Embrace the Day (40 page)

Gideon stopped before an array of hunting knives in a glass case. Mariah left Benjamin and Hattie lingering over a tantalizing display of licorice and horehound candies while she examined several huge bolts of material, trying not to be crushed by the press of women groping aggressively for the prettiest bits.

Mariah smiled, fingering the material. Five years ago she never would have believed that this life of domesticity could bring her such happiness. Her hand strayed to her midsection. The new presence there delighted her and quickened even more actively than the previous two had. Her arm ached for a day three months hence, when she would be able to hold the new life close.

She made her purchases, feeling a thrill of pride in Mr. Trotter's eager extension of Luke's credit. Her husband's farming methods had been a source of skepticism among other farmers in the area. Men had laughed at Luke's use of manure to fertilize his crops, at his rigid program of rotation and irrigation.

But now that Luke's crop yields had become legend, amused indulgence had given way first to disgruntled envy and then to unabashed imitation.

Mariah sighed a little as Mrs. Trotter reckoned her purchases. Lately, Luke hadn't been as enthusiastic about his farm. Everything had become easy—too easy. She'd noticed some of Luke's old restlessness. At times she'd seen him sitting on their new wraparound porch, staring westward, dreaming things he wasn't ready to speak of yet. Mariah knew better than to badger or push Luke. He'd tell her what was in his heart when the time came.

She added some cinnamon sticks and licorice to her purchases and handed one to Benjamin.

"Time to go," she said. "Where is your sister?"

Genevieve tried not to smile as Bridie Farrell, the maid she'd grudgingly engaged at Sarah's insistence, grunted under a load of parcels from Trotter's store.

"Sure it's enough to clothe a church choir," Bridie scolded. "Or maybe Miss Sarah has some aversion to wearing the same frock more than once. So spoiled even salt and vinegar wouldn't save her."

"You're a saucy thing, Bridie," Sarah snapped, but she was smiling. She and the fifteen-year-old Irish immigrant were fast friends. "As Mrs. Nathaniel Caddick, I'll need gowns for all occasions."

Smiling at the prospect of her daughter's impending wedding, Genevieve handed the last of the parcels to Bridie, who managed to load everything into the chaise. She was about to climb to the seat when the sound of childish crying caught her ear.

The pedestrians jostling each other on the wooden walkway in front of the store took no notice. But Genevieve's ears were sharp, perhaps as nature's compensation for her ever-weakening vision.

She edged her way through the crowd to find a small girl crouched fearfully on the walkway. A maternal feeling engulfed her as she bent and touched the child on the shoulder.

The little girl looked up, blinking huge blue eyes mournfully and twisting a lock of hair with a small, nervous hand.

Genevieve gave a gentle smile.

"I'll bet you've lost your mama," she said.

The child nodded gravely. A man carrying a new plow blade came out of the store, narrowly missing the girl with its metal edges. Genevieve lifted her up and set her on a pickle barrel out of harm's way.

The child was remarkably pretty, with wide, clear eyes, a trembling rosebud mouth, and hair of glossy black. Gene smile widened as she reached into her pocket.

"I've a lemon drop, just for you. Bet I'll find your mama before you can make it disappear."

The worried face blossomed into a smile. Genevieve was amazed by the intensity of feeling that swept over her. For some reason she felt a deep-seated longing that almost hurt.

Thank God Sarah was about to marry; Genevieve could hardly wait for the blessing of grandchildren.

When the little girl was sucking contentedly on the candy, Genevieve cautioned her to stay put and started into the store.

"There you are, Hattie!" a voice exclaimed. "Child, you gave us a fright."

Genevieve turned to assure the woman that Hattie was fine. She found herself staring into a face she'd seen only once before—at the Attwaters' disastrous reception five years earlier.

Gasping, she stumbled against the pickle barrel. The idea that she was in the company of Luke's wife and children struck her with stunning force. Instantly, she recognized Hattie's habit of twisting her hair in her fingers. Luke had soothed himself to sleep in the same manner when he was a child.

The little boy at Mariah's side was dark and exotic looking, like his mother, but the handsome form of his face and the sturdiness of his body were unmistakably Luke's. Oh, God, and Roarke's.

