Authors: Gloria Repp
Madeleine had an impulse to say, “A baby,” but she held still.
Greta smiled, tears glistening. “A boy. Our little boy.”
“Mollie?” Nathan looked at her, still smiling, as if he knew she’d forgotten where she was. “Blankets?”
She took them from the oven and draped one across the baby, and then snuggled the knitted hat down over his damp little head. With another blanket, she wiped the baby’s nose and mouth and dried off his body.
He made a thin, mewling sound, and Nathan watched him with a thoughtful gaze.
“Stethoscope?” Madeleine asked. She eyed Nathan’s gloved hands, smeared with blood and mucus. “Want to change gloves?” He nodded, his eyes still on the baby as he stripped off the soiled gloves and put on fresh ones.
Finally Greta moved to stand up, and they helped her onto the bed, where she sat against the pillows, cooing to the baby. He sneezed, and everyone smiled.
Nathan spoke quietly. “I think his breathing is a little slow. Let’s check him out.” He spread a blanket on the bed in front of Greta. “Could I look at him for a minute?”
She nodded, put the baby down upon it, and leaned forward to watch.
The baby lay curled up, his arms tight to his chest, making weak, snuffing noises, and when Nathan gently moved an arm out to the side, he didn’t respond.
Nathan listened to the baby’s heart and lungs, his face impassive. “Hey, little guy, how about some help?”
He puffed air into the tiny mouth, and the baby made a small gasp. Nathan did it again, and the baby seemed to take a larger breath on his own.
Once more, Nathan listened to the baby’s lungs. “Mollie, get the bottle of rubbing alcohol from my bag and open it.”
He picked up the miniature hand, letting it curve around his gloved finger. “Lungs are still a bit wet,” he said to her in a low voice. “Let’s do this.”
He tipped the baby up, and in one swift motion dripped the alcohol down the little back. The baby arched his body, gasped, and let out a yell of protest. He cried loudly, indignantly, and Nathan handed him back to Greta, looking satisfied. “Here you are, Mom, he’ll be fine now.”
“Thank you,” she said, and even Logan smiled.
The baby’s cries pulled Madeleine back to reality. They’d need something to eat. The bread she’d brought? And the honey. How about scrambled eggs?
She made tea for Greta with a bag of herbs that Charlotte had left, and by the time she was ready to serve the eggs and toast, Nathan had finished taking care of Greta. The baby was eagerly working on his first meal.
Logan ate enough for two men, stopped often to touch his wife’s shoulder or to stroke his son’s head, and talked with Nathan about kayaking the Skit Branch as if they were old fishing buddies.
Greta was silent, beaming, focused on her baby, but she ate everything Mollie brought to her. After she’d eaten, she wanted a shower, so Logan took the baby into his arms, crooning to him, and Madeleine stayed near Greta in case she needed anything.
After that, Madeleine tidied the kitchen, and Nathan checked Greta and the baby one last time. Finally he zipped up his bag, ready to leave. Logan walked with them to the door. “You’re right about this one,” he said to Madeleine. “We thank you both.”
It must be almost midnight. If she could just get to the car, she could sit and do nothing. Nathan took her arm on their way down the porch steps. He came with her to the passenger door of the Jeep and gently helped her inside.
After he’d started the engine, he said, “Logan told me about a place around here. I’d like to show you.”
“Now?”
“Definitely now.”
A few miles later, he turned onto a road of hard-packed sand. They jolted across ruts and potholes, and soon, except for the bright swath of their headlights, she could see no lights.
He glanced at her, perhaps wondering at her silence. “You up for a walk?”
“Good idea. I’m still sizzling from that birth. Must be the adrenaline rush. I’d forgotten the marvel of it.”
He nodded. “Every time, I come away thinking it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
Amazing, yes. And she would never do more than watch. She could examine that fact more coolly now. Besides the intimacy question, marriage implied dependence and a mutual sort of vulnerability. Not for her. Not ever again.
The road tunneled on through the trees, curved, and curved again, bringing them into a broad, open space that seemed to be all sand and knee-high grasses punctuated with the occasional silhouette of a tree. One tree, especially tall, stood with out-flung limbs and patchy white bark that glistened in the headlights.
She leaned forward to look at it, and Nathan said, “Sycamore.”
He slowed his Jeep to crawl along the perimeter of a muddy hole, and after that the road narrowed, leading through more trees to a wooden bridge.
“Oh, good! A river,” she said. “Can we look at it?”
He parked near the bridge, and soon she was leaning over the rail, listening to the silky whisper of water.
“The Batsto,” he said. “Come, there’s more.”
Her eyes had adjusted enough to see the dips in the road, and soon she caught sight of tumbled stones. “What’s this?” She laughed. “You found some ruins.”
He took her hand. “Just for you.”
The ruins lay quiet before them, nothing more than a rectangle of rough stone blocks, and he played his flashlight across the ragged walls. Some of the stones, frosted with concrete, rose in stair-steps to shoulder height; others, fallen remnants, had been stitched together with vines. Here and there, young cedars raised their darkened spires.
He turned off his flashlight, and she gazed along the silvered contours of wall and stone until they melted into the shadows. She glanced overhead. “And we have stars.” The clearing was roofed with a sky so brilliant that it glittered. “I suppose you have stars in Alaska.”
“Same ones. The Bear, the Big Dipper, the Milky Way.” His voice had a smile in it. “Only bigger.”
“Of course. You’re beginning to sound like a Texan.”
He bent toward her and she said hurriedly, “What’s this place called?”
