“I’m sorry Abigail insisted upon so many this week.” He stepped closer to the table. “It’s because of the holiday. She wants plenty of pictures in the Thanksgiving edition.”
His sincerity surpassed her will not to look at him. Tiny specks of snow clung to his leather jacket, which was the same shade of brown as his eyes. Genuine regret sat in those eyes today. Hannah had seen that before. He often apologized for his sister.
“It wasn’t too many,” she assured, while stepping away from the table. “I just let time slip away when I shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sure you’re busy with many other things,” he said.
Hannah’s hands went to her stomach. She had very little to do, except worry. Her father had said her baby would be ridiculed for not having a father, just like Herb Lundberg had been. A day hadn’t gone by where Herb hadn’t been blamed for something, even on the days he hadn’t been in school. That wouldn’t happen to her child. She’d make sure of it. That’s why she’d left Wisconsin, and would never go back. Not about to admit all that to Teddy, she searched for something else to say. “The wind is bitter today.”
“Yes, it is,” Teddy said with a smile, and a glance toward the stove.
“Oh, would you like a cup of coffee?” She squeezed her hands together to quell their shaking. Teddy stopped by the house regularly to visit with Brett, but this was the first time they’d been alone together.
“If it’s no trouble.”
“None at all,” she said while forcing her feet to walk across the room to the cupboard. “Fiona keeps a pot on the stove for Brett. He always comes home a couple of times during the day.” She had no idea why she said that. Other than because babbling might help. It didn’t. Her heart thudded even faster now.
“I stopped and saw Brett on the way here,” Teddy said.
Hannah nodded as she took down two cups. Teddy and Brett were close friends, which is why she’d been given the job of etching pictures into the blocks of wood for the newspaper. Her grandfather had taught her the skill years ago, mainly as a way to keep her busy. Having been born eight years after her next older sister, she’d spent most every winter in the care of her grandparents while the rest of her family had been out in the woods cutting lumber for their logging company. Perhaps that’s why she enjoyed winter. She had many wonderful memories of staying with her grandparents during Thanksgiving and Christmas.
The time she spent living with Gram and Pappy had been fun and peaceful. There had been no fights, no blame, no hate.
“Hannah?”
Turning about, she pinched her lips as she looked at Teddy, hoping a bit of what he’d said had filtered through her musing.
“If you’d prefer I didn’t attend, that’s fine,” he said.
Her musing had been too thick, leaving her with no idea what he referred to. “I’m sorry.” She filled a cup and held it out. “I didn’t hear what you said. I—uh—I was thinking of the holidays up home.”
“Holidays can be tough to get through those first few years.” He took the cup. “It does get easier.”
His parents had died years before, some of the women in the quilting club had mentioned that, and how he and his sister, Abigail, had settled in other towns before ending up in Oak Grove. From what had been said, Abigail had stirred up trouble in those towns, which is why they’d packed up and left.
“Thank you,” Hannah replied. “I’m sure it will.”
Cupping his coffee cup with both hands, he glanced around before he said, “Earlier, I’d said that Brett has invited me to Thanksgiving dinner, but if you’d prefer I didn’t attend, I’d understand.”
“That would not be up to me, Mr. White,” she said. “This is Brett and Fiona’s home. I would never dream of implying one way or the other that someone was not welcome here.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” he said. “That’s why I mentioned it in private. No one but you and I will know. If it would make you uncomfortable, I won’t come.”
Lifting her chin, she forced a swallow around the solid lump that formed in her throat. He made her uncomfortable all right, because of all the eligible men in Oak Grove, he was the only one she could imagine marrying. Getting married just so her child would have a name, a father, may not be right, but late at night, in the quiet of the house, her father’s voice declaring he wouldn’t allow her to bring shame upon their family by having a child out of wedlock echoed inside her mind. She had to close her eyes to stop that thought from going any further. It took a moment, but once she felt stable enough, she said, “You do not make me uncomfortable.”
He nodded, but there was doubt in his eyes.
There was doubt inside her, too. Her baby was due around the first of the year, which gave her little time to decide what she would do. A few of the women friends she’d made since arriving in Oak Grove knew her secret. Fiona, Martha Taylor, Mary Putnam and Maggie Miller were good friends and continuously assured her no harm would come from allowing others believe she and Eric had been married before he’d died. However, the closer the time came for her baby to be born, the more she understood that it didn’t matter what others believed. What mattered was the truth. She’d never been married, and therefore her baby would be born out of wedlock. Born without a name, just as her father had claimed.
It would take a miracle for that to change. Setting her cup on the counter, she said, “I look forward to having you—” she had to brace herself in order to continue “—and Abigail join us for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Abigail won’t be joining us.”
The relief that washed over her was greater than she’d expected. Even the baby seemed to rejoice by shifting. She placed both hands on her stomach as the precious rolling continued. The movement filled her with more warmth than the stove did the house.
“Is that your baby moving?”
Still focused on the contentment that filled her, she nodded.
“Your skirt is moving,” he said.
“He or she must be trying to get comfortable.” She loved the tiny being inside her so much, and couldn’t wait to meet him or her. Flattening her skirt, she smiled at the visible movement of the material as the baby continued to move.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. It feels amazing.” Used to sharing the wonderful movement with Fiona, Hannah said, “Give me your hand.”
He did and she placed it on her stomach, palm down.
She knew the moment he felt the baby move. Not only had she felt it from inside her, but his eyes lit up with amazement.
He set his cup on the counter, and holding up that hand, too, he asked, “May I?”
She nodded, and rested her hand atop the other one he placed against her stomach. The sensation was so remarkable, so unexplainable, she closed her eyes to fully cherish the moment.
The baby moved again and Teddy chuckled. “That’s incredible.”
“Yes, it is.” Completely at ease, she opened her eyes to add, “Except for when a foot or knee gets caught beneath one of my ribs.”
His expressions were easy to read. Sympathy was there now.
“It hurts then?”
“No,” she answered, smiling. “It’s just a bit uncomfortable.”
They stood there for several minutes, softly laughing as the baby continued to move. She shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as she was. It was surely scandalous, but exactly what she wanted. Someone to share these precious, wonderful moments with her.
“He