ROMANCE: MAIL ORDER BRIDE: The Other Man’s Baby (A Clean Christian Historical Western) (New Adult Inspirational Pregnancy Romance) (23 page)

D
ays were busy and the weeks passed quickly with a comfortable routine that changed little from day to day and was all the more welcome as it became familiar. Breakfast was early as he, Salome and Feather sat down to the morning meal before he headed out to lead the men in felling trees for lumber. When he returned at noon, lunch was ready and supper was being prepared. Salome kept the house as spotlessly as Lorna had done and he noticed that, like Lorna, she had a quick eye for dirt and dust. When she asked him if it would be all right to sew a new cushion for the rocking chair, he vanished for a few moments and returned with Lorna’s sewing basket. Salome thanked him, understanding without explanation what the offering meant.

When he returned home at the end of the day and cleaned up for supper, Salome, wearing an apron, was bringing the food to the table, which Feather cleared of the slate and chalk that she had been using while  Salome taught her the alphabet and her numbers. Then, every night, Salome covered the dining table with the cloth which the ladies of Santa Teresa had embroidered, bouquets of daisies stitched in the center, their names threaded along the border. Salome led them in the evening prayer; Feather piping up with a quick “Amen,” Kenyon slower to respond but content that prayers were said.

“I’ve been thinking,” Kenyon began as he cut pieces of roast for Feather and Salome and then himself, while Salome passed around the pickled beets. “It looks like cattle might be a smart move. I’m thinking of adding to the herd.”

Salome handed him the biscuits. “And give up the lumbering?”
 

“No, lumber is profitable; we’re doing well. But there’s no reason why I can’t do both. That fellow in Chicago that’s doing the meatpacking, name of Armour, he can use a lot of cattle. With the railroads in Texas now, cattle don’t need to travel on those long drives. I wouldn’t need to leave you and Feather for long.”

Salome smiled and spread blueberry preserves on her biscuit. Feather, bored by the talk of cattle, was having a conversation with Lorna, her doll.
“Feather and the baby and I will be glad if you don’t have to leave,” Salome said.

Kenyon said nothing. His blue eyes darkened with an emotion that she couldn’t interpret. He stared at her, his fork halfway to his mouth, frozen by her words.

“Baby?” he inquired. The word sounded foreign on his tongue.

Salome’s smile faltered. “Don’t you want it?”

Emotion rose in him, something so potent and beyond his control that he felt his words choke. “I want it more than anything,” he said finally. “I didn’t dare hope. I thought I couldn’t . . . “

Salome smile. “Well,” she said as she passed him the platter of meat. “You can and you did.”

He felt himself grinning like a boy. “Guess so,” he said, ducking his head in pride and embarrassment.

While Salome cleaned up after supper, Kenyon went out on the porch with Feather so that she could play with her doll and the carved animals that her father had made her. “Do you think your dolly would like a friend?” he asked, sipping from the glass of lemonade that Salome had poured him.

Feather glanced up at him. “Where’s her friend?”

“We can find one at the store in town.”

They hadn’t been to town yet. He knew that the news of his marriage had trickled out to the townspeople; his workers knew, and had met Salome and seemed to like her. They’d also met Feather and had been entertained by her curiosity and the intent way she had of asking them questions about their work, their horses and anything else that attracted her interest. Kenyon wasn’t much at carving, but one of the workers was and Kenyon had asked him to carve a Noah’s Ark for Feather for a Christmas present. Every night, Salome read the Bible to her before bedtime. Feather’s favorite story was Noah’s Ark; her inquisitive nature inspired dozens of questions about the story until one night, Salome told her to ask Kenyon what a cubit was.

“It’s very big,” Kenyon had said earnestly. “Big enough for all those two-by-twos going in.”
Feather had given him a long look. He was halfway to admitting that he had no idea how big a cubit was, or how much space it had taken to house all the animals on the Ark, when she asked, “Can I call you Pa instead of Kenyon?”

Kenyon hadn’t looked at Salome. Keeping his eyes on Feather and his voice under control, he’d told her to ask her mother.

Now, as he sat on the porch, sipping his lemonade, enjoying his rest, talking to the four-year-old girl who had brought a child’s charm into his life, he wondered if that night had been when they’d made that baby that Salome had just told him about. He still remembered the eagerness of her response and his own driving passion for her, the delight they’d taken in one other’s bodies and the satisfied, drained sleep that had claimed them both afterward. He’d teased her the next morning, asking her what she’d put in the blueberry preserves. It was a pleasing memory.

But this night was pleasant too. Salome joined them after tidying up from supper, her apron off, a plate of cinnamon cake in her hand.

“Mama, Pa is going to buy Lorna a friend!”

Salome looked at Kenyon as she handed him a napkin and a slice of cake. She’d never asked him why they didn’t go to town, or to church. She’d accepted the exile he imposed without question, and if she ever missed female company, she didn’t show it. When she received letters from Santa Teresa, she read them to him and told Feather what their friends were doing. He had persuaded himself that she was too busy to have time to dally in town.

Salome gave Feather a piece of cake. “If you’re going into town,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “I have a shopping list.”

Kenyon placed his hand on top of hers. “This is good cake,” he said, reaching for a second piece of cake. “I guess you need more supplies. It’s better if you come along. I might forget something.”

“Are we going into town?” Feather asked.

“Tomorrow,” Kenyon said. “We’ll go in tomorrow.”
That night, in bed, he tried to apologize. “I know I shouldn’t have kept you cooped up here these past few months. After Lorna died, I only went into town when I had to. I didn’t want to see people. I didn’t want to see that sorrow for me in their eyes.”

