Holding on to Heaven (16 page)

A feast fit for nobility, prepared by Aunt Estelle and her new mother-in-law, followed the ceremony. Platters of turkey, ham, bread, biscuits, jellies, cakes, ice cream gelatin, candy, and fruit graced the table in the great room, anchored by several dark fruitcakes on one end.

After bidding the last guest goodnight, Brand and Mason headed for the library for a brandy and Lauren sought the security of her bedchamber. Too tired to think about anything but sleep, she ducked behind her screen, changed into her nightclothes and scooted beneath the covers. Brand would soon make his way up the stairs. In no frame of mind for conversation, she prayed sleep would find her first.

She doused the lantern with the realization the room had grown as dark as her heart. Mouthing the words, she rolled her new name off her tongue—Lauren Gatlin. Her eyes grew heavy.

She lingered in that numinous realm between reality and dreams and wondered what Creed would say when he found out she was now Mrs. Brand Gatlin.

* * * *

In the
Moon of the Falling Leaves
, Lauren entered a peaceful time of her life. Full Circle had never thrummed with such verve. The harvest was bountiful, the mares and stallions thrived and her girth expanded.

December arrived with the first snowfall of the season. Aunt Estelle, Lauren and Nelly adorned the rustic ranch inside and out with fresh boughs and holly berries in preparation for the holiday. Brand spent the daylight hours helping at his parents' ranch, returning to Full Circle by nightfall. He and Mason passed the evenings in friendly games of chess while Lauren, Estelle and Nelly sat before a cozy fire and read to one another.

A blizzard brought in the New Year, trapping the settlers inside for two weeks.

By mid-month, Lauren could no longer tolerate the stifling confinement. "But the sun is shining today, Aunt Estelle, and I promise to bundle up in several layers."

"To the barn to see Adobe, young lady, and not one step further."

Lauren grabbed two green apples and a chunk of brown sugar and stuffed them into one of Brand's oversized coat pockets—after she'd donned two shirts, a pair of his trousers, heavy boots and a muffler. Feeling fatter than Uncle Mason's prize heifer, she waddled through the door of the kitchen and trudged her way through the snow to the barn.

Elated to see her, Adobe shook his head and emitted an obnoxious whinny as she pushed her bulky form through the entry of his stall. While the stallion worked his way through the second apple, a pain ripped through her belly. She clutched her stomach, leaned forward and sucked in a breath. The massive hinged door of the barn suddenly seemed miles away. She limped toward it, aware of another contraction cresting.

Struggling toward the house, a gust of snow flew from her boots and pelted her in the face. Between cramps, she stopped, blew air through her lips and watched in horror when water trickled out the leg of Brand's trousers.

When she pushed the kitchen door open, Estelle looked up, her eyebrows meeting her forehead. "What's the matter, dear?"

"I think it's my time, Aunt Estelle."

Nelly dropped the pail of shucked peas and bounded to her feet.

"Biddle is in the chicken coop, Nelly. Tell him to forget about that Tom turkey for now and ride over to the Gatlins."

"Yes'm." Nelly scurried through the door with nothing but a light cotton dress covering her slight frame.

"And find that rascal Mason," Estelle shouted behind her.

Their arms linked, Estelle ushered her toward the stairwell. Ten long minutes later, and one slow step at a time, they reached the landing. Lauren clutched the top rail, closed her eyes and waited for the spasm to subside.

"Try to breathe with the pain, dear," Estelle said.

"Why didn't you warn me?"

"Up we go now, dear. One more set of stairs."

"Tell me true, Aunt Estelle, does it get much worse?"

Her aunt pulled her close and eased her up the last steps. "Now, now, I'm here and we'll see it through to the end. I'm an old veteran at birthing. Just think, when all is said and done, a bundle of pure heaven awaits you."

A moan left Lauren's lips as another pain ebbed and she thought about Aunt Estelle's two sons who'd died at birth.

"There's nothing like the glorious scent of a new baby."

Lauren looked at her as if she'd lost her mind and drew another deep breath.

"That's it now, pace your breathing."

The sound of heavy boots thundered down the hall an hour later. Brand rushed into the room, breathless and chalky. "Lauren, is it time? Are you all right? He fired the questions like a repeating rifle. "Is-is the baby all right?"

