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She came back in early August, radiant. She burst into the house with David close
behind, staggering under the load of her luggage. She'd gone with one trunk and the paintings
and had come back minus the paintings but with two trunks.

Her brown eyes were dancing when she flew across the room and threw her arms around
me. Her hug almost squeezed the breath out of me.

"I sold all of David's work the first week." She bubbled with happiness, lifting Sampson
off the rug where he was laughing and trying to talk to her. "You little love!" She kissed him and
held him out to admire him and pulled him close for another big hug. "You've grown so much.
Auntie Amy missed you so much."

Another squeeze, he squealed, she calmed down and told us, "I spent the second week
with a publisher. 'The Mother's Journal' bought all my poems and Springtime Books offered me a
contract to publish all my Sampson stories in individual books, the first to come out next
winter."

To say we were all happy to be together again and to have such good fortune to
celebrate is to understate it. David killed a fat hen. We had chicken and dumplings, his favorite,
in celebration, along with fresh lettuce and tomatoes from our garden, and blackberry pie for
dessert. The new trunk sat by the door where David had dropped it when he'd dragged it in. It
was heavy.

The house was a home again as we sat together at the table over coffee. Sampson was
asleep in his almost too-small cradle by the fireplace. Amy was still bubbling and I wondered
why. David and I were happy to have her back but we were puzzled at how she continued to
laugh.

Finally, as the late summer sun began to set, she burst out with, "Well, you two. I have
still another surprise. Bigger news even than the books and paintings."

She jumped up from the table and went to the new trunk. She fiddled with the catch, got
it open and reached in. She had presents for us all. For me, a lovely dress of a deep rose color,
and a beautiful pearl necklace. She helped me get the clasp fastened. I loved the feel of the pearls
on my throat.

For David there were new pants, a shirt, a gold watch chain, and a cunning pocket watch
that chimed off the hours. He wound it and then was immediately impatient for the hour to
pass.

For Sampson a toy train that David wound up and watched it run in circles on a small
track. A small stuffed whale, that the baby grabbed onto, tasted, and held the softness against his
cheek. Clothes enough to last until he was a bigger boy.

For herself, Amy had a rich, dark blue wool coat with a hat to match. She shrugged into
the coat, set the hat on at a sassy angle and paraded around the room while we admired her. A
light blue dress in the latest fashion, but no prettier than mine. And yards and yards of material.
Satins, velvets, woolens, and lots of flannel.

"What's with all the flannel?" David said.

She threw her arms around him and then quieted down so I barely heard her say, "That's
for nightgowns and bedding for our baby."

"Sampson has all he needs."

She put her fingers against his lips to shush him. "The new baby. Our baby."

After all the years of waiting, David's cup of babies was overflowing.

"Oh, Amy," was all he could say.

I got up and kissed them each on their foreheads and went to bed.

I lay sleepless, listening to smothered giggling and finally the soft notes of Amy's flute
drifting upstairs. What would this mean to me, and to Sampson? Would Sampson be shoved
aside? Would they love their baby more than him? I couldn't imagine it but I knew the power of
blood enough to worry.

The next morning I learned that the last two weeks had been spent shopping, visiting
friends, and seeing a doctor. She'd suspected she was pregnant when she left but had said
nothing, for fear of another disappointment. It had really been the only reason she had gone,
otherwise she would have sent David this time because she hadn't wanted to miss a whole month
of Sampson's growing. And, she said, she had missed me too.

"I'll never leave here again for that long." she declared, her jaw as set as the night she
had led me up the hill. "From now on I'm a mother, and a writer, and David can be the salesman.
Or get the buyers to come here."

She was full of plans. "When the children are older we can all take the train to Utah and
show them off to Grandmas and Grandpas and aunts and uncles galore."

"What did the doctor say?" I said.

"That I'm perfectly healthy, and as long as I'm careful I should have no trouble. And you
can bet I will be. Just to be sure though, I'm going to see a doctor here. He advised it. And David
wants me to."

