Chapter Twelve

Cassie fidgeted with the hem of the cotton dress draped over her lap, her fingers tracing the stitches she had sewn with such precision. It was already June, and the heat was oppressive. Her heart should've been light with the joy of impending motherhood, but the closer she came to her due date, the more anxious she became.

"Can't believe it's nearly time," Andy said, his voice brimming with a kind of excitement Cassie found herself unable to share. He stood in the doorway, his dark hair tousled from work, eyes gleaming like two polished stones.

She looked up at him, biting her lip. "Andy, I need to talk to you about something important."

He walked over and knelt beside her chair, taking her hand in his rough ones. "Anything, Cassie. What's on your mind? You feeling all right?"

"It's just...what if I'm not cut out for this?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, her blue eyes searching his for understanding. "What if I don't have the motherly instinct? I've never felt a yearning for children, not like other women do."

Andy squeezed her hand and let out a chuckle, the sound meant to be reassuring. "Cassie, you worry too much. You're going to be a wonderful mother. Our child will be lucky to have you."

"But what if I see our baby and feel nothing?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, revealing the depth of her fear.

"Impossible," he replied with a confident grin. "The moment you hold our little one, you'll be filled with love. I know it." His belief was sincere, yet it failed to help her feel any better.

"Your confidence is heartening, Andy, but..." Cassie trailed off, her hands now still in her lap.

"Look at you, Cassie. Everything you do, you do well. Remember how you turned this house into a home? Or how every dress you make becomes the talk of the whole congregation?" Andy's dark eyes were earnest, his faith in her unwavering.

"Making a dress isn't the same as raising a child," she countered softly.

"Perhaps not," he conceded, "but it's all in the care you put into it. And nobody has more care to give than you." His thumb brushed against her knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

Cassie wanted to believe him, to share in his excitement, but doubt was a stubborn companion. She forced a smile, hoping it would change how she felt, but nothing seemed to make her feel any better about the baby that was so close to making his or her entrance into the world.

"Let's not worry about tomorrow," Andy suggested, standing and offering her his hand. "Tonight, we enjoy this beautiful evening together. How about that?"

"All right," Cassie agreed, allowing him to help her to her feet. They stepped outside, and sat on the porch swing, his arm around her shoulders. If only she could be certain that her love for the baby would be as strong as her love for the baby's father.

CASSIE WAS PERCHEDon the edge of the porch, her sewing basket abandoned beside her, when Amy arrived. With a baby secured in each arm and her youngest step-daughter trailing behind her, Amy's smile was as bright as Cassie had ever seen it.

"Look who's come to visit Auntie Cassie," Amy declared. Cassie marveled at how truly happy Amy seemed with the babies in her arms.

"Hi, Cassie!" Priscilla said, climbing up the steps to throw her small arms around an awkwardly seated Cassie.

"Hello, dear," Cassie replied, managing a gentle pat on the child's back. Her eyes drifted to the bundles in Amy's arms—one of the babies cooing softly, blissfully unaware of the turmoil he stirred in Cassie's heart.

"May I?" Cassie asked tentatively, indicating she wanted to hold Amy's son. As the infant was placed carefully into her arms, Cassie felt a surge of something unfamiliar—a warmth that started in her chest and spread outward. Yet, it was overshadowed by the gnawing doubt that lingered like a persistent shadow.

"Isn't he just perfect?" Amy gushed, watching Cassie with a proud maternal glow.

"Yes, he's quite...charming," Cassie agreed, though her voice lacked conviction. The baby, sensing her unease, began to fuss, and Cassie bounced him gently, more out of duty than instinct.

"Is everything all right? You seem off today," Amy said, concern knitting her brow as she reclaimed her son, expertly soothing his cries.

Cassie sighed, her blue eyes meeting Amy's dark ones. "I'm scared, Amy. What if I don't feel that...that bond when my own arrives?"

Amy chuckled, dismissing the worry with a wave of her hand. "Oh, Cassie, everyone thinks that at first. But trust me, when you see your baby, it'll be love at first sight. Just like it was for me with these two."

"Will it?" Cassie muttered, not convinced.

"Of course! Just wait and see. You're going to be a natural," Amy assured her with a confident nod.

"Perhaps," Cassie murmured, but her heart wasn't in it. She watched as Amy doted on her sons with such effortless devotion. Would that ever be me? Cassie wondered, a soft breeze ruffling her blond hair, carrying away her whispered doubts.

CASSIE'S FINGERS WEREa blur of motion as she fed fabric through the sewing machine. She was trying to focus on the dresses, vibrant calicos meant for the general store, but her mind wandered, unbidden, to the impending arrival that colored every moment with anticipation and fear.

"Stitches look even as always," Hortense observed from the doorway, her voice calm and soothing like a balm. The elderly midwife stepped into the room, her hands clasped in front of her apron, a basket of medical supplies by her side.

"Thank you, Hortense," Cassie replied, pausing her work to look at the woman who had become a pillar of strength for many mothers in the community. "I just wish my thoughts were as orderly as my stitches."

"Mind if I sit?" Hortense gestured toward a chair as Cassie nodded. There was something about Hortense's presence that made everything seem calmer, more natural.

