Woman of Grace (10 page)

Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she stepped out once more, heading toward the door she knew to be Abby and Conor’s bedroom. As she passed Beth’s room, the girl’s door opened a crack.

“Hannah?” A tawny-skinned little face with bright brown eyes peeked around the door.

She halted. “Yes, Beth?”

The door opened all the way. “Abby … I’m so scared,” Conor’s daughter whispered. “Is … is she going to die?”

What could she say, Hannah wondered, when she feared the very same thing. She squatted, and took the ten-year-old by the arms. “I don’t know. First, I need to see and talk with Abby. Then I need to hear what Doc Childress has to say.”

The girl’s lower lip began to wobble. “Don’t let Abby die. Please, Hannah!”

“You know we’ll all do our very best for Abby, sweetheart.” She hugged Beth, then released her. “I’ll come and tell you everything that’s happened, just as soon as we know more. Okay?”

Beth nodded in solemn agreement. “Okay.”

Hannah rose. “Evan’s in the kitchen with Jackson. Why don’t you go down and help your brother? While you watch Jackson, he can fetch some milk from the springhouse. Then you all can have some cookies and milk.”

Once more, Beth nodded, but this time the action was a bit more animated. “Okay, Hannah.”

Hannah watched the girl, her long black hair tousled, her feet bare, head down the hall in her pink, flowered nightgown. Then she turned and resumed her journey to Abby and Conor’s bedroom. Their door was closed, so she rapped softly.

In response to her knock, booted footsteps moved across the hardwood floor. The door opened. Conor stood there, fully dressed in a red cotton work shirt, and his usual blue denims and scuffed boots.

For all his kindness to her, especially since he had at long last returned to the Lord, Hannah still found Conor intimidating. Maybe it was his piercing, unwavering gaze. Maybe it was his air of authority and presence. Whatever it was, looking up at him, she felt a tremor vibrate through her.

Hannah swallowed hard and took a step back. “Abby,” she croaked. “Evan said she was ill.”

The big rancher moved aside, swinging open the door. “Yes, she is. Come in.” He gestured for her to enter. “She woke up a few hours ago with bad cramps, then began to bleed.”

Hannah hesitated, then decided there was no point pretending modesty. “So she doesn’t think, then, that it’s just the beginning of her monthly fluxes?”

“No.” Conor firmly shook his head. “Abby just informed me she missed her last one. Plus there are other changes …” He met her gaze. “She thinks she’s in a family way.”

The blood drained from Hannah’s face. If Abby had indeed conceived and was now cramping and bleeding, it was possible she might lose the baby. “There’s not much I know to do,” she said, “except keep Abby quiet and in bed until Doc gets here.”

As she made a move to go around him, Conor took Hannah by the arm. “Take care of her the best you know how,” he rasped. “I don’t want to lose the baby but, even more, I don’t want anything to happen to Abby.”

A deep concern burned in his eyes. She heard it, as well, in his voice, felt it in the strength of his grip. Conor loved his wife more than life itself. The realization filled her with equal parts of joy for Abby and envy for herself.

In a sudden, totally unexpected surge of emotion, a fierce yearning swamped Hannah. What she wouldn’t give to be loved—and love—with the ardent devotion Conor and Abby had for each other. Such grandiose hopes, though, were but false illusions for a woman such as she.

Perhaps that was why she hesitated to encourage Evan any further. As wonderful as he was, he somehow didn’t seem the man for her—the man capable of helping her mend her tattered heart and soul. More and more strongly each time she was with him, Hannah was overcome with the feeling Evan wasn’t meant for her, but for someone else.

She carried too much pain in her heart ever to be strong and whole again. Just as brutally as her body had been violated, so had her soul.

Despite his protests to the contrary, she could bring Evan little of any worth, save perhaps the comfort of her body. But physical needs eventually waned. When they did, he would see her for what she was—an empty shell.