She was in her third month already, which relieved some of our fear. Amy complained
that we were treating her too delicately, watching her like a pot about to boil over. We tried to
treat her condition as they had mine, with naturalness and joy, but there was no getting around
our worry over every little pain, and stepping in to ease her way as we could. Despite her
protests, Amy too took care, moving slower and taking no chances. She would let Sampson onto
her lap but she didn't lift him there. She let him crawl up, offering her hands for him to pull on.
Once there he snuggled easily into her. When he got restless she asked David or me to lift him
off. But truly she didn't have to take too much care with that little baby boy. He sensed that she
needed gentleness; around her he moved more slowly. His heart and senses were like his father,
alert to his women.

We all eased Auntie Amy's way as much as we could. For them it was a gentle winter
and spring. For me, it was different.

Sampson was crawling at six months. He had to be watched by someone all the time. If
he was on his blanket on the floor he would crawl off to follow Daddy. We learned to watch him.
Daddy decided that if he wanted to go so much, it was time for an adventure. On a fall day that
was warm and with only a bare breeze, we packed a basket and took him for his first picnic at the
beach.

I hadn't allowed David to take him before. I was afraid he would get sunburned, or catch
cold, or some terrible thing. Getting down to the beach by the path, with the baby and our lunch
basket, blanket, and a pregnant woman to maneuver, was a tricky job. The path was not slippery,
but steep and with the slickness of dry sand.

It had never been a problem for my brothers or for David and me. It was a simple
walkway from our cabins to the edge of the grass. There it became a sharp dropoff of about five
feet cut into the sides of the bank, sloping to the sand. Through years of use it had rough steps
easing the drop but the steps were ragged from a recent storm. The sides were close enough to
grab onto beach grass if you started to slip.

I went first, with the basket. At the bottom David handed Sampson down to me.

"Don't start yet," he commanded Amy when she started down. He stepped directly in
front of her, "Hold on to my shoulders." He led her down. At the bottom he stepped away, took
Sampson from me and took the lead. Amy walked between us while I followed up with the
lunch. Sure was easier when we didn't have to go through all this fuss.

We went to a secluded place David and I knew about. The grass was squashed flat. If
Amy suspected why the area was so beat down she didn't mention it.

While David built a small fire to heat water for tea to go with our sandwiches, Amy and
I spread a blanket on the sand. I laid Sampson on it. He immediately flipped over to all fours and
started scooting forward. Straight to the sand, and a mouthful. I cleaned him up while Amy
laughed. My cleaning annoyed David.

"A little sand isn't going to hurt him. Let him enjoy himself. He'll stop when it doesn't
taste good anymore." I pulled Sampson back to the center of the blanket. I was rough when I
brushed the sand from his mouth and hands. "Dirty boy! Shame!"

Both David and Amy were shocked. For the second time, I saw David begin to be angry.
The baby started to cry. David pulled him away from me. He soothed him, "It's okay. The sand is
nice, isn't it?"

He soon had Sampson laughing again but the first crack was there.

The picnic didn't go well. David knocked Amy's cup of tea over onto the blanket. Our
argument had made her nervous and she lashed out at him, "Don't be so clumsy, David. You're
worse than the baby."

He didn't answer, but got up and walked down the beach. In strained silence we watched
him go over to Haystack Rock. The tide was far out that day so that most of the base was
exposed. He poked around in the tide pools for about a half hour before he returned. He looked
refreshed but his eyes were still a dark blue, a sure sign that he was still upset. Food would
perhaps restore his spirits. Amy and I stumbled over each other's words in our eagerness to
soothe him.

"There's still a bacon sandwich," Amy offered, while I held out a boiled egg. "I'll peel it
if you like?" He shook his head, catching his upper lip with his bottom teeth, a mannerism he had
that annoyed me.

"Nah, I've had all I need." He reached over to Sampson and chucked him under his chin.
Sampson wiggled over towards him. "Hey, boy, I think the wind is coming up. What do you
think?"

Sampson grinned at him.

Looking at Amy, David said, "We better go back to the house."