"Brand Gatlin," Estelle said in a stern tone. "You best get your big old boots off my grandmother's Persian rug. Take your twenty questions with you."

"But, Estelle¯"

"There's a baby on the way. Now take yourself downstairs and find Mason." Her voice softened. "And have a drink."

Brand's face took on a ghostly pallor. "You will send for me if anything goes... I mean if there's anything I can do, won't you?"

Lauren blew air through her lips and counted off the seconds in her head before she looked up at him. "I’ll be fine, Brand. Estelle has sent for the doctor, and she's right; there's nothing you can do right now."

A fine bead of sweat marked his forehead and he looked as though he might topple over.

"Go," Estelle said calmly.

"Good Lord," Lauren huffed. "You'd think you were having this child." When another contraction gripped her, she clutched the bed sheets and moaned louder than a Guernsey.

Dashing from the room, Brand nearly knocked Nelly off her feet as she entered.

Doctor Clifton arrived an hour later, and like a tick on a dog, refused to grant her a moment's peace. He poked, prodded, listened, and stuck his cold fingers where they didn't belong so many times she wanted to blister his ears. The minutes ticked by on the mantle clock, yet Lauren lost track of time hours ago. Amid a sea of pain, she asked about Brand once.

"He's with Mason, dear, playing chess."

"Humph!" Nelly said. "He pacing like a trapped weasel. He said you been up here for hours now, and he can’t figure out what’s takin' so long." She rocked back on her heels. "I tell him we doin' a fine job at this birthin'."

"Hush your mouth, Nelly!" Lauren said, fighting off another strong contraction. "Or I'll jump out of this bed and slap that smug smile from your face."

"Lauren, dear, I know you're in horrendous pain, but Nelly is only trying to help."

"Too late to help me now. She should've stopped me from going to the pond that day." She rolled her head on the pillow. "Damn," she wailed. "You're supposed to be a merciful and caring God." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aunt Estelle and Nelly exchange glances. She didn't care what they thought, had passed the point of caring three hours ago. The pain racking her body blinded her, stole her sanity.

Estelle pressed a cool cloth against her forehead for the hundredth time as she pushed until her face turned blue, and Doctor Clifton probed with his fingers for the thousandth time. "I feel the baby's head now, girl," he said, his voice calm. "Another push or two and it will be all over."

"Are you utterly mad?" She saw her mother standing over her... or was it Estelle? Everything meshed and blurred. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. "Oh, Dear God, I'm going to die just like Mother!"

Estelle clasped her face between her hands. "You're not going to die, Lauren. I won't allow it to happen."

Her stomach contracted and the pressure in her groin became unbearable.

"Listen to me, dear."

Lauren pushed her hands away.

"Go somewhere in your mind, somewhere you'd like to be at this moment."

"That would be anywhere but here!" she screamed, twisting the sheets in her hand.

"Imagine you're riding across the prairie on Adobe. You bury your face in his mane and your body becomes one with his. You feel the wind at your back and the sun on your face. There's nothing ahead of you and nothing behind, just you and your beloved horse racing across the plains."

She steeled herself for the next onslaught, waxing now before the last one waned. Outside her body, beyond the torrent of pain and agony, Creed's face rose before her. He smothered her lips, took her with such savage intensity, she rose above the clouds, soared beyond the great ocean of blue-green waters. She bit her lip to keep from calling out to him.

"Go there, Lauren," Estelle whispered. "Go there now."

Her aunt's soothing voice lured her to that special somewhere. Riding the open plains, the smell of the trees, earth and sky filled her senses. The rhythmic beating of Adobe's hooves pounded against the hard-packed dirt as her body rocked in perfect sync with his strong, taut muscles. She spread her arms and allowed the wind to carry her away, far, far away to another time and place.

She heard the cries of new life.

"It's a boy, a healthy baby boy!" Doctor Clifton placed her son on her belly.

Laughter and joyous sobs mingled with the babe's boisterous cries.

Brand rushed into the room, dropped to his knees beside the bed, and stared at the child. "He is perfect," he said before looking into her eyes. "As perfect as his mother."

Relaxed in peaceful slumber now, the child sucked on his lower lip.

"What are we going to name him?"