“Not sure. Logan said the meadows we drove through have the remains of Hampton Furnace. It dates back to the 1800’s, when they produced iron. This used to be a cranberry warehouse.”
“
Sermons in stones,”
she said. “I wonder about the sermons here.” She propped herself against a low wall. “Maybe I like ruins because they remind me that only God is forever.”
He picked up a handful of stone bits from the crumbling top of the wall. “And ruins imitate life, with its beginnings and endings.” He let the stones dribble through his fingers, dusted his hands off, and reclaimed hers. “Births and deaths.” His voice warmed. “Tonight you went in and set to work like a pro.”
“Like I knew what I was doing? I prayed a lot, I can tell you.”
“You handled Logan better than I would have. When he’s not stressed out, he’s quite a guy.”
“Did you see his face? Such a mixture of love and worry while he was trying to protect his Greta.”
“From the big bad doctor.”
She laughed. “You were a model of restraint.”
“You did well with Greta. That was a beautiful sight, the two of you working together.”
“She did all the work.”
“Yes, as far as delivering the baby was concerned.”
He paused, and she pulled a dried tendril of vine from among the stones. “I guess I did some laboring of my own.”
“I thought so.”
She would never tell him what she’d been thinking. Lighten it up. She nudged him. “You saw a lot from your little chair in the corner, didn’t you?”
“I certainly did.”
She smiled to herself, thinking dreamily about the black-haired baby with Greta’s blue eyes, and suddenly a man was leaning over her, too close, with his hand lifted to her face.
She cringed, ducking away, knowing sickly that she couldn’t escape.
Nathan’s voice said, “Mollie. I wouldn’t . . .”
She blinked. “I . . . I forgot. That it was you.”
How could he put up with this?
He didn’t seem offended. “Remember me,” he said, sliding his arm around her, but her lungs squeezed shut.
Not a threat, she told herself. No danger here. Breathe.
She leaned back against him, deliberately, to prove to herself that she could, and his long fingers traced the curve of her cheek. “I was proud of you tonight,” he whispered.
He stroked her hair, smoothed back the loosened strands, and his hand lingered on the clip. “May I?”
She nodded.
He slipped off the clip and her hair fell around her face, and he brushed his fingers through it, light as a passing breeze.
“You know what color your hair is?”
“Kind of black?”
“Sable. Named for a small Arctic animal—black fur with rich brown highlights.”
“Sable fur coats? I’ve heard of those. Poor little critters are probably extinct.”
“And there’s Sable Mountain in Denali’s park,” he said. “I’d like to show you that, someday.”
The someday speech. She’d been afraid he’d get around to it.
His hand paused on the nape of her neck and a longing crept through her. If she turned toward him now, he would take her into his arms. She’d be warm and protected and he’d . . .
The longing froze.
There in his arms, she’d have to tell him: ‘I cannot do this. Let’s just be friends.’
He must have sensed her disquiet because he dropped his hand. “Well.” The tone of his voice, doggedly cheerful, made her ache. He handed her the clip. “I promised you a walk, didn’t I?” he said. “Let’s find out what’s up here.”
He had a way of tucking his arm through hers that kept her close but not imprisoned. They circled the ruins, then walked along the curving road with wind rustling through the trees and leaves scuttling across their feet until they reached another bridge.
This must be a different river, but the starlight had followed them, gleaming on the water below and clothing the bushes with mystery.
She leaned over the railing to gaze at the rushing stream. “Would you want to take canoes along here?”
“The teens?”
She nodded, and he said, “Kayaks might work better. Dry as it’s been, we’d have to portage the canoes.”
“I can hear Connie now: ‘You mean we’ve got to
carry
it?’ ”
He laughed. “This might be a great place for a hike, it’s so wild. I’ll have to ask Logan.”
“A hike would be fun.”
“I’ll get a map. Want to check it out with me on Saturday?”
She yawned. “No decisions after midnight. Make that a conditional
yes
.”
“Good,” he said. “This is far enough.”
He took her hand into his while they walked back, and she remembered how that hand had caught and cradled Greta’s baby.
Had he caught his own little girl when she was born? An unforgettable experience. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if she asked.
“Were you there at Susie’s birth?”
They passed a half-dozen pine trees before he answered. At last he said, “Susan wanted a hospital birth. She had some problems, and they wouldn’t let me near her.”
“But you had delivered babies yourself.”
“In that hospital, I was just the father. No status at all.”
He fell silent, but it wasn’t the quiet companionship of the past few minutes. He must be thinking about his baby girl, and he was probably hurting. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought it up?
Silently she answered her own question. No. She wasn’t going to tiptoe around the subject of Susan, and neither should he, even if they were just friends. She yawned again. Let it rest, for tonight.
The next morning, Aunt Lin asked about the birth while they were eating a late breakfast, and Madeleine gave her a sketchy overview. But her aunt probed for details as if she were fascinated by the whole process, and she had a wistfulness about her that Madeleine recognized.
Aunt Lin might never marry, might never have children, but she loved babies. This creative, hard-working businesswoman was more complex than she’d thought.
Five minutes later, Aunt Lin’s focus had swung back to the Manor and the Blue Room. She said she had hired Remi to start work this afternoon and asked Madeleine to look for wallpaper samples. Timothy would have some.
Madeleine was paging through the wallpaper books in Timothy’s storeroom when she heard Nathan’s voice. He and Timothy must be standing at the counter.
Had Nathan talked to Kent yet? She had remembered to pray for him.
Timothy’s voice became more distinct. “I think she’s back in the storeroom. Mollie?”
“I’m still here,” she called.