A Convenient Wife (28 page)

“Ruth!” It was a choked cry, and Ellie realized to her dismay that tears were gushing from her eyes. “Mathilda! Get out of the way,” she cried, struggling to sit up on the bed. “Let Ruth in!”

With barely a sound, soft leather moccasins crossed the
floor and Ellie felt hot tears spring to her eyes as she held out a hand in welcome. Ruth's fingers gripped hers with supple strength, their cold touch bringing a strange comfort to Ellie's heart.

“I had to take off my heavy boots in the hallway, and then hang my coat,” Ruth explained quietly. “I thought I'd not be able to get past your watchdog out there.”

Ellie laughed, then hiccupped as she wiped her tears. “She's not mine. And at this point, I'm not sure Win is willing to claim her, either.”

“He's gone out to the Kirkpatrick place, hasn't he?” Ruth asked. “I felt your need, Ellie. Caleb gave his blessings and rode with me to the edge of town, then left to go back home. He was fearful of me being alone in the snow.”

“You knew I was alone?” Ellie asked. “Did you hear that Ethel went out for a delivery, and Kate is at home with a sick baby? James had a problem to tend to, and Kate is upset because Tyler has a fever and she doesn't dare take him out in the weather.”

“No,” Ruth said, a strange smile curving her lips. “I had no way of knowing you were alone here. I only knew that your need was greater than the force of snow and wind. And so I came to you.”

“Who is this heathen creature?” Her lips drawn flat by anger, Mathilda stood in the doorway, her glittering gaze casting contempt on the woman who held Ellie's hands in a clasp that was almost an embrace. “What right does she have to enter my son's house without a by-your-leave?”

“I am Ruth Kincaid, wife of Caleb,” Ruth said with a dignity that must surely be apparent, even to Mathilda, Ellie thought. “I've come to help in the delivery of Ellie's child.” She looked back at Ellie. “Do you have the tea I left with you?”

Ellie nodded, feeling the angry surge of pain surrounding her once more, her belly drawing forward as though the child
within would burst through flesh to be born, rather than take the path nature decreed. She groaned with anguish, pushing at the taut rounding of her belly, her skin straining from the tension and swelling of her womb.

Ruth's hands were gentle, removing Ellie's clutching fingers and replacing them with her own firm palms and widespread clasp. She closed her eyes and measured the height and width of the child who was struggling to be born, and her head bowed as she pressed even harder, as if her fingertips could receive a message from the babe within.

Easing its bite, the pain left Ellie, and she shivered, the sweat on her body chilling her as she relaxed against the mattress. Ruth pulled a quilt to cover her and brushed dark hair from Ellie's face. “I ask you to go into the kitchen, Mrs. Gray, and find a package of tea leaves Ellie has placed in a flowered sugar bowl on the buffet. Heat water, if you please, and brew it in a large cup.”

Without looking up at Win's mother, Ruth settled on the side of the bed beside Ellie. “I fear the child is breech,” she said quietly. “Do you know what that means?”

“No,” Ellie whispered, dreading the meaning behind the word Ruth uttered with such solemn pronouncement.

“The head has not come down as it should, or perhaps the baby has turned recently, and Win hasn't noticed. Has he checked you within the last days?”

Ellie nodded. “The first of the week, just like always. He listened to the heartbeat and felt for…” She halted. “I never know just what he's feeling when he moves his hands over me. He just smiles and tells me that all is well.” She hesitated, and then a thought came to her. “I know I've felt some hard movements in the last day or so, as if the baby was turning around, trying to get comfortable.”

Ruth nodded. “So impatient they are to be born sometimes, they try another way to seek the light.” Her smile was tender, but Ellie felt the tension that darkened Ruth's eyes and brought
her lips together tightly. “We'll take care of it, Ellie. When you have your next pain, I'll try to turn the babe.”

Mathilda approached the bed, her head high, her jaw set. “Surely, there must be a midwife in this godforsaken part of the world. Is there no one we can send for?” In her hands was a large mug, steam rising to scatter a pungent scent through the air. “The water was almost boiling in the kettle,” she told Ruth, placing the cup on the bedside table.

“Lift up a bit and sip at this,” Ruth told Ellie, holding the cup to her lips, her other arm supporting her shoulders. The tea was spicy, with a distinct flavor, and Ellie, remembering Ruth's promise that it would ease her labor, held the hot liquid in her mouth and swallowed it as instructed.

“Are you worried about me?” Ellie asked Mathilda with an amused glance in the woman's direction. She eased from Ruth's grasp and lay back on her pillow, and her subdued laughter was sharp, as if such a thing were next to impossible.

