would she manage?
The man tossed his hat to one side. His dusty-yellow hair tangled in a mess of curls. Something stirred at the back of Vivian’s mind. He seemed vaguely familiar. She tried to think where she’d seen him, but before she could figure it out he leaned over, scooped the baby from the basket and offered the bundle to Vivian.
She looked into a wrinkled and squalling face. Suddenly, an incredible ache filled her and she cradled her son to her chest, stilling a sob but unable to stop her eyes from growing moist. She might not know about caring for this little one but she knew about loving him and wanting him. The rest would follow.
“He got a proper name?”
She had not been allowed to name him legally but had, in her thoughts, given him her father’s name. “Joshua. After my father.”
“Big name for such a little bitty thing.”
“He’ll grow—” She slid an amused glance at the big man. “Some.”
He looked startled and then his eyes crinkled with understanding. “Ain’t too many get to my size, but his name will suit, I ’spect.”
Vivian smiled at the baby. “It suits him just fine.” For some reason it did. “Can you hand me the bottle?”
He pulled it from the basket, hesitated. “You want I should warm it?”
“Oh, of course.” She knew that. Just hadn’t thought of it. Again, doubts grabbed at her resolve. Someone else should be caring for this tiny scrap of humanity. Someone who knew how to tend a baby. Remembering the seven weeks, four days and six hours when someone else did, she forced away her uncertainty. No one else should care for this baby but her. She would learn how just like every first-time mother did.
As the man moved to plop the bottle in the open kettle hanging over the flames, cats sprang from every corner of the room, meowing and clamoring around him.
“Now, you all just settle down. Ma will be in with your milk soon ’nough. This here is for that noisy fellow over there.” He rubbed the heads of several of the animals.
Ma? The man was married. That boded well for Vivian and Joshua. And they milked a cow. She relaxed fractionally and jiggled the crying baby as she waited for the man to take the bottle from the hot water, and let some of the contents drip into his mouth.
“Seems about right.” He handed it to her.
She’d only fed the baby a couple of times before and always with the help and supervision of someone who knew how to do it with ease and comfort. Even on her ride today, the farmer’s wife had begged to give him his bottle. She took a deep breath, prayed the baby would know more about what to do than she, and popped the nipple into the open mouth. The baby stopped crying and gagged.
Vivian jerked the bottle away and stilled her panic. What if she drowned the poor little thing? Maybe they were right in thinking she wasn’t fit to raise him. Again she yanked her thoughts back from heading in that direction. She’d endured almost eight weeks of aching arms and a weeping heart. Never again would she go through that.
Praying she wouldn’t harm him, she nudged the bottle into the baby’s mouth again. He pushed at the nipple with his tongue, swallowed back a mouthful of milk, looked startled then settled into sucking.
She slowly let her lungs relax. This wasn’t so bad.
She glanced about the room. The brick fireplace filled most of the wall to her right. A recessed area beside it held split logs. Braided rugs lay on the polished wood floor in front of the chair where she sat, and before the wooden rocking chair facing her. On the far side of the room was a kitchen table in rich brown wood and the normal kitchen things—chairs, stove, cupboards. A straw broom leaned in the corner next to the stove, along with a bucketful of kindling. At the corner opposite the fireplace a basket of raw wool and some carders sat beside a low chair. To one side, a quilt in muted grays and browns lay half rolled on a frame. Two narrow windows revealed nothing but white. The storm continued. How long would she be stranded here waiting for it to end? Stuck with a man who could easily harm them. But the room showed all the signs of ordinary farm life. She almost breathed scents of a happy, contented home and this squelched her fears. Surely she and the baby would be safe even with this huge man until such time as she could complete her journey. All she had to do was be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. The chair she sat in had stuffed arms and she let herself sink into the deep cushions.
Joshua sucked at a leisurely pace as if he hadn’t been demanding food for the last half hour. Then he stopped. She jiggled the bottle. He’d only taken half an inch. Surely he needed more. Didn’t he? She truly had no idea.
“Little guy needs a burp, maybe.”
Vivian nodded. Marie had told her that. She’d seen it done. How hard could it be? Gingerly, she lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted his tiny back. Warm and cuddly, he made snuffling sounds against her neck and she smiled.
He let out a noisy burp and she laughed. Such a large sound from such a tiny body.
She resumed feeding him. The next time he stalled, she knew enough to burp him. This wasn’t so hard after all, even with that big man watching her. She darted a glance at him. His gaze lingered on the baby with a look of amusement. She tried to place the twinge of recognition. Where had she seen him? She scoured her memory but came up empty.
Only a bit of milk remained in the bottle. Joshua curled in her arms, already asleep. So this is what they meant by sleeping like a baby. So peaceful, so relaxed and content. Her love for her son warmed and sweetened her insides.
She shifted, thinking to put Joshua back in the basket, but changed her mind. She liked the comfort of his little body, the way he settled against her as if welcoming her care.
“You got clean nappies?” the man asked.
Vivian kept her attention on the baby. Change wet pants? She could handle that. She wished she’d paid more attention to Marie’s instructions but at the time she’d been far more concerned with making her escape before Matron or some of her helpers prevented it.
No doubt everything she needed was in the shopping basket, which served nicely for carrying baby supplies. Marie had prepared it for her saying no one who saw her would suspect the basket held a baby.
She pulled the basket closer. Yes, a wad of white nappies, a tiny blue sweater set and several white nighties lay in the bottom. She pulled out a nappy and looked from it to the baby. Where? How? Could she really do it?
The man pushed the stool closer. “You could lay him here.”
“Thanks.” She sucked in a deep breath and carefully transferred the baby. She unwrapped him from the bundle of blankets until he lay exposed in his nightie. His tiny fists curled against his chest. She rolled back the skirt to expose thin legs and amazingly small feet in blue booties. Her heart pushed up in her throat as a wave of tenderness washed through her. Her baby. Her son. So little. So perfect.
And wearing a dampish nappy fixed with big pins.
Undoing the pins posed no problem. Nor did removing the wet nappy. But what to do with it? She settled for dropping it on the floor. The clean nappy was folded to fit. Vivian did her best to fix it back in place the way the other had been. There you go. She resisted the urge to say the words aloud as she pulled Joshua’s nightie down and wrapped him
