Every part of Kizzie's exhausted body froze, the physical relief giving way to a sudden rush of awareness.
Her baby?
“He ain't much for size, but he's got a good caterwaul on him.” Nella grinned up at Kizzie as she wrestled a wriggling bundle into a towel, her forehead as damp with perspiration as Kizzie's own. “That's a good sign for sure.”
He? Had Nella said ‘he’?
“A boy?” Kizzie croaked the words out, her throat dry. “Did you say my baby's a boy?”
“I sure did.” Nella tucked the towel around the little one and walked to Kizzie's side. “I'm gonna give you a peek of him and then hand him to Ruth for a quick minute so's we can finish up with you. Then you can hold him to your heart's happiness.”
A small red face, wisp of hair plastered to his damp little head, peeked above the towel. His crying began to quiet, and two large blue eyes blinked wide.
“He's … he's beautiful.” Kizzie reached out and touched the towel, her fingers brushing the baby's cheek. He quieted even more.
“Well now, he knows his mama's voice, don't he?”
His mama?She looked from her son to Nella, the pronouncement sinking deep.
Something changed inside her. Her role shifted. Her identity. She was no longer just Kizzie McAdams. Now she was a mother.
And someone small and fragile relied onher.
“We'll get him washed up.” Nella slipped the baby into Ruth's arms. “You got the bowl prepared for him, don't you, girl?”
“Yes, ma'am,” came Ruth's quiet response as she stared down into Kizzie's son's face. “He sure is little.”
“He is that,” Nella agreed, returning to the bed. “Which is why I had you set them towels and that washbowl by the hearth. You keep that baby as warm as you can. Only uncover little parts of him to wash, then bring him here once you're done.” Nella nodded toward Kizzie, her expression softening into a small smile. “His mama will want him.”
And so it was within ten minutes, Kizzie held her little son in her arms.
Nella told Kizzie she'd be back with a biscuit and meat and left her alone in the room with her tiny babe.
Those little eyes stared up at her, his fingers stretching out, so she offered one of hers. He fisted her finger, tightening the indescribable feeling she had for this little person even more.
All the emotions crowding in bordered on overwhelming.
How could she love someone so much when she'd just met him?
Her smile fell. And how would she take care of him?
The magnitude of their current situation hit her afresh, and she tightened her hold on her son.
“I'll protect you, little one,” Kizzie whispered. “You're mine.”
She looked upward, her throat tightening. Whether God had heard her own prayers or Nella Chappell's, Kizzie whispered a quiet “Thank You.” Even if she was a fallen child, undeserving of God's love, perhaps He still appreciated gratitude.
And just maybe, He loved her little baby with a bigger love than Kizzie's shame.
Her son began moving his face toward her chest, a strange grunt-like noise rising from him. His little grunts grew in volume.
He needed something. But what?
Nella reentered the room, plate in hand, and took in the scene. “Well, looks like Mama ain't the only one who's hungry.” She set the plate down nearby and approached the bed. “I imagine once he eats, he'll go on to sleep and give you a chance to rest.”
“For all of us to rest,” Kizzie said, searching Nella's face. “I can't thank you enough for what you've done, Nella. I promise, I'll leave as soon as I'm able.”
“Hush now.” She pulled a chair closer to the bed. “Ain't nobody gonna make smart choices after sleepin’ in the woods for who knows how long then givin’ birth to a baby. You're plumb tuckered out, and it's a miracle from heaven you ain't took worse to goin’ into birth on such little sleep and food. God must have more work for you to do, Kizzie McAdams.”
