Chapter Seven

L ibby rolled over, placing a pillow along her side to help ease the weight of her stomach. Something poked into her skin. She pulled at it. A feather? What was a feather doing in her bed? Wait. The storm. The car crash. A masked man.

She sat up and waited for her head to stop spinning. It was difficult to see her surroundings in the dim room. A tall piece of furniture resembling a wardrobe stood against the wall facing her. She didn't have anything like that. Across from the foot of the bed, a small fire burned in the fireplace. Fabric hung at the corners of the four-poster bed.

Libby lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. Like a lightning flash, it all came back to her. If she were physically able, Libby would bolt out of bed. Ben was dead, she and Charlie had been rescued by a masked man driving a buggy. They were ensconced at his house at his farm. She recalled his deep, soothing voice, and something about taking care of Charlie. Libby looked toward the open door near the fireplace.

"Charlie! I need to check on Charlie," she whispered as she struggled from under the blankets. She swung her feet to the side of the bed. The baby kicked and her stomach growled. "Food wouldn't be a bad idea, either."

Libby shivered as her feet hit the cool floor. "Ooh, hardwood floor." She loved hardwood floors. A heavy purple velvet robe lay at the foot of the bed. She caressed it before slipping it on. It barely met at the middle, but she tied the cloth belt around her stomach, anyway. It was like being encompassed in something warm and wonderful. She waddled to the open door by the fireplace. The only other door, which Libby assumed led into a hallway, was closed.

The faint light from the fireplace to the connecting room guided Libby to the bed where Charlie lay sleeping, his chest rising and falling regularly. She eased to the edge of the bed and pulled the blankets over his shoulders. What in heaven's name was he wearing?

The sleeves of a white shirt were rolled up to his thin wrists. Had the man who'd rescued them been true to his word and taken care of her son? Except for some hardened egg yolk at the corners of his mouth, he looked clean. She smiled to herself as she brushed a few strands of curly blond hair from his closed eyes. How had she and Ben created such a beautiful child; not only in looks, but in spirit, too? Ben had often told her Charlie had her spirit, but she never could see it.

Ben. Where was he? Besides a cradle, dresser, and rocking horse, there was only the bed Charlie was sleeping in. Where had Ben's body been put? What was she going to do without him? She had to find him—now! It was necessary to see for herself he was really dead. Even though he had probably been taken to a funeral home already, she would tear apart this house piece by piece until she was satisfied he wasn't here. Then she would demand to be taken to see him and make arrangements to bring him home.

As in her room, the closed door probably led to a hallway. A candlestick with a half-burned candle sat on a table next to the door. Several matches lay next to it. "Must be here for when the power goes out." It would be best to not turn on a light and wake Charlie. Using a trick she had learned from her brothers, she flicked her thumbnail across the tip of the match. It hissed and sparked. She quietly opened the door and with one last look at Charlie, stepped into the hallway.

The candle threw shadows against the walls and the two doors across the hallway. A dim light shone under one of the doorways. There was a splash of water as if someone were taking a bath. Hopefully, it was a bathroom. She could use one right now but it sounded as if she'd have to wait her turn. The other door across the hall and to her right was closed, with no sign of life behind it. She vaguely recalled coming up the steps on the grand staircase with Charlie and Brad. Not trusting herself to descend the stairs with a candle in her hand, Libby ran her hand over the wall, searching for a light switch. Where would one be hidden?

"Must be at the bottom." With her left hand on the railing and the candlestick held high in her right, she headed down the stairs. The higher she raised the illuminated candlestick, the more it lit her surroundings. After taking the curve in the stairs and coming to the bottom step, Libby paused. Which way should she go? There were five doors, all closed. One she thought probably went outdoors since it was in the middle of the large foyer. She quietly opened the door immediately to her left and stuck her head in. It was too dark to make out anything more than slivers of moonlight coming through drapes.

The other two doors directly across the foyer looked equally forbidding. No lights came from either one. Libby walked to the second door on her left and figured it must be below the room she was staying in. A glimmer of light shone under the door. She eased the door open and automatically felt the wall for a light switch.

"That's right, if this is an Amish home, there wouldn't be one." Several candles stood on several tables, flickering shadows on the walls. In the middle of the room, its back facing the door, was a couch. An old-fashioned pump organ stood in one corner.

She stepped into the room, taking in the tall windows and heavy drapes covering them. A fireplace was on the wall to her left. A long table, draped in something white stood in front of the couch, its bumps and contours resembling a— She gasped. Her heart pounded loud enough to wake Charlie upstairs. In her fear, she knocked over a vase sitting on a table next to the couch. The shatter of glass filled the silence.

