From Here to There (35 page)

He stared out the window at the white landscape. "My great-grandaddy came out here, built a cabin, staked a claim to the land and made it into a ranch. My grandaddy grew it even more, built the big house. Even my daddy, he wasn't much of a rancher, but he kept it together. I inherited a place that was free and clear and... put debt on it. I reckon I'm getting what my grandaddy would've said I deserved."

 "I could loan you some money," she offered, impulsively reaching out to pat his shoulder.

 "I think it’d take more than you have, girl. I haven’t given up yet though. I got a few ideas."

“Are you thinking of selling to somebody like Wes Carlson?" she asked, not wanting the hear the answer.

 "No, and I won’t give it all up even if I need to sell part of it to save the rest. There's still fight left in this old bird. Don't ask me about tomorrow though." He grinned. "How soon’s them rolls going to be done?"

 "In a couple of hours. Go find something else to do. You know what they say about a watched dough."

 He sighed. "It's going to be a hard wait." He looked at her, saw the tears at the edge of her eyes. "You crying, girl?"

 "I never cry. My skin gets all blotchy, my eyes swell up and I look like a frog," Helene said, trying to smile through blurry tears.

 "Well, ain't nobody important going to see you. So let 'er rip. Always used to make Chelle feel better. It about killed me when she'd cry, but she said she needed a good bawl sometimes." He looked away then and said, "I shouldn't have told you about the ranch's problems."

 "It isn't just that. It's... so many things. I came here trying to sort out my life but it doesn’t seem I have had much luck with that."

 He chuckled. "Maybe the tears are comin’ because you are sorting it out.”

“Maybe.” She forced herself to stop crying.

“You know, life ain't that dependable. The only thing a man can really count on is himself, a few close friends, and once in awhile, family."

 She smiled through her tears.  

"Is this about Phil?" he asked.

 "Some. I don't know if he'll come back and if he does, I don't know if I want him back. Except I'm lying to myself. I do want him. I just don't think he wants the same life that I do. I want a real marriage, a real life with old-fashioned values. Sometimes I think that's what Phillip wants. Then I see a look in his eyes and I know he's scared to death at the very idea of a loving relationship with me. He looks at me as though I'm a stranger. I'm not sure I can handle his mood changes." She sniffled. "I am running on here. I know I'm not making much sense even to myself."

 Amos smiled and pulled her into his arms. "You keep trying with that boy. There's solid steel there."

 "Maybe." Sniffling, she wiped her eyes. "When we got married, we were strangers. Recently, I thought we were working toward something more but then... I don't know."

 Amos poured himself more coffee, adding a spoonful of sugar and stirring it thoughtfully. "A good marriage is worth working for, and it does take work. Nothing good comes cheap."

 "I know how happy you were with Aunt Rochelle."

 "I still miss her. Most I miss coming in from the pasture and seeing her here waiting for me, telling me what she'd been doing, anxious to hear how my day went. That's maybe what I miss the most." He exhaled loudly. “After her, it didn't make sense to go looking for another woman, but I have missed what a woman brings to a home... until you came back this summer."

 She hugged him. "I've loved being here. In fact, I think Montana is where I want to make my home, but that's another problem. I can't see Phillip living here long-term. If we could work out everything else, he'd want to go back to Boston."

 "Boston's a pretty place," Amos said, obviously trying to be helpful.

 "Yes, but it's such a big city. Everything there is so close together, so crowded with people. I like that sometimes. I mean it's nice to be able to get to a bookstore without driving twenty miles, but I also love looking out the kitchen window and seeing the Absarokas with snow covering them. I like being able to drive down to the Yellowstone River and sit, watching the water, just thinking. I like knowing I could cross-country ski out my backdoor. There's so much I like about living up here. I'm not sure I could be really happy anywhere but here." She turned and looked at her uncle with determination. "Somehow we have to figure out a way to make it possible for you to keep this ranch. I can't stand the thought of any other man working this land, living in this house."

 "Well," her uncle said with a faint smile, "might be it'll have to be another man, whether you like it or I do, but it's just getting the right man. Like I told you, I got a few irons in the fire. We'll see what happens. You don't worry about it none. You just concentrate on getting things fixed up with that husband of yours."

 She sniffled again and dabbed at the corner of her eye with her sleeve. "If I can."

 "When he comes back, set him down and talk to him. Tell him what you want. Give him a chance to tell you what he's dreaming about. Might be you're not so different as you think."

 "I don't know. Maybe. If he comes back." She stared out the window at the snow, wondering again if he would return. Would he find it easier to just stay away? He had made her no promises. When he left, she had known he wasn't happy. Although she'd half expected him to come to her bed that last night, he hadn't. Maybe he'd changed his mind about needing even that from her.

#

 By the time Nancy and Emile drove up, Helene was beginning to feel in a mild dither herself. All of Amos's concerns about caring for a tiny baby had transferred themselves to her. What did she know about infants? Absolutely nothing. Again, she wished Phillip was there. She didn't doubt he'd know everything necessary.

 Nancy came through the door first, smiling broadly, with baby Amos in her arms. "Isn't he adorable," she said as she tried to hand him to Helene.

