Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) (20 page)

“I’m so happy for you both,” Stephen said.

“Our past and our future were entwined so tightly, we were destined to meet,” Bear concluded.

“Amazing story,” Stephen declared. “That would make a great book.”

“Artis is a bit of a romantic. Maybe she’ll write it someday,” Bear said, laughing. “I didn’t even tell ye about the men who tried to take Artis from me. But I’ll save that for another evenin’ when we’ve shared a wee droppy or two. It’s a tough story to tell, even for me.”

“I’ll look forward to it. You always were a great story teller.”

Bear pointed to a doe and her fawn as they sprinted away to safety.

He glanced down to be sure Little John still slept soundly. The child’s soft snores told Bear he was. “Did Sam tell ye their babe might be breech?” Bear asked quietly.

Stephen answered in a hushed voice, “He did. It’s alarming. If something happened to Catherine, I don’t know if Sam could survive.”

“I agree. The thought of losin’ her was his only fear before he finally allowed himself to love her,” Bear said. “He’s been through so much in his lifetime, but never somethin’ this dangerous.”

“And out of his control to stop it. Perhaps one day in the future, women will not have to put their own lives at stake to bring life into this world,” Stephen said wistfully. “Every time Jane is due to deliver, my insides twist into knots.”

“I fear Sam will be even worse.”

“Oh!” Catherine exclaimed, holding her side, as Sam returned from
watching Bear and Stephen leave.

Sam held his breath and strode over to her at once. “What is it?” he asked, holding both her shoulders in his hands.

“I just felt that ache again and I’m a bit woozy.”

“Should I go get the midwife?” he asked.

Catherine shook her head. “No, she should be coming tomorrow. I just need to lie down.”

Sam and Artis helped Catherine to their room and eased her onto the bed. Sam removed her satin slippers and then supported her back as she reclined on the bed and Artis covered her with a quilt. “I’ll go get Mrs. Wrigley,” he said, leaving.

“Sam,” he heard her say, “everything will be all right.”

He made himself smile for her, turned around, and headed for the kitchen. “Mrs. Wrigley, Miss Henk, my wife is having that pain again. Will you please see if you can do anything for her?”

“Oh dear. Miss Henk, please brew her some of my mugwort tea,” Mrs. Wrigley told the housekeeper. “Mind you, make the brew weak. Just a teaspoon will do.”

“Come with me,” Sam told Mrs. Wrigley.

The woman followed on Sam’s heels, clucking to herself, but before she entered the room, she straightened and took a deep breath. The picture of calm, she approached Catherine with quiet assurance.

Unlike himself. His resolution to stay strong faded beneath the glaring intensity of his fears. A terrible sense of inadequacy swept over him. He felt completely useless and helpless. He didn’t like the feeling one bit.

“So, that nasty ache decided to come back and prickle your side?” Mrs. Wrigley asked.

“Yes, stronger than ever,” Catherine answered.

Sam didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

“Did it get better when you laid down?” Mrs. Wrigley asked.

“Yes, it always does.”

“What does that mean?” Sam demanded. His eyes flashed between Catherine, Artis, and Mrs. Wrigley.

Catherine and Artis remained silent and Mrs. Wrigley merely smiled sweetly at him.

“Someone please answer me,” he insisted, his voice louder than he intended.

“Mr. Wyllie, will you let your sweet wife relax for a few minutes? I’ll speak with you shortly, when Catherine finishes her tea,” the cook suggested in a kind voice.

Why did women always want him to leave the room? This was his babe too. But Mrs. Wrigley was right. Catherine needed to relax and there was little chance of that happening with him in the room. With his men gone, he needed to feed all the horses and other livestock anyway. It would take him some time. “I’ll go feed the stock. When I get back, I pray you will feel better,” he told Catherine, then he gave her a kiss on the forehead. His own brow creased as he smoothed wisps of hair away from her face—her skin felt moist, although it was quite chilly in their room.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to leave. “Come and get me if she worsens in any way,” he told Artis.

“Aye, I will.”

Reluctantly, he turned to leave.

Miss Henk passed him in the hall carrying a steaming cup of tea.

Please Lord, let it help her
.

Catherine sat up in bed, her red bed pillows propped behind her back. She sipped the warm tea. “It tastes a bit bitter. What is this?” she asked.

“A weak tea of mugwort will quiet restlessness and worry,” Mrs.
Wrigley answered. “Right now, it’s important for you and your babe to rest as much as possible. And it’s good for the insides of a woman too.”

Catherine remembered reading that when taken in small doses, mugwort had long been considered an herbal friend for women with particular benefit in regulating a woman’s monthly flow and easing the transition to change of life. Perhaps it would help.

“I know I’m not a midwife, I’m just a cook. But would you mind if I placed a hand where the pain hits you?”

“No, I would not mind. I would value your opinion,” Catherine said. “Help me out of my gown and I’ll show you the spot.”

Both women helped Catherine out of the gown and dressed only in her shift, Catherine laid back down. “It’s here.”

“Right under yer ribs?” Artis asked.

“Yes.”

Mrs. Wrigley moved Catherine’s long braid aside and placed her palm over the spot. The cook closed her eyes and gently felt the area. When she finished she opened her eyes and took hold of Catherine’s hand.

“Put your palm here Catherine.”

Catherine did as she said, but felt nothing but a large lump that more than filled her hand. Then realization struck. “That’s not a foot.”

“No, my dear. That is your babe’s head.”

Artis let out a little cry and covered her mouth. The anxious look on Artis’ face told Catherine that Artis knew what this meant.

