mocking eyes as she came toward them.

"Do you do this every night, Brandon?" she inquired jeeringly, with a raised eyebrow. "It surely must put a strain on your back, darling. You know you should take better care of yourself. Whatever would you do if you broke your back? You would certainly be no good to her anymore."

His face was expressionless as he made his reply. "I've lifted heavier women in my life, Louisa, including you. I'd say my wife has yet to gain before she matches your weight."

The mocking smile was replaced by a tightly-set mouth, and she glared at him, but he turned away and without a backward glance spoke again.

"By the way, Louisa, you should go comb your hair. You have straw in it."

Over his shoulder Heather permitted a small, triumphant smile to appear on her lips as she looked at the other woman, and she tightened her arms about her husband's neck.

Instead of going directly into the sitting room, for Louisa still stared up at them, Brandon carried her through his room. In her room he lounged in a chair while Mary helped her undress behind a screen. While she was so misshapen, Heather preferred her nakedness concealed from him. She would wait until she was again slim and could tempt him with a trimmer waist, then she would gladly yield her body to his gaze—and to whatever might follow.

When a gentle breeze ruffled the draperies by her bed the next morning, Heather stirred from sleep. The dull ache in her back still was with her, and she felt strangely tired, though she had rested some eight hours or more. As she rose from bed she felt the heavy weight of the child within her pressing downward.

The day was slow to pass. She saw the last of the overnight guests leave by late afternoon, with the exception of Mrs. Clark, who would be staying a few more days. Night came and dinner was served. Family and guest enjoyed a delectable bouillabaisse of Aunt Ruth's artistry, and as the last dishes were taken from the table the group settled in the drawing room, but Heather soon found there was little more comfort to be had in the chairs here than in the dining room. She sought her bed early and when Brandon escorted her upstairs and left her in the sitting room, she dismissed Mary and undressed herself.

Time was forgotten as she lay in the darkness. She heard Brandon come upstairs again and move about his room, then silence returned once more as he retired to bed. Sleep came finally for her but it was not long. She woke slowly as the drawing within her belly became painfully real and no longer a dream. It left her wide awake as it passed, and she slid her hand to her stomach knowing her time had come.

The pains gripped her until it seemed every muscle in her body ached with the strain. She struggled from the bed finally, intent upon sending Mary for Hatti, and lit a candle by her bedside. By its glow she saw that her gown had been stained and seeking another, carefully moved toward the bureau. She was half way there when her eyes widened in surprise and she gasped. The discharge left her gown soaking, and the fetal water ran from between her legs without stopping. Standing in helpless confusion, she looked around as the door from Brandon's room opened. He walked in naked, just shrugging into his robe.

"Heather, are you all right?" he questioned. "I thought I heard..."

He stopped abruptly, his eyes falling to her stained and clinging gown, then he came to her in a rush.

"My God, it's the baby!"

"Brandon," she said in an amazed tone. "I'm all wet. It happened so suddenly. I didn't know it was coming."

She stared up at him as if her soaked condition was the only thing that concerned her, then she began unfastening the garment.

"Please get me another. I can't go back to bed in a wet gown."

He hurried to her bureau and threw open the drawers, scrambling through them like a madman and leaving them gaping and lingerie hanging over the sides. He finally located the gowns, neatly stacked in the bottom drawer, and ran back to her with the top garment, but Heather declined it.

"But, Brandon, that's pink. I'm having a boy, and boys don't wear pink. Go get a blue one, please."

He stared at her for a moment in astonishment and finally regained his wits.

"Madam, God's truth, I don't care whether it's a girl or boy," he exclaimed. "Just put this on and let me get you back into bed."

"No," she said stubbornly, "I'm going to have a boy, and I shan't wear that."

"But, madam,
he
won't be wearing anything when he gets here so it doesn't matter," he cried. "Now will you get this on?"

She met his stare and pursing her lips, slowly shook her head in negative motion.

Brandon threw up his hands in exasperation and the nightgown floated to the floor as he ran back to the bureau and began tossing gowns this way and that in a frenzy. Finally he found a blue one and rushed to her with it. She looked up at him expectantly as she took it, but he was most confused and just stared down at her dumbfoundedly.

"Will you turn your back, please?" she requested, seeing his bewilderment.

"What?" he asked stupidly.

"Will you turn your back, please?" she repeated.

"But, madam, I've seen you without clothes be..."

He stopped and spun about, realizing it would do him no good to argue with her for she was hell bent to have her way and he would only delay things by trying to explain anything to her.

Heather threw the blue gown over his shoulder, finding no other place to put it, standing in the middle of the room as they were.

"Madam, will you hurry," he urged. "You're going to whelp right there if you don't and our child will be the only one ever born on his head."

Heather giggled lightly and let the wet gown fall to the floor as she reached up for the clean one. "I doubt that, my dearest."

"Heather, for God's sakes," he pleaded. "Will you stop chattering and get that gown on!"

"But, Brandon, I wasn't chattering. I just answered you." She drew the gown in place and began tying the ribbon. "You may turn around now if you want."

He whirled and bent to pick her up.

"But, Brandon," she protested. "I must wipe up the floor."

"To hell with the floor!" he exclaimed and gathered her into his arms. He stood holding her for a moment in indecision, glancing from her bed to his door and made up his mind quickly. He hurried from her room into his.

"Where are you taking me?" she questioned. "Hatti will never find me. She'll have to go all over the house looking for me."

He placed her carefully in the middle of his huge bed. "There. Does that answer your question, chatterbox? It's where I'd like my son—or perhaps my daughter born."

"I'm not having a girl. I'm having..."

She was again wrenched with pain as another contraction seized her and she bit her bottom lip in agony.

"I'll awaken Hatti," he muttered and fled the room quickly.

But the old Negress, having seen from her cabin Heather's room alight, had sensed the situation and was already in the hallway when he came flying out.

"She's having the baby!" he cried when he saw her. "Hurry."

She shook her head as she speeded with him into the master bedroom. "It'll be a long while yet before she has that baby, Master Bran. It's the first and they takes their good natured time. It'll be hours yet."

"Well, she's in pain now. Do something for her."

"Master Bran, I's sorry, but there ain't nothing I can do for her pain," she replied. With a concerned frown creasing her black brow, she bent over the writhing Heather and smoothed her hair from her face. "Don't fight it, child. Just pant while you're having them, then relax when they go. You'll need your strength for later."

With Hatti directing, Heather panted. The pain eased soon and she was able to smile at Brandon as he came to stand near her. He sat down on the bed's edge and his hand moved to hers, and she saw that his face was grim and seemed suddenly lined.

"I'm told every mother has to go through this," she murmured consolingly. "It's part of being a woman."

Hatti roused the household and banked fires were stirred up and great kettles of water set to boil. Fresh linens were brought and with Brandon's help some of these were placed beneath Heather. The blue gown was pulled up out of the way and a clean sheet spread to cover her nakedness, and the time went slowly for some, swiftly for others. Hatti rocked in a chair by the bedside when she was not tending her mistress, and Brandon with each contraction became more distraught.

"Hatti, how much longer do you think it'll be," he questioned anxiously, wiping his brow.