“I don't like the thought of anyone suffering unduly,” Mathilda said stiffly. “And I certainly wouldn't trust myself to the hands of a savage, if I were you.”

“Ruth is a healer,” Ellie said in a thin whisper as pain once more became her tormenter, and its arms circled her body with an agony she'd never thought to know. “Help me,” she cried, her body lifting from the bed as she twisted in the throes of labor.

Ruth's fingers sought out the baby's head with one hand, there where it pressed upward almost between Ellie's ribs, and with the other gripped the rounded part that bulged just below her navel. A high, piercing shriek erupted from Ellie's throat, and she sobbed her distress as Ruth exerted pressure.

With a sigh, Ruth released her hold and gripped tightly to fingers that clawed for purchase. “Hold me,” she whispered, seemingly uncaring of Ellie's fingernails that dug into her darker skin.

The pain receded once more and Ellie was limp, weary
from the hours she'd spent in walking throughout the house before she'd taken to the bed that held her now. “Win?” she asked, her voice ragged, the tears again in evidence.

Mathilda bent to peer at her, her face strangely strained, her eyes no longer cold, but instead filled with a concern Ellie could hardly believe. “Are you certain there's no one I can look for?” she asked. Her gaze sought Ruth. “This girl will die if you can't take the babe from her womb.”

“She's strong,” Ruth decreed. “And I feel that Win will be here soon.”

Mathilda snorted her disbelief. “Do you interpret dreams, too?” she scoffed. “How could you possibly know such a thing?”

Ruth ignored her, bending to wipe Ellie's brow. “I want you to drink more of the tea, and then we must try once more to turn the baby,” she whispered. “I know it will be painful, Ellie, but I fear it's too large to be born with its bottom coming first.”

Ellie nodded, and eased upright with Ruth's help, drinking the brew eagerly, hopeful that it would live up to its promise. Then, unable to utter a word, she slid to her back once more, as the contraction began anew and she was torn on the rack of agony.

Win hadn't prepared her for this.
You're built for having babies.
She recalled the laughter in his eyes as he'd smoothed his hand over her waist and downward.
You've got nice hips.
And then he'd…

She caught her breath, and in the black vortex of misery that gripped her, she heard his voice, listened as harsh words spewed from his mouth. And then, he was there. Cold hands touched her face and he whispered a faint promise.

“It'll be all right, sweetheart. Let me wash, Ellie. I can't touch you until my hands are clean.”

He left her then and she sobbed at the vision that had been taken from her. Until his voice called her again, and his hands,
no longer cold, but large and firm against her flesh, brought reassurance. He spoke quietly to Ruth, his words terse and stark, their meaning lost in the mists of Ellie's pain, and then he placed a cloth over her face and she turned her head, fearful of it cutting off her breathing.

“Hush, sweetheart. Hold still. I'm giving you something to relax you. I don't want you to sleep, though. Just listen to what I tell you.” More murmuring met her ears as she inhaled the sickly, sweet odor of chloroform deeply into her lungs.

“Your hands are smaller than mine, Ruth. It'll be easier on her if you do it. You'll have to push upward and then bring the feet down.” Hands pushed at her, fingers worked her flesh, and Ellie floated higher on the relief given her by the dripping dose Win administered. Stretched almost beyond bearing, she groaned as Win called her back from the netherland that beckoned.

“Ellie, we need you to push now,” he said urgently, holding her hands in his and rousing her with gentle strength. A pain that overwhelmed the relief she'd gained tore at her, and she opened her mouth to cry aloud. But Win was there, bending close to speak encouragement, his voice spurring her to do his bidding.

“Take a deep breath, Ellie. Now, push hard. Push against Ruth's hands. Don't quit pushing, sweetheart. Just one more time.”

If Win said to climb the mountains, she would do as he asked. And if bearing the pain one more time would bring the laboring to an end, she could do no less. In moments, another cry split the air, one that began as a weak, tentative wail, only to escalate into an angry squeal, and then a scream that brought sudden laughter from Ruth.

“You sassy little girl-child,” Ruth said with relief and humor combined. “Look here, Ellie,” she called out. “See your daughter.” Holding high the small body, the cord still
attached, Ruth reached to place the squirming babe on Ellie's stomach.

“Hand me that string and those scissors,” she told Mathilda, and Ellie was only vaguely aware of the movement between her legs. Through tear-drenched eyes, she viewed the infant she'd delivered and watched as Win wrapped a clean flannel cloth around the slippery form, swaddling the dark-haired babe with practiced movements, leaving only the last fold incomplete.