"Oh, Ben!" Libby whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips to stop from screaming. She walked over to the table. "My poor, poor Ben." She laid her ear against his chest to listen for a heartbeat and to make sure he was not breathing. Tears streamed down her face onto the sheet. "Look, your face is caked with mud. Couldn't they have cleaned you up?" She picked up a corner of the top sheet, spit on it, and gently wiped his face. As if the baby felt Libby's anguish, it kicked against her ribcage. In an instant Libby went from misery to anger.

"You stupid, stupid man!" she screamed, pounding his chest. "You just couldn't put on your seat belt, could you? No, not Benjamin Charles Daniels. You were much too macho to do something as silly as strap yourself in!" When her anger threatened to engulf her, great sobs came from the pit of her soul. "I don't even know where we are, and you lay there just...just dead. What are Charlie and I supposed to do? What about the new baby? It'll never know you and how much you would love it and Charlie."

After her initial outburst, Libby calmed. Tears dripping onto his mud-caked face, she ran her fingers gently over Ben's cheeks. "You were the only one who ever really loved me. Besides Charlie, who's going to now? Charlie and I loved you so much. This baby would have, too."

The urge to do something kept her from running screaming from the room, demanding someone take care of Ben. Where and to whom she had no idea. "I have to get this mud off you, I can't see your face, and Charlie can't see you like this." She took a corner of the sheet and again tried to wipe his face clean. She kissed his forehead. "What are we going to do without you?"

****

B rad crept down the stairs, a small pistol in his hand. So far, everything was dark and quiet. Wait. He had closed the parlor door, but now it was open, a woman's voice clearly raised in anger coming through the entrance to the room. No voice answered her. He was an idiot. What did he think, the dead man was going to carry on a conversation with a thief?

Stepping into the parlor, he slipped his pistol into his robe pocket and stopped. Libby was pounding the man on the chest, screaming at him. Did she hope to bring him back to life by beating him to death? Before Brad could approach and halt her ravings, she ceased her yelling, stroked the man's cheeks, and wiped them off with a corner of the sheet.

Her words were barely a murmur, but she was saying something about Ben's being the only one who'd ever loved her, and how she and Charlie had loved him. In life, Ben must have been one lucky man. Her comment about what she was going to do without him made Brad wonder what he was going to do with her. Where was she from? What were they doing in the storm? What was a seatbelt? What if she had the baby before Cora came back? He couldn't leave her and race to get his sister-in-law.

Brad must have made some sort of sound because Libby whirled around to face him. Luckily, he had put his mask on before coming downstairs. Her eyes, red and puffy from crying, filled with anger.

"Why didn't you clean him up before dumping him on this table?" Libby screamed at him. "Why isn't he in a casket? Don't you have any respect for the dead?"

If Brad hadn't been so shocked by her outburst, he would have laughed at the absurdness of her questions. "Ma'am, calm down. I didn't have time to clean him up. After taking care of your son, I barely had time to bring him in and clean myself up. I'm the only one here right now, and I had enough trouble getting your husband into the house, let alone cleaned up."

Libby bit her bottom lip and ran a hand over her husband's hair. "I'm so sorry for yelling at you. I just...just feel so awful. Besides Charlie, he's all I have—had." She dropped to her knees and sobbed into her hands.

What should he do now? He didn't know the woman, and crying women always made him uncomfortable. When Lucinda cried for some reason or other, he joked with her and helped her forget why she was sad or upset. There was no way he would joke at a time like this. Unthinkable. If it were his sister-in-law, Colleen, or his sister, Sybil, he would march right over and hold her until her fears were gone. His guess was most women were the same, so maybe it would help Libby.

"It's going to be all right, Libby." He joined her on the floor and put his arms around her. He placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed it against his chest. With each sob escaping from her, Brad was rewarded for his chivalry with a smack to his chin from the top of her head. He ignored the pain. "Shh, Libby. I'll make sure you and Charlie get back to your family. You'll be all right, and so will your baby." He rhythmically moved his hand up and down her back until her sobbing slowed. He had forgotten how good it felt to hold another human being. Even considering the reason he was holding her, his heart warmed from comforting Libby.

"My legs are cramping," Libby's hiccoughed comment broke into his thoughts. "I need to get up."

"Do you want to go back to your room?" His knees cracked as he stood and helped her from the floor.