"Good day, Mrs. Adair," Mariah said stiffly. She handed the boy her packages and lifted Hattie from the barrel. "Come along, Benjamin," she added, taking Hattie by the hand. "We'd best find Gideon now."

"Wait," Genevieve pleaded. She'd known of Luke's children, of course; people loved to talk. But until this moment they'd been nameless, faceless. Not really people at all. Now that she'd seen them, she ached for them. Even more than she'd ached for the past five years for Luke's smile.

Mariah hesitated, clutching Hattie and moving slightly in front of Benjamin, unconsciously protective. She waited for Genevieve to speak again, her face unreadable.

Sarah interrupted. Luke's pretty sister moved in on the scene, her brow puckering as she recognized Mariah. Unlike Genevieve, she was utterly unmoved.

"Mother, let's go," she said impatiently, tugging at Genevieve's arm. She lowered her voice and hissed, "This is the worst possible time to get involved with—well, you know. The Caddicks, they'd never understand…"

Genevieve looked torn as Sarah pulled her away. But she didn't protest. Five years of silence were not to be breached by a chance meeting.

"Who was that, Mama?" Benjamin asked as Mariah walked away. "She seemed nice."

"Perhaps she is," Mariah said. "But not to the likes of us."

A howling wind sculpted the snow into great drifts against the fences, obscuring the landscape in a cloak of white. At high noon it was impossible to see beyond the well house, which was located just a few feet from the kitchen window.

Luke squinted out at the blizzard. He was weary to the bone, having spent the better part of the night battening the livestock into the barn and stables. Ordinarily, Jake Hopkins would have been there to help, but the foreman had taken his family to spend Christmas with relatives.

Just as he'd finished with the animals, Luke had crept into bed to find Mariah shifting restlessly with the early twinges of labor. She'd assured him that all was well. But now he wasn't so certain.

Turning back from the window, he studied her, lying on her side on the cot in a recessed alcove of the kitchen. She was so brave, not uttering a sound as the ebb and flow of pains held her in a deathly grip.

Luke's heart swelled with love and pride as he sat beside her and smoothed a sweat-dampened lock of hair from her brow. She managed to smile through her pain.

"The children?" she whispered.

"They're all sleeping in Gideon's room." Luke sent her a sheepish grin. "I gave them rum toddies after breakfast."

Her hand tightened around his as another pain gripped her. Luke ached for her, wishing there were some way he could shoulder the pain himself. When her hand finally relaxed, he bent and brushed his lips across her cheek.

"I love you," he said.

She tried to smile. "I know, Luke. I wish this were over. It was easy with the first two, but…"

He leaned forward. "But what? Oh, God, Mariah, what is it?"

"I'm afraid there's something wrong," she admitted finally. "It's been so long, and the baby is still high—" She broke off and braved another squeezing pain.

"I'll get the doctor from town," Luke said.

"But you can't, Luke. The snow…"

He sat with her, mopping her brow and feeling helpless. The other two times Essie Hopkins had been present, assisting Mariah with quiet, womanly competence. But now Luke was alone except for the children. And he could see Mariah weakening by the minute. She drifted in and out of sleep, awakening with each squeezing pain and then slipping away again. Luke raked a hand through his hair and stood up.

"I'm going for the doctor," he said again. He kept his voice quiet, trying not to betray the stark terror that gripped him. He roused Gideon and instructed him to stay with Mariah.

Nearly shaking with fear, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. "I won't be long, honey," he told her.

She nodded, too weak to protest now. "I'll be waiting, Luke."

He dressed in layers of wool and buckskin and fought his way out to the barn to harness the sleigh.

Lexington had drawn in on itself for the blizzard. Doors were locked and windows shuttered against the howling wind. Luke stood at the door of Dr. Warfield's surgery, suddenly remembering the last time he'd come here. Bringing Mariah and Gideon, his unwelcome burdens from the wilderness.

Recalling the brave, silent, proud Indian girl, he felt his heart constrict. Never could he gave guessed that she would be the one to break down the barrier of his prejudice and penetrate the cynicism of his heart. That their destinies had become entwined was a strange and splendid thing. That he was in danger of losing her was an intolerable and unthinkable horror.

Knowing his knock wouldn't be heard, Luke pushed open the door to the surgery and stepped inside, stamping the snow from his boots.