"Every mother finds her way," Hortense said, pulling her chair closer. "Now, tell me what's weighing on your heart. I can see you're troubled by something."

Cassie hesitated. Finally, the words spilled out. "It's foolishness, I suppose. But I worry...What if I don't feel that fierce love for my baby? What if I look at him—or her—and feel nothing?" Cassie truly worried that something inside her was broken, and she would be incapable of loving the little person who God had given her.

Hortense reached out, her weathered hand covering Cassie's own. "Child, I've delivered more babies than I can count, and not one of those mothers has been unhappy with their child. Fear is natural, but it's the love that takes you by surprise."

"Really?" Cassie asked.

"Truly," Hortense smiled. "You've got so much love in you, dear. It'll come pouring out when the time is right."

Somehow, Cassie believed her. With a renewed sense of purpose, she turned back to the dresses, stitching away the last of the morning hours.

The clock ticked on, and Cassie worked, her hands moving with practiced ease. Each dress was a masterpiece of color and craft, but as the pile grew, so did her restlessness. "Should have saved some of this work for later," she muttered to herself, considering the empty days stretching before her until the baby's birth.

"Work keeps the mind steady," Hortense remarked, standing to pack her things. "But rest is just as important. Remember that, Cassie."

"I will, Hortense." Cassie felt the tightness in her chest soften just a bit. With each stitch, she felt slightly more prepared.

CASSIE'S HANDS WEREsteady as she threaded a needle despite the unrest in her heart. A soft clatter of needles announced Deborah's arrival, her knitting basket in tow. Settling beside Cassie, she pulled out a half-finished shawl, the yarn a calming shade of blue.

"Remember when we'd race to see who could finish their chores first back at the home?" Deborah asked, her voice gentle as the click of her knitting needles.

Cassie chuckled. "I always lost. You had a way with those socks and gloves that I never managed."

"Yet here you are," Deborah said, glancing over at the dresses arrayed like a colorful fan across the table, "creating beauty from fabric."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll be any good with a baby," Cassie confessed, her stitches faltering for a heartbeat.

Deborah stopped knitting, her eyes warm yet serious. "Cassie, you've excelled at everything you've put your mind to. I can't sew a perfect seam to save my life, but you—you're going to be a wonderful mother."

"Easy for you to say," Cassie sighed.

"Truly," Deborah insisted, the corners of her eyes crinkling with conviction. "And we'll all help. We've decided to bring meals for you after the baby comes."

"Every day?" Cassie blinked, the worry lines on her forehead smoothing slightly.

"Every single day," Deborah affirmed, her needles resuming their dance. "You won't have to cook unless you want to."

"Thank you," Cassie murmured, the knot in her chest loosening. The thought of her sisters' support filled her with contentment. She would have her hands full with the baby, and doing anything beyond taking care of him...well, it felt like too much.

"Anytime," Deborah said. "Now, let me see that dress. I think you dropped a stitch."

"Impossible," Cassie joked, handing over the garment with feigned indignance.

"See? Even in jest, you aim for perfection." Deborah winked, and they both laughed, the sound mingling with the hum of the summer afternoon, light-hearted and full of promise.

CASSIE'S HAND FLEWto her belly as a sharp twinge caught her by surprise. She drew in a quick breath, steadying herself against the table laden with fabric scraps and half-finished dresses. The pain subsided as quickly as it came, but Cassie knew what it signified. Her heart thumped unevenly, a mix of fear and something she couldn't quite name pulsing through her veins.

"Judy!" Cassie called out, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. "I need you!"

The screen door clattered as Judy hurried in, eyes wide and alert. "What is it, Cassie? What's wrong?"

"Fetch Hortense," Cassie instructed, gripping the edge of the table. "It's time."

"Already?" Judy's voice hitched in a mix of excitement and worry. "But I thought—"

"No time for thoughts, dear," Cassie cut in, more sharply than intended. She softened her tone, "Please, hurry."

Judy nodded, her youthful face set with determination. She dashed out, hiking her skirts up almost to her knees as she ran for the midwife.

Left alone, Cassie sank into a chair, her fingers knitting together over her swelling belly. The room seemed suddenly too quiet, too still. Cassie tried to chase away the nagging doubts that clouded the fringes of her mind. Would she really be able to love this child? Could she be the mother it deserved?

She whispered to the emptiness, "Oh, what if I'm the worst mother who has ever lived?"

There was no reply, just the distant sound of Judy's footsteps fading away. Cassie closed her eyes, taking deep, measured breaths, willing her fears to dissipate with each exhale. But they clung stubbornly, heavy as the summer heat.

"Come on, Cassandra Forsythe," she murmured to herself. "You've tackled tougher things than this."

Yet, the reassuring words felt hollow. She could sew a fine seam, whip up a meal that'd make your mouth water, but none of that seemed to matter now. This was different. This was a tiny life that would depend on her for everything.

As another contraction began its slow, building pressure, Cassie leaned back, envisioning the faces of her sisters, their smiles and assurances. They believed in her—maybe, just maybe, it was time she started believing in herself too.

"Love and companionship," she breathed out. That's what Deborah had said. With her sisters' support and a community that felt like an extended family, perhaps she could find her way. And maybe, just maybe, the love she was so afraid wouldn't come would arrive with the first cry of her newborn baby.