He held the bundle closer to Ruth for a moment, watching as she cut through the thick tissue of the umbilical cord with a single stroke. And then he turned back to Ellie. “Do you want to hold her, sweetheart?” His hands completed wrapping the wriggling infant, and Ellie smiled and nodded as she watched.

His voice was soft, yet deep with emotion, and she searched his face, wondering at the expression of pure joy that lighted his features. He had eyes only for the babe, and his head bent as he blest the wrinkled forehead with a touch of his lips. Then he looked up to meet his wife's gaze.

“She's beautiful, sweetheart. Looks just like her mama.” His eyes shining with pleasure, he placed the child in Ellie's arms. Then he lifted them both, until they were surrounded by his embrace.

Ruth muttered darkly as she disposed of soiled pads and replaced them with fresh linen. “You're supposed to be doing this, Doc. I'm just the helper.”

Win laughed aloud. “You do that so well, you'll be taking my business, Mrs. Kincaid,” he said, teasing the healer as readily as though they had not just passed through the travail of childbirth, as if Ellie had not minutes since survived the trauma of a breech delivery.

“I don't want your business, Doc,” Ruth said, looking up with a smile. “Although I hope you'll note, I didn't allow her to tear.”

Ellie felt euphoria take her, recognized the residue of the drug she had inhaled as it brought surcease from the discomfort of the tugging and scrubbing Ruth was initiating. “I told you it would be a girl,” she whispered. Triumph tinged the words and she was suddenly exuberant, her mind ignoring the pain and misery of the past hours.

“So you did, Mrs. Gray. So you did.” Win's kiss was gentle, his touch tender as he spent comfort on his wife. And across the room, Mathilda watched, her mouth pursed, her bearing regal, her eyes narrow as she viewed the aftermath of new birth.

“I
'll be leaving in the morning.” Mathilda's words held her usual reserve within each syllable, but Ellie chose to see beyond the facade Win's mother put in place. In the depths of her eyes, behind her habitual shield of control, lurked a spark of humanity Ellie had caught a glimpse of during her long night of labor. And so, she bridled the impetuous response that begged to be spoken, to focus on a softer reply.

It would not do for Ellie to bristle every time Win's mother ruffled her feathers, and now seemed the time to make a new beginning.

“I'd hoped you'd stay for the baby's baptism,” she said quietly from her perch on a kitchen chair. Mathilda sat across the table, her face a mask of indifference as Ellie spoke her wish.

“It seems you have enough women running in and out of my son's house without adding myself to the clutter,” Mathilda said in a tone that appeared to demean Ellie's stream of visitors.

And Ellie listened to her heart before she replied. Closed her mind to the words and concentrated instead on the lonely woman who watched her with wintry eyes.

“I have some wonderful friends,” she said finally. “And I appreciate them stopping by to see the baby and bringing meals for all of us. But, I don't think you understand what it's meant to Win to have you here. Those other women are friends…but you're family.”

Win cast her an unbelieving look from his position by the stove, but fortunately, his mother was not in a position to view the cynical twist to his mouth.

“Winston all but divorced himself from his family several years ago when he decided to pursue the practice of medicine.” Mathilda's words vibrated with pain, and Ellie suddenly recognized the aching heart beneath the woman's stiff reserve.

“He only did what he had to,” Ellie said. “And how you could be here and watch him, and know how much he cares about his patients, without recognizing that, is beyond me.” She reached across the table, placing her fingers over Mathilda's delicately formed hand. It was slender, the fingers long and tapering. The hand of a lady, and Ellie mourned for a moment that she would never possess such elegance.

Mathilda's hand twitched, but it was a mark of her upbringing that she allowed Ellie's palm to rest where it lay. “I've certainly made note that Winston is in demand, and I'm sure he's more than competent. I only rue the day he decided to leave the streets of civilization to spend his life on the frontier.”

“And I,” said Ellie with a look in her husband's direction, “will be eternally grateful for the day he arrived in Whitehorn.”

“I'm sure,” Mathilda said, and then her mouth twitched as if the words within must be spoken. “He saved your baby's life, Eleanor. Possibly yours, too. For that I'm thankful. I would never wish you ill. I hope you are aware of that fact.”

“I am.”

“She'd have lived through it, Mother,” Win said dryly. “It would have been harder for her to deliver a true breech baby, but Ellie's strong. I just made it a little easier for her. Or maybe
I should say, Ruth did.” He grinned at Ellie. “It seemed I was just an ordinary father at the last there. Ruth did all the work.”

“You told her what to do,” Ellie reminded him. “And I'm glad you were with me. I couldn't have gone through it without your help.”