It was one of the few times that I felt left out, different, odd somehow. I didn't like it. I
kept my fear inside me and didn't respond. I knew that Amy didn't want to go back, I could tell
by the dismayed look on her face. She didn't come to the beach much since she had gotten bigger
in the tummy. Sampson was having such a good time we all knew he was happy where he was. It
was a beautiful day. But to argue with that set jaw would have been useless.

We packed the picnic gear back in the basket. Amy and I shook the blanket together.
After folding it she hugged it close to her chest. David carried the basket, I carried Sampson, and
Amy followed using the blanket as ballast.

She made a joke about it being easier back up the path since we were carrying the food
inside us. I couldn't help grinning when David joked, "Yes, but you have a heavier load than we
do," and patted her tummy.

David went up the path first. After setting the basket on the grass, he reached down and
took Sampson from me. When I reached the top I took Sampson.

David turned to go back down to help Amy, but she was already halfway up. He sucked
in his breath. "Amy!" came out sharply.

She looked up, reached out a hand. The motion threw her off balance and she slipped,
sliding back down the path. From his reaction you would have thought she'd fallen from a
thirty-foot cliff rather than just slipping a few feet into loose sand. They fussed over each other at the
bottom of the path. I stood there holding a squirming Sampson. I was as concerned as they were
but I couldn't do anything. I knew she couldn't be hurt by that little fall but I didn't know about
her baby.

I called, "Is Amy okay? Can I help?"

David mumbled something sounding like, "...don't know," and paid no more attention to
me.

Finally, feeling forgotten and tired of trying to hold Sampson, I called down, "I'm going
on up. I've got to put the baby down. I'll be back."

He looked up long enough for me to see the worry in his eyes. "No. That's okay. We'll
be there soon."

The house sounded hollow, more so because I knew that David and Amy, though only a
little ways away, were not with me at all. This pregnancy was their problem. That was evident
whenever any problems arose. I could feel the weight of their years together before Sampson and
I, came into their lives. Although we celebrated good times together and had shared my worries,
this worry was not mine. I was only at the edge.

I busied myself washing up Sampson. He was cranky and tired and I was angry and
didn't know why. With water that wasn't very warm, I scrubbed his naked little body, then went
after the sand in his ears. He was as mad as I now. Scooping handfuls of water I splashed it into
his ears and kept a firm hold around his slippery, fat little middle. He twisted away, got a face
full of water, and let out a scream of pure mad. I yanked him from the basin and slapped him on
his bare bottom. The
CRACK
was loud in what I thought was an empty room.

For a long second there was a silence after the noise, then the room filled with a deep,
angry, "Sophie!" and a shocked, "Oh!" Sampson's howl poured over David and Amy's
words.

Honestly, I was as horrified as they. I loved that little one more than my own life even,
yet in a fit of despair I'd lashed out even quicker than I would have at one of Mandy's children.
As bad as it was, and as I felt, I also was embarrassed that they had seen me spank the baby. I
hadn't hurt him, but he screamed as if I'd tried to throttle him.

Amy rushed over. "Here, just let me take him."

I refused. I wrapped a towel around him and carried him past a white-lipped David to
my bed upstairs where we both crawled under the covers and cried together. No one came up and
soon the baby fell asleep. I was too ashamed to go downstairs. The heat of the day had made me
sweaty, I was exhausted. Soon I slept too, Sampson's breath warm on my face.

It was almost dark when his soft pawing at my chest woke me. I gave him my breast, he
latched on. The slurp was a peaceful happy sound and our sleep had erased our mutual anger.
Full, he was easy to dress. His skin was cool from a breeze that came through the half-open
window. I put him in a short cotton dress that left his legs free to crawl but covered his arms. The
light blue lace at the neck and arms brought out the bright blue of his eyes, David's eyes. His face
was pink with the sunset that shadowed the room. A surge of love for him and remorse for both
of us swept through me, and I hugged him close.

His softness always amazed me. My happy boy giggled and his little hands grabbed onto
my hair and tugged. I pried his fingers open and finally had my head free. He laughed and
reached again for my hair, but I was too quick for him.