But her own mind refused to focus on anything but this special moment. “My boy’s head?” Catherine eyes watered with tears as she realized her hand caressed the top of her sweet babe’s head. Despite her fears, she felt a hot and overwhelming joy. She moved her hand in a gentle small circle. It felt as though she was actually touching him.
God, let this be only the first of many special moments I will share with my son
.

But her elation was short-lived. With a heart-clenching pang, the
implications gradually sunk in. Danger for her baby. Danger for her. Her nerves instantly tensed as a terrible dread gripped her.

“The babe may still turn. Give him time,” Mrs. Wrigley quickly told her, patting the hand Catherine still held to her side. Her face was full of quiet strength and a steadfast peace.

Catherine found the motherly woman’s presence comforting. “Do you think so? Truly?”

“Oh yes, indeed I do. I’ve seen it happen many a time,” Mrs. Wrigley said.

“Aye, I have as well. At the plantation, one of the young slaves was just as ye are. And the lass delivered a healthy girl,” Artis said.

Their reassurances gave her some hope. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.

Catherine wondered what plantation Artis referred to, but didn’t have the energy to ask. Her eyelids felt exceedingly heavy all of a sudden, but she fought the urge to close them. “I have so much to do. The rest of Sam’s relatives will be arriving shortly. I so want everything to be perfect. I want to make this the best Christmas ever for everyone, especially Little John and the other children.”

“It will be dear one,” Mrs. Wrigley assured her. “We have everything under control. Miss Henk wrapped all the presents you bought for them in paper and pretty bows. The decorations you and Miss Henk made are merry and I’m cooking enough to feed even your large family.”

“Don’t forget to make apple dumplings for Bear and custard for William,” Catherine said.

“I won’t.” Mrs. Wrigley squeezed her hand.

“Artis, what’s your favorite Christmas sweet?” Catherine asked.

“Yer only concern should be restin’ ,” Artis said. “We’ve plenty of time to worry about such things later.”

“Rest does sound marvelous right now. I guess it’s the tea.” Her heavy
eyelids closed and she heard Mrs. Wrigley’s voice fading away.

“That’s it, dear, let yourself rest.”

She would. They had most everything under control.

God had the rest.

Chapter 20

B
ear spotted the wagon at the same time Stephen pointed ahead. He slowed a bit, disturbed by what he thought he saw. “Somethin’ is na right.”

Stephen lifted his long rifle from where it lay near his boots.

Bear shook Little John. “Wake up!”

Sam’s four men sat on the snowy ground, their hands and feet tied. They could see the tops of Martha and Polly’s heads at the front of the disabled wagon.

“Jane,” Stephen whispered. “I don’t see Jane.”

“It could be an ambush,” Bear cautioned. He surveyed the surrounding area with his keen eyes. “I do na see the prisoners either,” he said.

Stephen could hold back no longer. “Go!”

Bear snapped the reins and then snapped them again, urging the wagon team to a full run over the hundred yards or so to the other wagon.

“Bear!” Garvin yelled above the sound of the noisy wagon. “Help! The prisoners escaped!”

As Bear slowed the wagon team, Stephen leapt off the seat and vaulted into the back of the broken wagon, still leaning precariously to one side. The fire he had built nearby, earlier that morning, was now just a few
glowing coals.

“Father!” Martha and Polly cried at once and stood up.

“Samuel? Where is he?” Stephen prodded.

“Under here,” Martha said, lifting a blanket up. Her green eyes were wide and glistening. “He was crying for Mother, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept him warm.”

While she spoke, Stephen glanced around frantically. “Where’s your Mother?”

“They took her!” Polly cried. “Those terrible men took her.” The child’s dark hair hung in disarray and her crystal blue eyes were red. “Get her back!” she screamed and then began sobbing.

Little John climbed up into the wagon and hugged first Polly and then Martha.

Bear peered over the side of the wagon.

His chest heaving, Stephen glared at Bear. “Son of a bitch!”

“We’ll find her, Stephen,” Bear said, trying to calm both Stephen’s fury and his own.

Stephen picked up Polly and hugged her. “Don’t worry honey, I’ll get her back.” He wrapped her in one of the blankets.

As soon as he realized the children were unharmed, Bear rushed over to the four men and untied them. “What the hell happened?” he asked Garvin.

Stephen sat Polly down again and jumped off the wagon. “You let them take my wife?” he demanded storming toward the four hands. “How could you let this happen?”

Garvin stood on stiff legs and dusted the snow off his bottom with his hat. “I am truly sorry Mr. Wyllie. We untied the prisoners to allow them to relieve themselves. Somehow Dixon managed to wrench away Matthew’s pistol. I tried to stop him, but he got to Mrs. Wyllie first and pointed the gun at her head.”

Stephen gasped and paled. Both girls started crying again.

“Go on,” Bear urged.

“Dixon threatened to kill her in front of her children if the rest of us didn’t put down our weapons. We did, of course, and the other fellow, Crowell, tied the four of us up,” Garvin explained.

“Why didn’t you untie these men?” Stephen asked Martha.

“Because the wicked man said he would kill Mother if I untied them,” she sobbed. “Did I do wrong?”

“I don’t blame her, Mr. Wyllie. Dixon was extremely convincing,” James said. “Even I believed him.”

“You didn’t do a thing wrong Martha. You were incredibly brave, and I need you to keep being brave. Okay?” Stephen told his oldest daughter.

“All right,” Martha said, biting her trembling lip. She placed her arm protectively around Polly’s shoulder.

“Which way did they go?” Stephen asked Garvin.