Almost imperceptibly, a slow flush rose to color Win's cheeks, and his eyes glistened as he fastened his gaze on Ellie's face. “I've never been so touched during a delivery as with baby Grace,” he said. “She seemed to fit in my arms as if she'd been formed perfectly for such an embrace.”

Mathilda scanned him with a look of surprise. “Well, I think you won't have a problem with accepting the child, Winston. And certainly, every infant born deserves a set of parents who have its best interests at heart.” She glanced at the cradle in the corner of the kitchen, and Ellie noted a softening in her gaze.

“Our child deserves grandparents capable of loving her, too,” Win said. “It doesn't look like Ellie's father will be as accepting as you, Mother. And you'll be the only real grandmother Grace will ever have.”

A sound of disbelief from Mathilda's lips stunned Ellie as the woman rose from the table. “She'll be surrounded by the women in this town, who seem to be totally besotted with her already.”

“They're not true family, though,” Ellie told her quietly, aware that her voice held an unmistakable plea.

Mathilda folded her hands before her and hesitated. “I will say that you seem capable of making a home for Winston, Eleanor. Perhaps in time, you will be able to persuade him to shake the dust of this town and return to his beginnings. And if you do, the child will be welcomed into our home.”

Win moved quickly, ignoring Ellie's uplifted hand. Striding to his mother's side, he grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Mother, you need to understand something. I
thought I'd made it clear that Whitehorn is my home. Ellie and I will travel to Saint Louis to visit you and the family if we are welcome, but this will always be our home.”

He released Mathilda and one long arm reached for Ellie, drawing her to his side. Together, they presented an oddly formed triangle, but the greater distance was drawn between the older woman and her son. “Ellie is my wife, and I love her,” Win said, emotion softening his voice. “I love the child we delivered last week, and the two of them are my family.”

He cleared his throat and his words were slow. “There's room for you and father inside our family circle, but not unless you are willing to accept my choices.”

Mathilda's eyes wavered from Win's gaze and she cast a glance again at the cradle, where Grace was making soft sounds of awakening. “I suppose,” she said, a tinge of pain softening her words, “what cannot be changed must be accepted.”

Her back stiffened as she stepped back from Win and tilted her chin with a habitual mannerism Ellie recognized from the past few days. “I'll go upstairs and pack now, so that there won't be a rush tomorrow before the stage arrives.”

Her footsteps were firm and measured as she crossed the floor to the doorway and onto the flight of stairs that rose from the wide central hall. “She'll come around, Ellie,” Win whispered, turning her into his embrace. “One day, she'll understand.”

And Ellie could only hope he was right.

 

“Everett gave me a telegram from my mother yesterday,” Win said, watching Ellie as she traveled from stove to table, her hands filled with a pan of biscuits. “She arrived home safe and sound late last week and wanted us to know that her trip was long and miserable.”

Ellie glanced down at him. “She said that? Long and miserable?”

“Words to that effect,” he said with a grin. “Wished us both a happy Christmas, with her best regards. My mother doesn't believe in making it short and sweet, that's for sure. Everett said it was the longest wire he'd ever delivered to anyone in town.” He reached for a biscuit and watched as Ellie spooned scrambled eggs from the skillet onto his plate. “I forgot to tell you about it after I got caught up with patients.”

Ellie settled herself in her chair and watched as Win buttered his biscuit. “Do you miss being home for Christmas?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head, and delivered a smile that made Ellie's heart race. So easily he could make her feel loved, with just a glance, a crooked grin or a touch of his hand on her shoulder. “I've got all I want right here,” he said, his gaze taking in the cradle in the corner, then resting on his wife's face.

“Will we have a Christmas tree?” she asked, flustered by his words, and Win's eyes narrowed as if he considered the thought.

“I suspect that can be arranged,” he said, a touch of mystery adding to her delight. They left the table in a few minutes, and Win headed for the hallway. Ellie listened to the impact of his booted feet on the stairs, then the movement overhead that told her he was shifting things around upstairs. Before she had cleaned the kitchen, he called her from the parlor and, wiping her hands on a dish towel, she answered his summons.

Win stood near the wide front windows that looked out upon the street, and at his feet lay several boxes, apparently the result of his foray to the second floor of the house. “Birdie Watkins's grandson brought me a tree last year,” he told Ellie. “And I suspect he'll do the same this Christmas. He's got an enormous grove of pines on his place, and Birdie picked one out specially for me.”

“She loves you,” Ellie said simply, barely able to snatch her gaze from the boxes she suspected held unknown treasures.
“I could see it in her face when she came by the other day to see the baby.”