She took her eyes from her son and looked at Brand. "I had a girl's name picked out—Clarissa, after my mother." Her gaze fell to the babe again. "What do you think about naming him after
your
brother and the brother I lost?"

He flinched. "I think Creed would be honored."

"Creed? Oh, no, I meant Finn. Finn Forbes Gatlin."

"Finn Forbes Gatlin it is, after two wonderful uncles." He brushed his lips against her forehead. "Thank you, Lauren, thank you."

Lauren drifted toward sleep with visions of Creed winding through her mind. She pictured him on a smoke-filled battlefield, his unform caked in blood. Yesterday's headlines loomed before her, '
My shoes are gone, my clothes are almost gone. I'm weary, I'm sick, I'm hungry.' Confederate Soldier During Retreat.
She placed her finger in her mouth and bit down. Creed had no way of knowing his son had entered the world an hour ago. Would he even care?

Alone in the room with her son, she studied his face and couldn't suppress the sob in her throat. The spitting image of Creed, thick, dark hair framed his perfect face. His olive-skin matched his father's to a tee, as did the dark, aloof eyes. Oh, she knew people said one could never tell the color of a baby's eyes at birth, but they were wrong in this case.

The thought he'd never know Finn belonged to him tore at her heart, yet she'd die before she told him. The child belonged to Brand now. And so did she. Tears formed at the back of her lids. Today should be one of the happiest days of her life.

So why did she wish the whole world would go away?

* * * *

Lauren found contentment in the months following little Finn's birth. She rarely left the house during February and March, had no desire to expose her child to the cold or navigate the mounds of snow reaching the outside windowsills. Surprised one could love a child so fiercely, she watched Finn gurgle and drool through his first winter, forgetting her prior doldrums.

Brand adapted well to the routine at Full Circle. Hank and Justus seemed grateful for the extra hand with the chores, and Mason appreciated Brand's knowledge and eagerness to help with the herd. Two days a week, Brand left early in the morning to help his father at the homestead, not returning until their evening meal had grown cold.

Lauren admired her husband's strength of character and marveled at his willingness to share the burden with so many without a whisper of grumbling. Vast differences existed between Brand and Creed, yet she'd always known that. Like a hard boulder of granite, Brand never fluctuated or wandered, but remained firmly rooted in the face of whatever life tossed his way. Lauren didn't consider Creed irresponsible, yet the man was possessed of an unquenchable hunger for whatever lay beyond the borders of his confining world.

True to his promise, Brand never pushed her for intimacy, although on many occasions she saw him watching her, the longing and desire in his eyes unmistakable. Feelings for her husband varied and baffled Lauren. Surely indebtedness existed, and gratefulness. An abiding respect loomed high on her list, and deep caring. Although love couldn't be included on this list, she'd never rule out the possibility. Too much had happened to the young girl from North Carolina who'd arrived here with stardust in her eyes.

Neighbors, friends and family accepted Finn was Brand's son... except Aunt Estelle and Nelly.

Yesterday, her aunt had drawn her son into her arms and studied every feature on his face. "He looks so much like Creed, dear, wouldn't you agree?"

Stumbling for words with her heart pounding, she replied, "It's not unusual. Many children look like their aunts and uncles."

Her features took on a thoughtful expression. "I suppose that's possible."

As for Nelly, Lauren had never been able to hide a thing from the girl. Much to the servant's credit, she kept her opinion to herself.

Lauren put all her energies into raising her son, counted the days as winter passed, and wondered what would arrive with the balmy breezes of summer.

* * * *

"I hear the buggy now." Estelle set down fresh biscuits on the table. "Would you mind, dear, welcoming Polly and the children?"

A hot breath of humid air greeted Lauren as she bounded down the steps of the porch with Finn on her hip. Polly and twelve-year old Martha exited the buggy, each holding a child—Minnie in Martha's arms, Jack in her mother-in-law's.

"Oh, my, my grandson has grown since I last saw him." Lauren and Polly exchanged children, and Polly smiled. "Motherhood suits you well, dear."

Lauren liked Polly the moment she met the woman and couldn't have asked for a kinder mother-in-law. Creed's words from long ago ran through her head, 'You know Ma, she could never have enough children around.' "We best hurry inside," Lauren said with a chuckle. "Aunt Estelle is chomping at the bit to hear all the local gossip."