A ragged scream of pain greeted him. The scream rose and crested and then dissolved into a disjointed plea for mercy. Luke cursed inwardly. Of all the days for Dr. War-field to be occupied with some emergency… Stamping his feet again, he removed his hat and unwound his muffler.

A soft gasp issued from a corner of the room. Turning, Luke saw his mother. Her face, absent from his life for years but never completely out of his thoughts, was drawn with deep concern. He cleared his throat.

"Hello, Ma."

"Luke! How could you have heard?"

He frowned. Genevieve looked old, old and haggard. And terrified. "I didn't hear anything. How could I have?"

Her eyes were dry, but he could see she'd been crying. "It's Israel," she said. "He was helping stable the horses during the blizzard, wading in snow up to his waist. His leg struck a scythe one of the hands had left out. The cut nearly severed—"

Genevieve swallowed hard. Her small, strong hands twisted in her lap. She raised pain-filled eyes to Luke. "The doctor has to take his leg."

The shudder that rippled through him had nothing to do with the cold. "Oh, God, Ma, are you sure?"

Another scream rent the air. 'The doctor said there's no other way, Luke." She looked confused. "If you didn't know about Israel, then why are you here?"

Luke's first impulse was to keep his dread to himself. He'd neither seen nor spoken to his mother in years; she had nothing to do with his life anymore. He didn't want to share his terror with her.

But then she touched him. She crossed the room and laid a paper-dry hand on his cheek. It was a small gesture, hesitant, but it opened a place in Luke's heart that hadn't been touched in years.

"It's Mariah," he rasped. Tears poured from his eyes. "She's having a baby, and there's something wrong. Look, Ma, I can't take Dr. Warfield away from Israel now." He turned away helplessly.

"Wait." She placed her hand on his arm.

"She's alone, Ma," Luke said impatiently. "My foreman is in Danville. I've got to go back."

"One minute, Luke," she begged. "That's all I ask."

At his curt nod she fled into the next room, where Israel's cries had dissipated into incoherent mumblings. Luke heard Roarke's voice rise high in anger and fear, answered by Gen pleading tone. Then his mother reappeared, wrapping her head in a shawl and drawing a cloak around her.

"Let's go," she said to Luke.

Gideon greeted them at the kitchen door, his eyes wide and frightened.

"She's bad," he said fearfully, trying not to cry.

Peeling off her wraps, Genevieve hurried to the bedside. She soothed Mariah with a few soft words and worked gently, a look of intense caring on her face. A few moments later she turned back to Luke.

"How long has she been like this?"

"She—It started yesterday at sundown."

"That's nearly twenty-four hours."

"Too long," Luke said brokenly.

Genevieve rubbed her hand comfortingly over the small of Mariah's back. "She's a strong woman, son. But she's going to need you while I take the baby."

"Oh, Lord God—"

Tears rimmed her eyes. "I must, Luke. Mariah's getting weaker, and I doubt the baby can take much more. It was the same way with Sarah, remember? Mimsy Greenleaf finally had to give nature a bit of help."

A small cry of pain slipped from Mariah. Luke's eyes grew moist as he looked at her.

"Do what you have to do," he told his mother.

Genevieve was full of confidence. Despite the pain she'd suffered, she remembered every detail of Sarah's birth, as if the agony and terror had heightened her awareness. She refused to think of how weak Sarah had been, half-dead at birth.

While Luke cradled Mariah against him and held her shoulders, Genevieve set to work. For the first time since the labor had begun, Mariah screamed. The savage, elemental sound of agony caused Luke's heart to shatter. It went on and on as Genevieve worked feverishly, using her hands to do the work that nature should have done.

Mariah fainted from the pain as the baby was born, tiny buttocks first. It was a boy, perfectly formed and with a mat of dark red hair. His limbs were slack and bluish.

He wasn't breathing.

"
No
…" Luke rasped. "
Oh, God, no
…" He gathered Mariah to him and started to tremble as a terrible storm of grief welled up in him.

Genevieve didn't pause to look at her son or Mariah. She cleared the baby's air passages and, covering his mouth and nose with hers, blew air into him. She repeated the process in a desperate rhythm, drenching the baby's face with her tears but never wavering in her determination.