 Helene backed away. "Wait! Don't I need to have some instructions on how to hold him or something?"

 Nancy laughed. Emile came inside a diaper bag in one hand, cooler in another and a small bassinet under one arm. "Man," he bragged, "I didn't think I could carry all this stuff in one load, but I did it."

 Amos came into the room.  He walked over to where he could get a good look at his grandson. "He's bigger than the last time I saw him. So we call him Amos?”

“Actually… mostly we call him little buddy. I guess that can’t hold on forever though.”

“Lots of kids have nicknames. I don’t see why not.”

“Buddy sounds like a pet dog to me.”

“Amos is pretty old fashioned. Maybe use his middle name,” Uncle Amos suggested looking uneasily at the tiny mite.

“We had a hard time even deciding on a name until we gave up and used yours and Phillip’s.  I wanted Jerome. Emile said he’d be laughed out of school with a sissy name like that.”

“And Emile wanted?” Helene asked surprised she was interested in baby names at all.

“Garrett. But doesn’t that sound sort of the same.”

“Either way it’d have been Jerry or Gary,” Helene teased.

Nancy sighed. “Well for tonight make it Buddy. And to your earlier question. He’s growing fast. He's going to be big like his daddy. Come on, Helene, hold him. You'll have to eventually. Just support his head with your hand. That's all there is to it." She transferred the baby to Helene's reluctant arms. Nancy proceeded to strip away the extra blankets and coverings that had protected the baby from the cold.

 Helene looked down at the tiny face, the eyes closed in sleep, the rosebud mouth open, breath lightly passing his lips, mingled with an occasional milky sigh. "He is adorable," she whispered. He smelled like talcum powder, milk and something indistinguishable that she assumed was warm baby.

 "I expressed out enough of my milk for him to have a feeding if we don't get back in time. Also there's a bottle of water here if that isn't enough," Nancy said, opening the cooler and putting the bottles into the refrigerator. "I don't have him on a tight schedule yet or anything, but he ought to be hungry again around six and maybe eight if we aren’t back yet. He'll cry a little then. You change his diapers, feed him, cuddle him, pat his back to burp him and the next thing you know, he'll be asleep again."

 "Ain't how I remember it," Amos commented laconically.

 "We've had a few days when it didn't work quite that way for us either," Emile admitted with a sheepish grin. "He can get fussy but mostly it's just feed him, stroke his back a bit, walk with him, and put him back in bed. It don't hurt him to cry a little before he goes back to sleep."

 "I sure appreciate you two doing this for us," Nancy said. "I had to get into Doc’s and then Krista asked us to come to dinner. It’s kind of a birthday party and I wanted to go but not to take little Amos."

 "I think it'll all be fine," Helene said nervously, "but could we have the telephone number where you'll be--just in case." Her uncle nodded his vigorous approval of that idea.

 "I wrote it all down," the efficient Nancy told them. She pulled a sheet of paper from the diaper bag and put it on the table. "I also wrote down his schedule, but don't worry if he veers off. Also he might not take all his bottle. Just put what he doesn't use back in the refrigerator. We're still working out how much he wants."

 "Just go on," Helene said, taking a deep breath to convince herself this was a good idea. "Have fun." She watched as they walked out the door and bravely fought down the desire to yell at them to come back and take their baby.

 Looking down at the baby’s tiny face, she felt her maternal instincts crowding in on her fear. "He is perfect," Helene whispered to her uncle. "Look at those little hands." The tiny fingers were closed into little fists as the baby sighed deeply in his sleep.

 They set up the bassinet in the corner of the living room. As an only child, the whole thing of dealing with babies was a mystery to her, one she was about to have at least partially revealed.

 She and Amos found themselves talking in whispers, uncertain as to how much noise might disturb the sleeping baby. Whatever amount that was, they were taking no chances. The longer he slept, the better.

 After a hurried dinner, Helene was cleaning up the kitchen when she heard the first sounds of protest. Feeling as though her heart had just jumped into her throat, she ran into the living room. Buddy’s face was screwed up with discomfort, his mouth distorted into something that had no resemblance to a rosebud.

 "What do you want?" Helene cooed to him, then remembered the instructions. She rushed back to the kitchen, set one of the bottles into a pan of hot water to warm up and took another deep breath to calm herself.

 Amos came in from the barn as the first angry bellow emanated from the living room. "He's awake," he guessed.

 Helene smiled faintly. "So it would seem."

 "He's got good healthy lungs." The sounds were growing in distress.

 "I guess I should change him," Helene said, knowing the bottle couldn't possibly be warm enough yet. She waited for Amos to offer to help her. When the offer wasn't forthcoming, she took another deep breath, grabbed the diaper bag and headed for the living room.

 By now there was no doubt Buddy was awake and very disturbed by something. Was he old enough to recognize a strange environment? Worse was he old enough to recognize a strange mother? Well, it was too late to worry about all that. Helene grabbed a quilt, threw it on the floor, then reached into the bassinet for the upset baby.

 "How's my boy?" she cooed, her voice changing into what she hoped would be a soothing, motherly register. The crying didn't cease, but he did look at her. This might be good or bad, depending on whether he recognized someone new.