“I understand, and I’ll do all I can for Abby,” she whispered, once again locking gazes with Conor’s tormented one. “I love her, too. Above everything else, I want her to be okay.”

Conor seemed to relax then. With a shuddering sigh, he released her arm and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He ran a hand raggedly through his hair. “I’m … I’m just so worried.”

“I know.” Hannah forced a tight smile. “So am I. But we’re not any good to Abby if we let our fears get the best of us. Right now, she’s all that matters—she and the baby.”

He nodded. “What can I do? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

She stared up at him, her brow furrowing in thought. Just like his cousin, Conor was a man of action. He didn’t like feeling helpless.

“A nice, soothing cup of herbal tea would probably do Abby a world of good right now. I put on some water to heat before I came upstairs. Could you make a pot of tea and bring it up to us?”

Conor’s eyes brightened with resolve. “Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea.” He walked to the bed and took his wife’s hand. “Hannah’s here now, and we’ve sent for Doc. I’m going downstairs to make you some tea, but I’ll be back soon.”

Though her face was taut with worry, Abby still managed a smile. “That’s thoughtful of you, Conor. I’d love a cup of tea.”

He bent down and kissed her tenderly, then straightened and strode from the room.

Hannah watched him leave, then turned to Abby.

“Thank you for finding something for Conor to do,” her friend said. “His agitation was beginning to wear on me.”

“I suspected as much.” Hannah walked to the bed and sat in the rocker next to it. “Besides, a nice cup of tea
would
be good for you.” She glanced at Abby’s belly. “This is quite a surprise, you being in a family way, I mean.”

The chestnut-haired woman managed a sheepish grin. “I should’ve known. It’s not as if this was my first child. But what with Ella’s birthing problems, and then the influenza outbreak, and then … then Ella dying …” Her voice quavered, then faded in sobs that rose from deep within her. “Oh, Hannah, if I should lose this baby—Conor’s baby—because of my own carelessness and n-neglect …”

“Hush.” She took up Abby’s hand and squeezed it. “You did the best you could, considering the circumstances. When did you once, in the past month, have a moment’s time to think of yourself?”

Abby’s head jerked up, and she stared at Hannah. “I-I suppose I really didn’t, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” Once more, Hannah squeezed her hand. “And now that the Widow Ashley has come to help Devlin, I’m totally free to help
you
take care of yourself. You’re always telling me how all things work together for good to them that love the Lord. Well, if the Lord’s hand isn’t in this bit of perfect timing, I don’t know what is.”

Abby smiled in wry amusement. “Rather, I’d say, if the Lord’s hand wasn’t in
your
coming to Culdee Creek, I don’t know what was.”

Gladness filled Hannah. Gladness and a sweet, warm sense of satisfaction. It felt good to be needed and appreciated. At least in a small way, she at last felt of use, of substance and value to someone she admired and loved.

Once again, the wild hopes stirred anew. Once again Hannah felt as if she might weep with gratitude. Then the old doubts and fears assailed her.

Abby was a rare, wonderful being, precious in the eyes of God and man. She didn’t, however, represent the rest of the human race. Though Conor and Abby’s offer to stay at Culdee Creek had become open-ended, someday she might still have to venture back into the midst of other, less loving and forgiving people. People like Devlin MacKay.

She must never forget that.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached her. Conor. Hannah shook aside her morose thoughts. His hands might be full. He’d need help.

She released Abby’s hand and rose. “I think your tea has arrived.” Turning, Hannah walked to the door, her fierce determination to help Abby undimmed, but refocused by the harsh light of reality—and the bitter knowledge of her true place in the world.

Doc Childress’s prognosis was guarded but optimistic. The cramps and bleeding had stopped by the time he arrived. There was still a chance, he informed them, that the baby might make it.

His advice, however, was stern and unyielding. Abby must remain on complete bedrest for the next two weeks. After that, he would determine a schedule for gradually increasing her activity level.