Libby gave him a small grin. "Actually, I could use something to eat. I haven't had anything since lunch today and it was only a sandwich in the car. Do you think I could get something?"

"Uh, sure." As long as it wasn't eggs. Maybe he'd be lucky and Libby would do the cooking herself.

"Would you have any eggs? I have a strong craving for them."

Figures. He picked up a candlestick from a table and helped Libby from the room. "Do you like scrambled eggs?"

Libby shook her head. "Normally I don't, but for some reason I would like a plate of them, with some toast and grape jelly."

Here we go with the toast thing again! "I don't know if I can make toast," — or even know what the hell it is— "but you can have bread with grape jam." He hadn't yet cleaned up the mess from his and Charlie's meal.

They were rounding the base of the stairs and heading for the doorway leading under them to the outside and then into the unattached kitchen when Libby stopped and grabbed the newel post.

"What's the matter?"

Libby grabbed her stomach. "My water broke."

Brad stared at her, trying not to let panic overtake him. When he saw the wet floor around Libby's feet, a familiar fear climbed into his throat. Sweet Jesus, not again! "I thought you said the baby wasn't due yet. You said it was too early."

She whooshed out a breath. "Don't worry. I wasn't really sure when the baby was due, so it may only be a few weeks early. Besides, I have plenty of time. I was in labor with Charlie for eighteen hours before he decided to enter the world. I sincerely hope it isn't as long this time."

Forgetting he had on his mask, he swept his hand over the top of his head. If he weren't wearing it, he'd pull his hair out. And I hope it is. More time for Cora to get here. I'm not going through this alone again! "Let's get you upstairs and into bed." He turned her toward the stairs.

"Why don't you get Charlie and take me to a hospital. Like I said, I have plenty of time." No sooner were the words said, than Libby grimaced and clutched the banister.

Beneath his mask, sweat beaded on his forehead. Thanks to his mask, Libby wouldn't be able to see how nervous he was. "There is no hospital." Even if there were, after seeing the field hospitals during the war, there was no way he'd trust a sawbones to deliver an ant let alone a baby. "You have to have the baby here. Unless you'd like to drop the babe on these stairs, we need to get you to your room."

Libby dug her teeth into her bottom lip as the pain held her in its clutches. "What do you mean there's no hospital? I can't deliver this baby alone!"

They headed up the stairs again. "Well, if you can wait until Cora comes back, she can help. Just keep the baby inside for—" Oh, lord, how long before Cora does arrive? Too damn long. "—as long as you can!"

"Oh, man, here comes another one. Stop." Her nails dug into his arm. "I need to stop!"

Brad held his breath as Libby did some type of panting, like a dog on a hot summer day.

"Whew! That was a powerful one. Maybe this baby won't take as long as Charlie did." A tear ran down her cheek. "I don't know if I can make it up the stairs."

Would it be bad if he cried along with her? This is just like before. Please don't do this to me again! "Can you carry the candle if I carry you?" Brad asked.

"Why don't you just turn on the lights?"

Brad grit his teeth. "Why do you and Charlie keep asking about lights? This damn candle is my light. Now, do you want me to carry you, or can you make it if I support you?"

Another tear rolled down her cheek. He was an ass for making a pregnant woman cry.

"I simply asked a question about the lights." She raised her chin. "If you can support me, I can make the stairs, but we'd better hurry."

It seemed she had to stop every ten steps to get through another contraction. Sticking a hand under his mask, he wiped the sweat from his face. He was getting light-headed as he matched her breath for breath. "Do you have to breathe like that?"

****

I t probably wouldn't be prudent to kick at Brad's legs and send him down the stairs. She ignored him until the pain passed. "Yes, I have to breathe like that. It helps me focus on something other than the pain. It's called natural childbirth." How could he be so dense? An unsettling thought occurred. "You've never helped deliver a baby, have you?" Brad tensed against her arm. She was right.

"Yes. I have." His tone was clipped, almost angry. "Let's go."

Except for having to stop once more, the rest of the trip to Libby's room was uneventful. Brad was silent and withdrawn; Libby more concerned about being left with a man who she was sure hadn't a clue about what was going to happen. But then, most men didn't. Ben certainly hadn't. Even though he worried about her, his concerns were with the end result: a healthy son.

Libby climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Brad headed for the door. "Where are you going?"

"I'm getting some more sheets to put beneath you." He didn't look at her before practically racing from the room.

"Oh." Maybe he did know what he was doing, but he was a stranger. A stranger who was going to view her swollen body like no one but her doctor and Ben had. Then she remembered not even noticing her doctor when Charlie was born. Having a baby was the most natural thing in the world—nothing to get embarrassed about. If she kept telling herself that, she'd be okay.

