Page 128 of The Frozen River

“Not any more than two small ones.” I smile. “But there is something she needs.”

Sam lets out a long, relieved sigh. “What?”

“A back rub. As many times a day as you can manage. A lot of the weight is against her lower spine. And she’s little to start with. There’s nowhere for the baby to go. So the discomfort might begin to move down her legs soon.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. And call for me if she’s in regular pain.”

Sam walks me to the hitching post, and as we say goodbye, someone calls my name in a tone of voice that can only be described as abject fury.

“Martha Ballard!”

I flinch because I know that voice. So I close my eyes and gather my wits because he is one of the last people I want to speak with at this particular moment.

But he repeats my name, angrier this time, and when I look up at Sam Dawin, I see that a storm cloud has gathered in his eyes and his fists are clenched. Perhaps he has grown fond of me after all. Or at least protective.

William Pierce sits astride his horse, glaring at me.

“Mr. Pierce.” I nod, as polite as I am able. “How can I help you today?”

“You can come with me.”

“I am not in the habit of taking orders.”

“Then let today be a first. Because Sally is dying. And it’s your fault.”

PIERCE FARM

“Sally isn’t dying,” I tell William Pierce. “She’s in labor. Pray tell how that would be my fault?”

Instead of answering me, he looks to his wife, and what passes between them is a kind of marital shorthand known to every couple who has been wed for any length of time. They can read each other’s expressions. The lift of an eyebrow. The flare of a nostril. Gritted teeth and lifted chin and eyes that gloss over with anger and fear. Volumes pass between them before William points his finger at her.

“You explain it,” he orders, then he turns on his heel and leaves the bedroom, slamming the door on his way out.

“Please excuse my husband,” Bonnie Pierce says. She is unperturbed by his outburst. “William is the sort of man built for having sons. Instead, he got five daughters. He’s never quite got the hang of it.”

“There’s no one to blame but him. Sally is your youngest. He’s had plenty of time.”

“You can give a man all the time in the world, but he’s never ready for his daughter to turn up pregnant. He wasn’t with the others. And it’s no different with Sally.”

Well, isn’t this a day of revelations.

“How long have you known?” I ask.

“Almost three months. I discovered her secret the day after North’s second hearing, in January. I walked in on her while she was standing in the washtub. There was no hiding it then.”

“And did you tell William?”

“Not right off.” Bonnie levels me with an appraising glance. Looks me over head to toe. There is a frankness in it that I appreciate. “He would have only been angry with Sally. We kept it from him as long as we could. He’s known for a month.”

“It is hard to hide a pregnancy that long.”

“My husband is many things, Mistress Ballard, but attentive is not one of them. And it is winter. And we all do what we can to stay warm. She’s tall and stays bundled. It would have been harder in summer, no doubt.”

“You do not seem much distressed by her condition.”

Bonnie shrugs. It’s more accepting than nonchalant, but still, I am surprised given William’s pious outrage in court this year. “She didn’t get into this situation by herself.”