As the day drags on,I understand the man meant exactly what he said. In some godforsaken tradition, his family is going to send over workers to keep the farm going while he and I supposedly get to know one another. Never in my life have I heard of such a wedding present. And besides the presence of other strange men, it’s the getting to know each other part that has me more than a bit worried.
But after another heavy meal at noon, I don’t know how much more of Warren I can take for the rest of the day—let alone a full year—and it’s not because of advances from him.
No, he’s constantly underfoot and hovering at my side. Always asking me if he can get me anything or if I’m comfortable enough here in the parlor. Always humming something beneath his breath or rambling on about how happy Emmaline and I will be here. All while I brood in silence and try to understand my place in this new life. Am I never to get a moment to myself? I may have to hide in the privy if this keeps on.
“There they are.” At the sight of three men approaching the house on horseback, Warren shoves to his feet but hesitates. “I’m gonna get the men situated and then I’ll be right back. And don’t worry, they won’t ever be coming inside. Do you need anything before I leave, like a blanket or something else to eat?”
“No, I’m good.” I hold my breath and hope my tone wasn’t too eager. “Thank you,” I add when he doesn’t move. Please, just let him go.
Cocking a brow, he fingers the worn brim of his hat. “Well, I’ll be back. Just yell outside the door if you need me.”
I don’t know what to make of the soft look he gives me and Emmaline, but when the door closes behind him, all the tension in my neck releases, and I sink into the rocking chair. Peace. “It’s just you and me now, my sweet girl.”
Two slow blinks are all she gives me in response before she begins squirming in a way that I think means she’s hungry again. Opening the front of my dress, I stare at her in wonder as she nurses from me. I’ve never seen a baby as beautiful as she is. Other than her hand, I don’t see anything of her father in her, and the weight of relief at that makesme feel guilty. But after all these months of thinking I’d have to give her up so she’d have a better life, she’s in my arms and all mine. She doesn’t even know the horrors we both narrowly escaped, and, if I have my way, she never will.
“I’ll always protect you. Always,” I whisper. Is it wishful thinking to hope she understands me? Perhaps. But perhaps not. Love for my little baby swells my heart, and I give in to the urge to trace a finger over the lines of her chubby cheeks and across the arch of a dark brow. When displeasure wrinkles her forehead, I smooth her hair in apology, lips twisting in a smile as foreign as it is faint. “Sorry…sorry. I’ll stop so you can eat.”
A sudden yawn pulls at me, one so fierce and long that it locks up my lower jaw in a cramp. Rubbing it out with a quiet curse, I give my weary eyes permission to close.
Just for a moment or two.
My bruised body has been through hell and back. Pain and other unmentionable fluids between my legs is nothing new, but at least this time it’s due to childbirth.
Mostly.
Which reminds me…
Cracking a bleary eye open, I pinch the dress from my waist to measure the excess fabric. Men are critical of the female figure. And while Warren may act nicer than most, he’s still a man. If I keep eating as much as I have been, I may grow out of the two dresses the doctor’s wife gave me quicker than I grow into them. And if that happens, he may not want to waste any money on me for clothes even if it’s his own damn fault I outgrew them in the first place.
“I’ll have to push my plate back. That’s just all there is to it.” I ease Emmaline’s slackened mouth away and adjust my dress. When my hand brushes over my stomach, it grumbles as if mourning the lost portions already. My mind is set,though. “Best not become any more indebted than we already are. And I’ve got to keep him wanting the both of us so we don’t end up in the poorhouse. Or worse. But you…”—Emmaline’s legs scrunch up adorably as I lift her to my shoulder—“…he seems to have a soft spot for you.”
My chin touches my chest as I check that her little nose isn’t squished into the burping cloth. “Calling himself your papa and doting on you like you were his own blood. You listen to me, my darling girl,” I murmur into her hair as her entire body jolts with a sudden hiccup. “All men are good for is one broken promise after another, so don’t you ever think you can depend on one. Especially if it seems too good to be true.”
Movement through the window grabs my attention before I can dwell on all those false promises for too long. Easing the white cotton curtain back a little, I peek outside, ignoring the sharp pinch of the rocker arm digging into my ribs.
Well, well, well. Speak of the devil, and he doth appear barely fifty feet from me. Warren whistles a merry tune as he places a log on an old stump. I glance over to the woodshed with its door swung open to reveal cut ends all neatly stacked. Is he bulking up the winter supply? It looks as if it’s overflowing now, so maybe he’s preparing for unforeseen circumstances. But why would he be doing that instead of getting one of the other men to do it? This family tradition is very odd.
Emmaline’s snuffle reminds me to resume my patting. “Momma’s sorry, baby,” I soothe. An itching sort of curiosity compels me to the window again. With my husband’s back mostly to me, I’m free to stare as he easily hefts the axe, the smooth movement stretching his red plaid shirt between his shoulders.
A streak of glistening sunlight on the iron blade.
A swooshing arc.
Thwack.
A clean split.
Another swing.
Thwack.
Again.
Thwack.
Again.
Warmth spreads across my shoulder with my daughter’s burp. A sign to keep my mind—and eyes—on what matters? Guiltily tucking the curtain back into place, I focus all my attention on Emmaline. “Look at you and your messy chin.” Two gentle passes from the rag, and she’s all clean. “That was a quiet burp. Tooquiet, as your…your papa would say. But I think he’d be proud of the mess you made. No, don’t fall asleep again,” I plead. “You don’t want to stay awake and talk to your momma?”