Her soft hand was soothing on his bare chest. “I wasn’t cooped up. You never forbade me.” She ran her fingers through his thick hair. “I think we’re going to have a yellow-haired baby.”

“She’s my daughter now, Salome. I know she has a father, but he’s not here. I’m her Pa, she says so.”

“I know. I’m glad. John would be glad, I think. He wouldn’t want her to be in a house where I had a husband but she didn’t have a father.” She kissed him. “He’d be that proud of how you treat her. Will they—how will she be treated in town?”
“She’s my daughter,” Kenyon repeated, his voice rough. “She’ll be treated as my daughter.”

Feather didn’t question why she had to wear the new dress Salome had made for her as her mother got her ready for the trip to town. Nor did she ask why she had to have a bath, or why her hair had to be tightly braided and tied with the new pink ribbons that matched her dress. She asked for a length of pink ribbon for Lorna as well. Salome herself was dressed with care; she wore the dress she’d had on the day she and Kenyon got married.

Kenyon looked at his everyday clothes, took another look at his wife and daughter, and declared that he wasn’t dressed right to accompany such elegant womenfolk.

Feather laughed. “You’re fine, Pa. You’re just not pretty like we are.”

They were still laughing over something else that Feather had said when the wagon neared town. Kenyon pulled up by the general store and helped Salome and Feather from the seat. When they went into the store, Josef, the Swiss-born storekeeper who had been in Beulah Land almost longer than anyone, looked up from his inventory list. When he realized who had entered, he left the counter and walked over to greet Kenyon.

“Larkin, I haven’t seen you since before spring!” he exclaimed in his accented English. “And you must be Mrs. Larkin; I heard Kenyon had tied the knot. Glad to meet you, ma’am. And who are you?” he asked, bending over to greet Feather, who lifted her head to look at the tall, balding storekeeper, keeping Lorna tight in her grasp.

“She’s my daughter,” Kenyon said immediately. “Feather Gascoigne Larkin, please say how-do-you-do to Mr. Erlitz.”

“How do you do, Mr. Erlitz?” Feather repeated.

“I do very well, Miss Feather. Very well indeed. And how may I help you?”
 

“My wife has a list of things she needs,” Kenyon said. “And my daughter’s doll needs a friend. I need a few things.”

Josef smiled. “Let me have those lists and I’ll take care of it. And when you come back, I’ll have some dolls for Miss Feather to see.”

Kenyon felt as if he’d been missed by the townspeople. People walking by were quick to greet him, congratulate him on his new wife, and ask him when they’d see the family at the next church social or upcoming barbecue. He introduced Feather as his daughter and discovered that his fears were unfounded. No one seemed to mind that she was Indian. Feather’s friendly manner was all that was needed, and when they turned the corner and encountered Will Henley coming from the blacksmith’s, Henley demanded to know why they hadn’t brought the little girl over to play with his daughters. “I’ve got seven daughters, ma’am,” Henley explained to Salome, “and they sorely need a fresh face among them.”

Salome laughed. “How old are your daughters?”

“All the way from one to eight,” Henley’s voice boomed. “We’re so busy making daughters, I don’t think we’ve had time for boys.”

“Those daughters will be bringing home sons-in-law one day,” Salome assured him.
 

“I hope so. I’ve got a lot of land and it takes a lot of work. I’m expanding my herd,” Henley told Kenyon. “The way cattle is taking off, I’ll be able to afford to marry all my girls in style.”

They talked for awhile, Kenyon sharing his own plans for doing the same. Henley promised to bring his wife and family over to call.

“He’s a nice man. Seven daughters!” Salome exclaimed.

“What’s wrong with daughters?” Feather demanded.

“Not a thing, Feather. Not a thing,” Kenyon assured her. “Not a single thing.”

Josef had packed up the supplies on their lists and his assistant had loaded everything into the wagon. While Kenyon settled the account, waiting for the final purchase before he paid, Feather studied the three dolls before her.  The adults stood patiently, no one rushing the child as she evaluated her choices. Finally she settled on the black-haired doll.
“Lorna looks like Mama,” she explained as she delivered her doll to Josef. “But this one looks like me. When the baby comes, I’ll need a new doll that looks like her.”
“New baby?” Josef repeated while Salome blushed. “Congratulations to you both. But what if the baby is a boy?”

Feather considered this alternative. “I’ll wait and see,” she decided.

She wanted to sit in the back of the wagon so that she could play with Lorna and her new doll, which let Kenyon and Salome sit closer together in the front seat.

“Feather,” Salome began when they were heading home. “Why did you tell Mr. Erlitz that Mama is having a baby?”

“Because you are. What should I name Lorna’s friend?”

“How did you know?”
“I heard you tell Pa. I need the right name. Pa, what should I name Lorna’s friend?”

“Why don’t you name her Sally?”
 

Salome leaned close to Kenyon. “Thank you.” She sat up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, quick so that Feather wouldn’t notice and comment, but a kiss nonetheless.

“I love you,” he told her.

“I love you, too. Do you ever feel like they’re with us? Lorna and John? And that they’re happy for us?”

“I don’t know. I know that we’re here.” There was no one on the road, no one in sight. He placed his hand over her belly. “We’re all here. That’s what counts.”

“We’d better hurry home,” she said. “Looks like rain.”
Her hand tightened on his. Rain still frightened her with the memory of what it could do. He understood why. But there was nothing that could be done about nature. All he could do was continue to live and love and trust that, whatever happened, it was part of a bigger plan, one that had a place for him, for Salome, for Feather, and for the baby to come. One that kept the memories of Lorna and John among the living. Only love could do that, he realized. Ultimately, love was stronger than nature and more powerful than any flood because love never surrendered.