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Epilogue
After fifteen hours of labor and screaming that she’d never let Kent Randolph near her again, Portia gave birth to a healthy, beautiful, eight-and-a-half-pound baby boy. As planned, he was named for his father and grandfather: Kenton Oliver Randolph. Sylvia, who’d been a nurse during the war and was a midwife, aided the delivery. After making sure Portia was well and asleep, she carried the baby out to the parlor to meet his father. “Here’s your son, Kent.”
Taking the precious bundle from his stepmother, Kent’s heart swelled at the sight of the miracle he and Portia had made, then stared up at Sylvia in surprise. “His eyes are open. He’s looking straight at me.”
“I know. As the old people used to say: this one’s been here before.” She went back into the bedroom and Kent sat down in the rocker and held his son. “How are you, little fella?” he asked softly. Kent couldn’t get over how perfect he was. “You know, you had your mama cursing my name in there, but it’s okay. I still love her, and I love you, too. Promised your grandfather, who you’re named after, that I’d tell you that, and I plan to keep my promise.”
He thought about Oliver and how proud he’d be to have a grandson. The baby was looking up into his face as if understanding every word, and it tickled him so much he laughed softly, “I think you’re going to give me and your mama fits.”
Kent sat and rocked his son for a long time. He told him about all the horses they were going to ride and the hunting they’d do. Promised to teach him how to cook and how much he was going to love his great-aunt Eddy and great-uncle Rhine. Kent wanted to sit with the baby forever, but he knew his son needed his mama so, gently cradling the baby against his chest, he went into the bedroom to set him in his cradle and to tell the sleeping Portia how much he loved her. Kenton Randolph the First, former bartender, cat house king, and Mexican prisoner, was now a husband and a father, and the last two descriptions made him the happiest man on earth.
