Faith (5 page)

Nicholas glanced toward the parlor, and she smiled.

Dismissing her with a curt nod, he disappeared into the
small bedroom just off the kitchen. Of course, he would
want to change clothes.

He reappeared moments later, still dressed in the clothing
he'd milked in. "I'll hitch the wagon."

Faith nodded, her smile fading as she assessed her bridegroom's attire. Wasn't he going to change into something more suitable for his wedding? The old clothes reeked of
barnyard waste.

Liza laid her handwork aside and got up. Pulling the
shawl snugly above her shoulders, she sidestepped Faith on
her way to the kitchen. "Come along. Nicholas can't dally
all day."

Dally! Getting married could hardly be considered dallying! Practically biting her tongue, Faith jerked her white hat
into place and trailed Liza through the kitchen and out the
back door where Nicholas was bringing the horse and
wagon around.

Taking her arm, he helped her aboard. A strong current
passed between them, and she whirled, surprised. The
strength in his hand was like corded steel. His features softened, and he said, "I could hitch the buggy if you would be
more comfortable in it."

"No, the wagon is just fine." Their eyes met. "Thank
you." His concern was touching. Perhaps he wasn't as
formidable as he seemed, just shy.

Liza settled herself in the middle of the bench, staring
straight ahead as Nicholas climbed aboard and set the wagon
into motion.

Faith followed the Shepherds' lead and sat quietly beside
Liza, her eyes trained on the road.

They'd ridden for over ten minutes when Faith finally
squirmed, unable to keep quiet any longer. After all, her
wedding day was somewhat of a celebration. "God has
provided a beautiful day for our marriage!"

Her cheery observation was met with stony silence.

She studied the scenery, determined to retain a sunny
outlook. It wasn't every day that she got married. The
Shepherds would warm, eventually.

Overhead a cloudless blue sky provided a lovely canopy.
Lush meadow grass waved at her, and bubbling streams glistened in the hot sun. Meadowlarks flitted overhead, and
bees drank their fill from the heads of bobbing buttercups.
She wondered if she would ever get used to the sight of so
many cattle. Nicholas must own every one in the county!

The wagon rolled past field after field of cows that
Nicholas called Shorthorns. The animals were strong
framed and looked to be of hearty constitutions. They
were big cows, with short, sharp horns and a coat of red
with white splotches. She stifled a laugh as she watched
the playful antics of baby calves leaving their mothers' side
to romp through open fields.

As they rounded a bend in the road, Faith heard a loud
bellow. The sound was filled with abject misery. Grabbing
the side of the buckboard, Faith held on as Nicholas
abruptly brought the wagon to a halt in the middle of the
road. "There's a cow in trouble."

Faith stood up as he bounded out of the wagon, her
attention centered on a cow that was down on its side in
the pasture. It was apparent the animal was in labor. Without thinking, Faith hitched up her skirt and climbed down.

Liza slid to the edge of the seat, her face suffused with
color. "Young lady! You get back in this wagon! Nicholas
will see to the problem!" Liza whipped out her handkerchief, fanning herself, her face glowing beet red.

"Can't! Nicholas needs help!" Faith darted up the
embankment and quickly slipped between the wooden
fence posts.

The cow, which had been down a minute ago, was now
on its feet, pacing in a circle, sniffing the ground. Her tail
stood straight out in back of her. Releasing a pitiful bawl,
she dropped to her knees and lay down again.

"Tell me what to do." Faith knelt beside Nicholas, her
eyes focused on the animal.

"Go back to the buggy. You're disturbing the mother."
Nicholas's hands slid along the animal's heaving sides. He
frowned. Faith noticed his touch was infinitely gentle.

"I want to help-will she be all right?"

"I don't know; she could be in trouble. The calf is in the
birth canal. It'll suffocate if she can't deliver it soon."

Faith remained at Nicholas's side, listening to the mother's
rapid breathing. Her sides rapidly rose and fell. Each pitiful
bawl brought a gripping pain in Faith's midsection.

Five minutes passed, and Nicholas was getting edgy. "It's
not going fast enough." He moved Faith to the front of the
cow for safety. "Stay here, and keep out of the way."

Faith obliged, relieved he wasn't going to make her go
back to the wagon. She'd witnessed live births before; each
one a wondrous new experience.

Ten minutes passed and the cow, though actively straining, was making no progress. Faith continued to edge
toward the back for a closer look. Nicholas was pulling on
the calf s leg that was farthest back in the cow. The leg
would progress a little, and he would switch legs, working slowly, gradually increasing the traction as he pulled with
the mother's contractions.

Faith's gaze riveted on his strong arms as, little by little, he
advanced the calf out of the canal a little way, then worked
on the other leg. Back and forth, back and forth. Nicholas
relaxed when the mother relaxed. When the cow quit
pushing, it appeared Nicholas was losing ground, but he'd
regain it with the next contraction. By now, Faith was on
her knees in the dirt beside him, holding the mother's tail
out of the way. Occasionally, Nicholas pushed the calf back
a little into the mother to correct a position while the
mother was resting. Finally, Nicholas got to his feet and
motioned for Faith to grasp the calf s left leg. Using both
their strengths, they pulled the newborn safely from the
birth canal.

