nearly full. A young woman carrying her own infant squeezed past, her wide, slightly dated skirt sweeping away everything in its path. She settled in a seat across from them. When Victoria returned her gaze to Mitchell, she shook her head. “Until this moment, I hadn’t even held a child. I have no siblings nor friends with children. Mother thought they were messy and felt it unbecoming of a lady to fawn over them.” Her smile felt watery. “Do you know how? I presume we should warm the milk, and I can only hope that bag has everything we need.”
* * *
Mitch frowned at her. What on earth kind of woman had he hired? When he’d met Victoria a few days ago, she was genteel and seemed full of common sense, unlike that fretful mother of hers.
He’d assumed she would know about babies. Didn’t all women? Grimacing, he realized that he should have asked that question when they’d first met. But by then, he’d been in Boston for a fortnight and at the time still reeling from his wife’s passing two weeks before that—and of course from Emily’s arrival. The hospital hadn’t even contacted him about Agnes’s death, he recalled grimly. They’d simply arranged for her church to bury her.
Mitch was thankful for their compassion. But by the time he’d terminated the rental agreement of her home and figured out how to set aside his anger at the situation she’d created, another week had passed. Only by the charity of the nurse who’d attended Agnes during her final hours did the baby get the care she deserved. The nurse had then instructed him to either find a nursing mother or purchase the bottles and baby’s milk needed. The doctor had suggested the latter also.
By then, time had become even more precious. He’d needed to hire a woman to help him during the train ride out. Not just any woman, but a trustworthy one. Mitch had heard tales about women willing to care for babies, but once payment was given, the children often died mysteriously.
Mitch looked down at Emily, her nuzzling and fussiness escalating. A good screaming bout would soon begin and his heart wrenched. She may always represent the worst betrayal in his life, but he could not abandon her. He’d never be able to live with himself if he did.
He rubbed his forehead. “I’ll show you what to do.” He turned to his oldest son. “Matthew, mind the young ones. We’ll be back in a moment.”
He strode to the front of the sleeper car. He could only assume Victoria followed, because he couldn’t hear a thing over the train whistle and the din in the car. The train lurched ahead and immediately, he spun, fully prepared to catch Miss Templeton and the baby. But all was fine. Miss Templeton’s grip might have been a bit tight, but she’d kept herself steady.
* * *
The older porter tending the fire in the small stove of the train kitchen looked up when they approached. Victoria watched Mitchell thrust the cotton bag at him. “We need some baby’s milk warmed, please.”
Still holding the baby, Victoria slipped in beside Mitchell, determined not to miss a thing. She had better learn all she could as quickly as possible.
The porter took the cotton bag and loosened its drawstring to peer inside. He nodded and told them he would deliver the warmed milk to their seats.
As they made their way back, Mitchell said to Victoria over his shoulder, “You do this each time. I’ll see to the man’s gratuity when we reach Denver. That’s when we change lines.”
“Where will we store the milk between the feedings? It’s already quite warm in here.”
“I expect the kitchen has an icebox, but each time we stop, I’ll purchase more if need be, plus food for us.” He slowed. “I won’t waste money on the food made at train depots, though. It’s inedible and the children will only refuse to eat it.”
By the time they’d reached their seats, Emily’s whimpering had become full-out wailing. Automatically, Victoria bounced her lightly. She wasn’t looking forward to feeding her. Why, she hadn’t even peered inside that cotton bag. What on earth did a baby’s bottle look like?
“Would you like the window seat?”
She quickly shook her head. “I don’t think so. If you expect me to feed and change the baby, I’ll have to sit closest to the aisle.” She cringed. Oh, dear—change the baby? Another task of which she knew nothing.
Nodding, Mitchell slipped in ahead of her, stepping over the basket that he must have had delivered. Victoria took her seat beside him, glancing over at the young woman across the aisle. The baby in her arms rested comfortably, no doubt well fed.
The woman eyed her up and down, her interest far too blatant. Uncomfortable at her nerve, Victoria looked away, realizing she probably looked foolish, still with her gloves on, as though a child was something to avoid touching. She wasn’t. The child was beautiful. Victoria suppressed a smile as she looked down at Emily. At least now she could see the baby’s face, since she’d removed her small bonnet. She’d removed her own hat as well and slipped them both in beside Mitchell’s Stetson before they’d strode up to see about warming the milk.
A few minutes later, after far too many screams from Emily, the old porter arrived with the bottle.
It was shaped like a flattened lemon, made of clear glass with a rubber nipple sticking up at one end. Victoria thanked the man, and after fitting the small blanket over her waistcoat to protect it, she eased the bottle down to Emily’s mouth.
At least the baby knew what to do. Being careful not to tip up the bottle too much, Victoria awkwardly began to feed her.
It worked well for a bit, but before long, Emily began to squirm. “You need to burp her,” Mitchell advised. “Bottles let in too much air. That bothers them.”
“Are you sure it’s not the milk?” Victoria asked, wondering how one burped an infant. Around Beacon Hill, nannies cared for infants. Victoria had seen them strolling the streets in the latest large-wheeled perambulators that came over from Europe. But she’d never seen an infant burped.
“No, it isn’t the milk. The doctors now say that mother’s milk is not good enough, and that this formulation is better.” With a frown, Mitchell took one of the blankets in her basket, tossed it over his shoulder and held out his arms. “Here, let me show you how to burp her.”
Taking the baby, he met Victoria’s blue eyes with his brown ones. His were a lovely color, she decided, as rich and dark as the wood that made up her mother’s highly polished secretary.
Those lovely eyes were also guarded and wary. Why? Blinking, she watched him gently support Emily’s head as he took her. Resting her against his broad chest, he began to rub and tap her back. The simple action was almost hypnotic. She’d never seen a man so gentle.
“Why did you accept my offer of a job if you have no experience?” he asked.
She snapped out of her foolish reverie. “Why did you hire me without asking about it?”
“I was in need.” He did not hold her gaze again, she noted, but rather studied the child. “Why did you answer my question with one of your own?”
She flushed and swallowed. “You already knew that I was going to Colorado. I assumed Lacewood had told you everything else about me.” That was all she would say on the matter. The reason she was leaving Boston was no one’s business but hers. It was bad enough that Mitchell probably knew that her home needed to be sold, her mother having