****

B rad rushed out of the room as Libby started another contraction. How on earth was he ever going to be able to get through this? Maybe if he concentrated on what he needed for the birth and not what he'd have to do to help, he might be all right. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.

He ran across the hall to his room, threw on his pants and shirt, and grabbed more candles. As he was leaving the room, he noticed the pot of water still heating over the fire. Water! He remembered when he was with Caleb during the birth of Caleb's second child. Everyone was scurrying around with sheets, towels, and hot water. He wasn't sure what it was used for, but he'd sure as hell have some available this time.

He ignored Libby when he entered her room, stoked up the fire, put the pot over it, and lit candles around the room.

"Can I put these sheets beneath you?" So as to not distress her, he kept his voice low and calm, the total opposite of what was going on inside him. He wouldn't pay attention to seeing a woman's privates and concentrate on the baby. Having a baby was the most natural thing in the world. Except for Lucinda.

Libby flipped off the covers.

"What the hell are you doing?" Brad yelled.

"I'm going to pull back the blankets and spread out the sheets you brought."

"Get back in bed. I'll do it. You'll drop the babe on its head!" Women.

"I'm perfectly capable of helping. Now get on the other side of the bed and pull back the blankets."

Together they prepared the bed. Libby laid down several layers of sheets to make a thick, soft pad.

"Do you have any rope?"

He gulped around the lump in his throat. "Rope? What do you plan on having me do—pull the baby out?" At his comment, visions of him pulling out his son came to mind. "I'm not pulling your baby out. You hear me?" He'd had to help calves be born that way, but a human baby? Was she grinning? Did she think he was being funny?

She shook her head. "Don't worry, you won't have to pull the baby out. I thought you had delivered a baby already?"

He couldn't look at her. Now was not the time to explain how he hadn't been able to help his own child and wife.

"I want something to grab onto while I push. If you tie ropes to the posts at the head of the bed, I can use them to grasp onto. Also, do you have anything to put on the baby? I wasn't planning on it being born so soon and left everything in Wisconsin." She rubbed her stomach. "I need to lie down again. And don't forget to wash your hands before touching the baby."

I need to get out of here. His mind numb with her instructions, Brad rushed from the room to look for rope. Maybe he'd be lucky and the baby would come before he got back. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. How could he be so callous? This poor woman needed him. Wasn't he a man? Yes, but a chicken one when it came to what was going to have to be done. But it can't be any worse than what happened with Lucinda. At least my heart isn't involved with this one. His heart in his throat, he ran to the barn for the rope she'd requested.

Libby seemed to be sleeping when he returned to the room. The hair around her face was damp, and dark circles had appeared under her eyes. She opened them as Brad started tying the rope to the bedposts.

"Are they long enough?" she whispered.

"I hope so." He handed one end to her and was satisfied to see she had plenty of rope to hold onto.

"Did you find something to put on the baby?"

"I found some diapers and a gown of some kind. There were some small blankets, so I brought them, too. There's a cradle for the baby to sleep in."

Another contraction gripped her. "Where did they come from?"

If he answered, he'd break down. His nerves were shot. Thank heavens this was happening at night and Charlie was asleep. What would he have done if he had to take care of the boy, too?

It seemed to Brad that as soon as the last contraction stopped, another started. After several more in rapid succession, her time must be near. He paced at the foot of the bed.

"Rub my back," she groaned.

He knelt at her side and rubbed her upper back.

"Not there. Lower. Harder. Rub harder!" Her voice rose to nearly a screeching level.

His arms grew tired from digging his palms into her back. Any harder and he would rub off her skin. With his other hand he wiped her face with a damp towel, wishing he could do the same to his face. It was getting incredibly hot under the hood.

Libby's groan reminded him of a charging bull.

"I need to push!" She moved onto her back and raised her legs. Her nightgown slipped to her waist, exposing her stomach.

Brad had forgotten how big a pregnant stomach could be, but he did remember being completely amazed how a life was stored in there.

Libby panted. "Can you see the head?"

Brad went to the end of the bed. He had to kneel on the bed to get closer. A dark bulge showed between her legs, her bottom swollen and distended. Brad had to swallow before he could answer, his mouth twice as full of saliva as usual.

"I can see the head." As soon as he had answered he poured warm water into a pan Libby let out a scream, pulling on the ropes.

"Damn you, Ben, for doing this to me!"

