Smiling at Abby’s astonishment, Rachel climbed down and looped the reins over the hitching post. Rounding the carriage, she reached up to take baby Laura from Abby’s arms.
“Mind your manners,” Abby reminded six-year-old Ben as he scrambled down. Still wearing an expression of amazement, she jumped to the ground, and they all started up the broad steps of the porch.
They had barely reached the top when the front door crashed open. Abby’s startled gaze flew to the face of the man who would be her new employer. Caleb Gentry. Wealthy gentleman farmer. Father of newly born Betsy. Widower, as of a few hours ago. He was a big man—tall, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his features too chiseled and angular to be considered handsome. His clothes looked as if he’d slept in them—which he no doubt had, if he’d managed any sleep the previous night—and he was in dire need of a shave. His thick, coffee-brown hair stood on end, and there was a wild look in his steel-gray eyes.
He looked angry and unapproachable. Difficult. Abby’s heart sank. What had she gotten into?
* * *
At the first sight of the quartet coming up the steps, Caleb flung open the door, relief sweeping through him. Their arrival offered welcome respite from the sickening churning of his stomach that had plagued him since Rachel emerged from his wife’s room and informed him that Emily was dead. Stunning news to a man who had only recently come to terms with the idea of being a father.
Accustomed to dealing with the many unexpected problems that cropped up with the running of a successful farming operation and his most recent enterprise, a gravel business, Caleb felt that in general he handled his life with a certain competence. In the blink of an eye, though, he discovered things were going to be very different. When Rachel left him in charge of the baby while she went to talk to Abby Carter about becoming a wet nurse and to inform Emily’s parents of her death, he’d known that he was not prepared to bear sole responsibility for every aspect of his daughter’s welfare.
In fact, thus far, he’d done a miserable job of things.
The baby, whom he had named Betsy according to Emily’s wishes, had spent more time crying than sleeping. Scared witless to hold her, he had nonetheless picked her up and patted, bounced and even tried singing to her. “Old Dan Tucker” vocalized in a gravelly baritone hadn’t done a thing to still her wailing. He had drawn the line at diapering—she was just too little and it was too scary to handle her any more than necessary. No doubt she was wet as well as hungry, which is why he was so relieved to see the approaching foursome.
Rachel Stone led the way, carrying a baby who looked just under a year old. A boy of five or six followed her, and a slight blond-haired woman who must be Abby Carter brought up the rear.
“What the devil took you so long?” he growled, raking long fingers through hair that already stood on end.
“We got here as soon as we could,” Rachel said in a conciliatory tone, ushering Ben ahead of her.
Betsy gave another ear-piercing wail. Without waiting for introductions, Caleb turned his wild-eyed gaze to the newcomer, grabbed her arm and hauled her through the doorway. “She’s been screaming for hours,” he snapped. “Do something.”
Instead of answering, Abby Carter looked from the fingers gripping her upper arm into his eyes. Hers were calm, though he thought he detected a hint of reproach and maybe even irritation in their blue depths. He snatched his hand away, as if she were hot to the touch.
Without a word, Mrs. Carter crossed to the cradle sitting near the fireplace, where a small blaze kept the chill at bay. She took a diaper from a nearby stack and set about changing Betsy while murmuring whatever nonsensical things women say to children in need of comfort. Things that were missing from male vocabularies. Finished, she wrapped a flannel blanket around Betsy and looked at Rachel, a question in her eyes.
“The kitchen is through there,” Rachel said, pointing. Without a word, Mrs. Carter disappeared through the doorway, bestowing the briefest glance on him as she passed.
Caleb planted his hands on his hips and dropped his head, silently berating himself for his impatience with the woman who had only come to help. From the kitchen, Betsy’s crying stopped. Quiet, the first in hours, filled the room, bringing with it a calming peace that Caleb had sense enough to know was bound to be short-lived. He scrubbed a trembling hand down his face.
“I know it’s nerve-racking,” Rachel said. “You’ll get used to it.” Seeing the expression of panic return, she offered him a weary smile. “Abby can’t fix everything, Caleb. Babies cry for lots of reasons, but everything is going to be fine. She’s a good mother.”
Caleb was not so sure about anything being fine ever again.
“Did the Emersons come while I was gone?” Rachel asked.
He nodded. “Your dad sent someone...for Emily. They’re coming back later to see Betsy.”
“Well, then,” Rachel said, setting Mrs. Carter’s baby on the floor, “I’ll just take care of the birthing room, help get Abby settled and get back to town.”
She gave Ben instructions to keep an eye on his sister, and disappeared into the room Emily had moved to early in her pregnancy because his “tossing and turning” kept her awake.
With silence reigning in the kitchen and the knowledge that Abby Carter was there to help smooth out this new wrinkle in his life, a sudden weariness overtook Caleb. Huffing out a deep sigh, he sank into a corner of the camelback sofa and revisited the events that had changed his life forever.
More than four hours ago, the crying and pleading and screaming had stopped, replaced by the sudden, angry wail of a baby. The reprieve lasted only until Rachel stepped into the room carrying a small bundle in her arms and told him that he had a daughter and that Emily was dead. He was trying to assimilate that fact when Rachel informed him the baby would require a wet nurse and suggested recently widowed Abigail Carter. His head spinning with the gravity and magnitude of the events unfolding in his life, Caleb acquiesced and sent Rachel on her way.
A log fell in the fireplace, bringing him out of his drowsy trance. His glance wandered toward the kitchen. Thank goodness Rachel had been right about Mrs. Carter’s willingness to help.
* * *
In the kitchen, Abby’s tender gaze lingered on the face of the baby in her arms while her fingertips skimmed the incomparable softness of Betsy’s dark hair. Was there anything more precious than a new life or anything sadder than a child growing up without the love and guidance of a parent? She was struck with a sudden pang of loss. Even now, eight months after William’s death, she often experienced a stark reminder that he would not be there to share or to help with the joys and trials that cropped up daily with Ben and Laura. As difficult as it had been for her since he died, she knew life would be just as trying for Caleb Gentry, though in an entirely different way, something that she’d understood full well when Rachel had arrived earlier and told her the news of Emily Gentry’s death.
“How awful!” Abby had said. “I can certainly sympathize with Mr. Gentry’s loss.” She’d never met Caleb Gentry, but she knew who he was, as did everyone in Pike County.
“Of everyone I know, I knew you’d understand,” Rachel told her.
“You look worn out,” Abby noted, ushering her friend inside. “Come on into the kitchen and rest a bit. I just took some cookies