Conor and Hannah exchanged relieved looks, then immediately set about planning how to care for Abby. By midmorning, a call-bell system was devised, a bedside commode procured, and Hannah began concocting simple, nourishing, and easily digestible meals. Abby watched the flurry of activity with a tolerant smile, then continued her reading.

The days passed, and Abby remained healthy. Hannah began to breathe easier, her hopes for the continued safety of her friend’s unborn child growing. She lingered longer outside in the warm sunshine while she hung up the laundry, or worked for a short while in the flowerbeds. There was even time for evening strolls with Evan. As the month of May began to wane, the daylight hours lengthened; the rolling pastures of Culdee Creek—thanks to an unusually wet spring—transformed to a verdant green. The hummingbirds and butterflies returned.

Hannah’s concerns about the Widow Ashley, however, only worsened. As soon as Devlin left to do his chores each morning, Mary and Devlin Jr. were hustled outside to play. Save for a short break for the noon meal when she officiously hustled them back into the house before their father returned, the children seemed to spend the entire day outside. Hannah could only wonder—and worry—about the amount of attention baby Bonnie received.

She kept her concerns to herself, though, loathe to distress Abby during such a delicate time. And so the frustration grew, until Hannah could bear it no longer. Finally, more than three weeks after the woman’s arrival, Hannah summoned the courage to broach the subject with the widow.

“How is everything going at Devlin’s place?” she asked one evening as they both sat in the little bunkhouse parlor, catching up on some mending.

The Widow Ashley glanced up from the sock she was industriously darning. Her glance narrowed, and her mouth pursed. “Very well, thank you. Did you think there’d be problems?”

Her hand poised in midair over a torn petticoat hem she was stitching, Hannah shook her head. “From all I’ve seen and heard, you seem to be running the household aspects with great success. I must say I admire how much you get done each day.”

“Well,” the woman said smugly, “I have a system, you know, as to how I approach each task, and I never permit anything to interfere with it.”

“But surely that must be difficult, considering people—especially children—tend frequently to set all the best laid plans awry. What do you do then?”

“As I said before, I never permit anything—or anyone—to interfere.” Martha Ashley lowered her gaze to her darning, deftly weaving threads to and fro across the worn heel. “Children must adapt to my needs, not the other way around. One cannot maintain any sort of an efficient schedule otherwise.”

Just as she had feared, Hannah thought. The children were being shuffled about to suit the Widow Ashley, most likely to their detriment. She wondered if Devlin had even the slightest inkling of what this woman was about.

Hannah opened her mouth to reproach the widow. Then, thinking better of it, she clamped her lips shut. Martha Ashley was too self-important and certain that what she did was right to ever listen to her. Already, the woman had made it clear how little she thought of Hannah. The girl was certain the widow viewed her and Jackson’s presence in the bunkhouse as just a temporary imposition.

No, without Devlin’s support—which wasn’t likely to be forthcoming anytime soon—Hannah knew she hadn’t any authority over the woman. For his children’s sake, though, Hannah had to find some way to ingratiate herself with Widow Ashley. Ella was depending on her.

“I was wondering,” Hannah began, choosing her words with care, “if you might like some help with the children.”

The other woman cast her a withering look. “Are you implying that I am somehow amiss in my responsibilities toward them?”

“No, not at all.” A twinge of guilt assailed her for the deception, but Hannah forced an innocent smile. It was for the children’s sake, she reminded herself. She meant the woman no harm. “It’s just now that Abby’s feeling better,” she explained, “I’ve some extra time on my hands. I thought you might like a bit of assistance.

“I mean,” she hastened to add when the widow arched a dark brow, “it doesn’t seem fair that you’re working from dawn to dusk with hardly a moment for yourself, while I’ve plenty of time to loll around.”

“True enough.” The raven-haired woman nodded in brisk agreement. “I’m just surprised to find you so eager to help, after all this time of hanging back and allowing me to bear such a heavy burden.”