Brad would have been more shocked at her words if he hadn't been so engrossed in what was happening between her legs. It was nothing like his son's birth. Instead of a little foot sticking out, a head was emerging. Salty, stinging sweat ran into his eyes, burning them, making it difficult to see. He'd have to chance having her see his face. He pulled off his mask and tossed in onto the floor.

"C'mon, Libby. You're doing fine." This was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. "The head is turning. Oh my. Its eyes are open!"

In the short time before Libby's body pushed the shoulders out, Brad wiped off the baby's mouth. Another push from Libby and Brad was holding a squirming, screaming, slippery human being.

"It's a girl. You have a daughter!" He wanted to laugh, to cry. He'd done it. No, Libby'd done it. No, by golly, they'd both done it!

As if she were a precious piece of antique china, Brad placed the baby on Libby's stomach. He recalled what Caleb had told him about having to deliver his third child himself. Since the brothers were so close, Caleb had told him everything. Tearing strips of cloth from Libby's nightgown, he tied two pieces to the cord still attaching the baby to Libby. With the knife Libby had ordered him to wash, he sliced between the strips, through the cord, freeing the infant from its mother.

Brad wrapped her in a blanket and placed her in Libby's arms.

"What are you going to name her?" Brad asked.

"Lucinda, after Ben's mother. Lucinda Marie," Libby murmured. "Lucy for short."

For a minute Brad couldn't breathe. His legs went weak. There was no way Libby could have known his late wife's name. "Pretty," he whispered. "Libby, I need to tend to you, first. Then I'll take care of the baby." He didn't need to worry about his mask being off and Libby seeing him. She only had eyes for the baby—Lucinda.

While Libby cooed, counted toes, fingers, ears, and any other part she could find, Brad carefully washed Libby using warm water and soap. He placed a small, clean towel between her legs, wrapped up the afterbirth to bury later, and removed the soiled sheets. He should probably help her change into a clean nightgown, but when he returned to her side, she was asleep, hair plastered to her face, a soft smile on her lips. One of her fingers was wrapped tightly in the infant's fist. It was beautiful. His heart leapt into his throat.

After changing the water in the washbasin, Brad carefully unwrapped Lucy's small fist from Libby's finger. The babe's strength surprised him. Cradling the infant in his arms he carried her to the washbasin sitting on a table near the fireplace. Her unfocused eyes gazed at him. They were blue. Would they change? Caleb had told him sometimes they did, but all his children's eyes had stayed blue.

Carefully Brad placed Lucy in the warm water. Instantly her legs recoiled and her arms flailed in the water like a blind boxer. Brad laughed.

"Hey, precious one, you keep wiggling and I'll drop you on your head like Mom dropped Caleb." It was a family joke, one Brad never let Caleb forget. "Then your big brother will blame everything you do on being dropped on your head."

Lucy calmed down while he talked to her. She seemed to take in every word he said, although he knew he could be talking about breeding his cattle and it would have the same effect on her. It was the tone of his voice, not what he was saying that was important. After cleaning her up and drying her off, Brad clumsily diapered her using the safety pins they'd bought in town and put her gown on. He fervently hoped the diapers would stay on, but then she wouldn't be dancing any jigs soon, so he figured it would be safe until Libby could take care of her. He wrapped her in a clean blanket and sat on the edge of the bed, simply staring at her.

"Hey, little one, it looks like you're going to have red hair like your mama's. Man alive, you're a beauty." Even with her crunched up nose and slightly pointed head, he thought so. Caleb had told Brad all his kids had been ugly when first born, but love tended to overlook their imperfections. All his children turned out to be beautiful, according to Caleb, anyway, and Brad had to agree.

Brad ran his finger across the fluffy, red down on the top of Lucy's head and kissed her forehead. She stuck a fist in her mouth and closed her eyes. Her busy first day in this world had left her exhausted. Brad's emotions rose to the surface. He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut by one of his horses. Love. He couldn't and wouldn't love this child. It wasn't his nor could it ever be. Love. How could he love someone as quickly as he did this child?

He needed to put the infant down before she took over his soul. Brad laid the infant in the cradle, covered her with another blanket, checked on Libby, blew out all the candles but the one beside the bed, and left the room as fast as he could.

The smell of cold, dirty bath water greeted him as he entered his room. He longed to heat up more water and take another relaxing soak. The clock in his room chimed three times.

Shit was all he could come up with for the way he felt. He wanted a good, stiff drink, and a ride on Captain as far and as fast as possible. Instead, he dropped on the bed, curled up as if he were a child and instantly fell asleep.