Exhausted, Faith dropped to her knees, reeling with
exhilaration. Tears ran down her cheeks as she looked at the
messy newborn lying on the ground, worn out from its
entry into the world. "Praise be to God," she whispered,
then waited until the mother prodded the calf to its feet.

Nicholas stepped beside her, and they watched the baby
struggle to get to its feet, trying over and over again to gain
footing. When it finally did, they clapped, cheering it on.

When the excitement died away, Nicholas checked the
mother to be sure she was experiencing a normal birthing
process. "She's fine and healthy."

He stepped back, hands on his hips, and surveyed Faith.
She could swear she saw a hint of respect lurking in the depths of his blue eyes. "We best get you home. You'll
want to clean up."

Faith realized there would be no wedding today. She
looked down at her blood-spattered white Irish linen,
thinking how appalled Rose Nelson would be if she could
see it right now. But dresses were only material, and material didn't matter. With a good scrubbing, she could have
the dress presentable in no time. What did matter was that
she had felt a bond with Nicholas Shepherd. Albeit a small
one, and certainly a precarious one, but they'd managed to
make a brief, personal connection. She could hardly ask for
anything more this soon. Praise be to God! Nicholas's inclination toward silence had started to worry her.

THE day she'd most dreaded had arrived.
Lord, I know I should surrender Nicholas gracefully. I just can't.

Liza bent over the stove, suffused with heat. Merciful
heavens, the kitchen was a blast furnace this morning! Her
back ached, and she felt as if she were coming down with
ague. Frustration overwhelmed her. She wasn't supposed to
come to the end of her days alone, lonely.

There was no one left to care about her. That was the
plain truth. Nicholas respected her, but he didn't need her
anymore. He was a grown man, soon to be married.

Married.

The final separation of mother and son.

Oh, Nicholas was an honorable man like his father. She
was his mother; he would dutifully look after her until the
end, but marriage would bind him to a wife.

Vigorously stirring the bubbling pot, Liza blinked back
scalding tears. Faith thought she was old and cranky. She
could see it in her accusing looks. Well, she was cranky, and
getting worse every day. She didn't like who she'd become,
but she couldn't seem to do a thing about it. Her chin rose
a notch. Giving up a child fell to all mothers one day. It
would fall to young, dewy-eyed Miss Kallahan, too. Was a
mother expected to give her son, her life blood, to another
woman with a kiss and a smile?

Well, she couldn't. God forgive her, she couldn't.

What did it matter that Nicholas didn't love Faith Kallahan? He would eventually. Siring a child would create an
unbreakable bond. And though she knew Nicholas would
honor God's teaching to honor his mother, it didn't make
her pain any more bearable.

His heart would belong to another woman.

Faith, this stranger-this "mail-order bride"-was about
to take the last remaining thing that held any meaning in
her life. Without Nicholas, Liza would be completely alone.
Abe taken, now Nicholas. The thought rose like bitter gall
in her throat.

Pitching the spoon aside, she turned from the stove, stripping off her apron. Why was she feeling so insecure? She
had never felt possessive toward Nicholas before. She
wanted him to marry and find the happiness she had shared
with Abe; it was God's plan. Forgive me, Father. I don't know
what's wrong with me! Reaching for the small brown vial she
kept hidden behind the sugar bowl, she uncapped the bottle
and took a sip.

"Desperation, Liza," she muttered. Replacing the cap on
the bottle, she held it before her, squinting to read the label:
"Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound." In smaller letters it read "Restores to vigorous health the lives of those
previously sorely distressed." Well, she was "sorely distressed" all right. Oren Stokes had recommended the silly
compound, saying it had helped other women to restore
vitality. Uncapping the bottle, she took another tiny sip.
She didn't need any women's "compound" to see her
through her troubles-besides, the tonic only made her feel
good temporarily.

Shoving the bottle behind the sugar bowl, she absently
checked her hair. Enough of feeling sorry for herself. She
had better things to do than sip some useless tonic and blubber all day. Maybe she'd attend the quilting bee. Hadn't
been in weeks, and folks were beginning to think she was
shutting herself away in the house.

Straightening her dress, she took a deep breath and
reached for her bonnet.

"Mama?" Nicholas pushed opened the screen door leading
to the back porch.

Liza had excused herself during supper and left the table.
He was worried about her. This past year she'd gone from
being a woman trying to cope with the loss of her husband
to being a moody, unhappy shrew. Her moods were getting
worse every day, and he didn't know how to help her.

Nothing made her happy. He'd caught her in the kitchen last week crying again. He'd insisted-no, ordered her-to
see Doc. So far she had resisted all efforts to get to the bottom of her problem. Was her behavior a sign of a serious
illness? Her hand favored her heart a lot lately ... was that
the problem?

One thing he knew for certain: If her strange behavior
kept up, he was going to take the matter into his own
hands. He was taking Mama to the doctor himself. Maybe
then he'd get some peace.

Tonight Liza was sitting on the porch, fanning herself,
staring at the moon. Just staring at the moon while Faith
cleared the supper dishes. Letting the screen close behind
him, he joined her. "Mama, are you ill?"

"I'm healthy as a horse. What a thing to ask."

Her tone didn't indicate it. Mean as a horse, he'd concede.
Lately she snapped at him like a fishwife. At times he was
tempted to snap back, but he held his tongue. For the sake
of peace and quiet, it was better to just let her have her say
and get it out of her system.