“She's a dear,” Win said agreeably. “And if she behaves herself, she'll be around for a while yet. She told me she'd be at church on Christmas Sunday to see Grace baptized.”

“Did she?” Ellie felt a thrill of delight at the words. It seemed that the whole town, with a few minor exceptions, planned to turn out for the event, if the parade of visitors were to be believed. “Should we have a reception afterward, do you think?”

“If you're up to it, I'd like that,” Win said. His eyes were tender as he held her gaze. “Do you know how much I love you, Mrs. Gray?”

Ellie felt the familiar melting deep within her inner being. The man had a knack of reducing her to a puddle of emotion, his tone soft and musing as he voiced the query she delighted to hear. “I think I'm the luckiest woman in the world,” she said simply. Her arms lifted to circle his neck, and Ellie pressed a quick kiss against his mouth. “We'll have a wonderful Christmas. The best I've ever had, at least of those I remember. I think my mother probably made Christmas special when she was alive, but my pa wasn't interested in fixing up the house or having a tree to decorate.”

Win's brow lifted and he looked down at her with surprise. “You've never had a Christmas tree?”

“Not that I remember,” she allowed quietly. “I saw the one in church a couple of years when Pa let me go to the service, and I remember once going home after dark a couple of days after Christmas, and I could see through the windows into houses and there were trees all lit with candles.”

“You'll have one of your own this year,” Win promised. He nodded at the boxes he'd hauled from one of the rooms upstairs. “Sort through that stuff and see if you want anything else from the mercantile. Tess and John have a pretty good assortment of decorations.”

“We used to make chains out of colored paper when I was in school, but Pa burned mine in the stove when I brought them home,” she remembered. “Maybe I could do that for our tree.”

Win thought of the magnificent specimens that had filled the bay window of the parlor back in Saint Louis and his heart ached for the girl he'd married. Not for her the memory of crystal ornaments glistening and tinsel garlands catching the glow of hundreds of candles that reflected in the windows. Only a childhood of neglect, and a father who wallowed in his own misery, to make up the images in her mind. That she could be so happy with so little saddened him, yet uplifted his spirits.

It seemed that no matter what he did for her, she was delighted beyond measure. From simple dresses to the blown-glass ornaments at her feet, his gifts had gladdened her heart, and she returned tenfold the pleasure he brought to her life. He slipped his hand into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a small, tissue-wrapped package. He'd thought to wait until Christmas morning, that day when the shipment containing his gift had arrived, but now seemed a better time to present Ellie with this part of her Christmas present.

“Let me see your hand,” he said, frowning as if he'd caught sight of a blemish on the flawless skin. Ellie glanced up at him quickly, then her gaze flew to her hands and she held them both up for his inspection.

He grasped the left one carefully and slid the signet ring from her finger. “I think it's time to replace this, young lady.” She watched through tear-drenched eyes as he presented the simple diamond-studded band for her inspection. “Do you like it, sweetheart?”

She could only nod, biting her lip as he slid it into place, then dipped his head to kiss it, as if to seal it there, where it belonged for all time. “Merry Christmas, Ellie. I know I'm a few days early, but I wanted you to have it now.”

Her hands touched his face, even as the tears she shed touched his heart, and then she was in his embrace and he clasped her against himself, his mouth seeking hers in a kiss that spoke more eloquently than words, of his love for her. And then he laughed, a joyous sound that brought an answering smile to her face.

“It's wonderful, Win. I love it, even though I'll fear losing such a costly ring. But I promise I'll take good care of it.”

“And I promise I'll take good care of you, Ellie Gray.” He cleared his throat and motioned to the boxes at their feet. “Now why don't you take a look at what I've carried down from upstairs.”

Turning from him, she knelt, opening the lids carefully, as if she feared damaging their contents. “It's all wrapped in tissue,” he told her. “I had Ethel put things away for me last year when I took the tree down.” His mouth twitched as he recalled the moment. “She thought I wouldn't take the proper care of my things, and she chased me on my way while she organized the whole assortment for this year.”

“Did you have a party?” Ellie asked, and he thought her voice was wistful.

“Didn't plan on it,” he recalled with a grin, “but Kate and James came by, and pretty soon a bunch from church stood on the porch singing carols; and before you know it I had a houseful. Kate ran home and brought back cookies, and Ethel happened to recall that she had a couple of gallons of punch all made up.”

“They planned it, didn't they?” Ellie's eyes danced as she looked up from her task. “They knew you were alone, away from family, and they didn't want you to be lonesome.” She settled back on her heels and her fingers splayed wide on her thighs. “Folks just take to you, Win. Everyone in town likes you.”