Vivian jerked the bottle away and stilled her panic. What if she drowned the poor little thing? Maybe they were right in thinking she wasn’t fit to raise him. Again she yanked her thoughts back from heading in that direction. She’d endured almost eight weeks of aching arms and a weeping heart. Never again would she go through that.
Praying she wouldn’t harm him, she nudged the bottle into the baby’s mouth again. He pushed at the nipple with his tongue, swallowed back a mouthful of milk, looked startled then settled into sucking.
She slowly let her lungs relax. This wasn’t so bad.
She glanced about the room. The brick fireplace filled most of the wall to her right. A recessed area beside it held split logs. Braided rugs lay on the polished wood floor in front of the chair where she sat, and before the wooden rocking chair facing her. On the far side of the room was a kitchen table in rich brown wood and the normal kitchen things—chairs, stove, cupboards. A straw broom leaned in the corner next to the stove, along with a bucketful of kindling. At the corner opposite the fireplace a basket of raw wool and some carders sat beside a low chair. To one side, a quilt in muted grays and browns lay half rolled on a frame. Two narrow windows revealed nothing but white. The storm continued. How long would she be stranded here waiting for it to end? Stuck with a man who could easily harm them. But the room showed all the signs of ordinary farm life. She almost breathed scents of a happy, contented home and this squelched her fears. Surely she and the baby would be safe even with this huge man until such time as she could complete her journey. All she had to do was be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. The chair she sat in had stuffed arms and she let herself sink into the deep cushions.
Joshua sucked at a leisurely pace as if he hadn’t been demanding food for the last half hour. Then he stopped. She jiggled the bottle. He’d only taken half an inch. Surely he needed more. Didn’t he? She truly had no idea.
“Little guy needs a burp, maybe.”
Vivian nodded. Marie had told her that. She’d seen it done. How hard could it be? Gingerly, she lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted his tiny back. Warm and cuddly, he made snuffling sounds against her neck and she smiled.
He let out a noisy burp and she laughed. Such a large sound from such a tiny body.
She resumed feeding him. The next time he stalled, she knew enough to burp him. This wasn’t so hard after all, even with that big man watching her. She darted a glance at him. His gaze lingered on the baby with a look of amusement. She tried to place the twinge of recognition. Where had she seen him? She scoured her memory but came up empty.
Only a bit of milk remained in the bottle. Joshua curled in her arms, already asleep. So this is what they meant by sleeping like a baby. So peaceful, so relaxed and content. Her love for her son warmed and sweetened her insides.
She shifted, thinking to put Joshua back in the basket, but changed her mind. She liked the comfort of his little body, the way he settled against her as if welcoming her care.
“You got clean nappies?” the man asked.
Vivian kept her attention on the baby. Change wet pants? She could handle that. She wished she’d paid more attention to Marie’s instructions but at the time she’d been far more concerned with making her escape before Matron or some of her helpers prevented it.
No doubt everything she needed was in the shopping basket, which served nicely for carrying baby supplies. Marie had prepared it for her saying no one who saw her would suspect the basket held a baby.
She pulled the basket closer. Yes, a wad of white nappies, a tiny blue sweater set and several white nighties lay in the bottom. She pulled out a nappy and looked from it to the baby. Where? How? Could she really do it?
The man pushed the stool closer. “You could lay him here.”
“Thanks.” She sucked in a deep breath and carefully transferred the baby. She unwrapped him from the bundle of blankets until he lay exposed in his nightie. His tiny fists curled against his chest. She rolled back the skirt to expose thin legs and amazingly small feet in blue booties. Her heart pushed up in her throat as a wave of tenderness washed through her. Her baby. Her son. So little. So perfect.
And wearing a dampish nappy fixed with big pins.
Undoing the pins posed no problem. Nor did removing the wet nappy. But what to do with it? She settled for dropping it on the floor. The clean nappy was folded to fit. Vivian did her best to fix it back in place the way the other had been. There you go. She resisted the urge to say the words aloud as she pulled Joshua’s nightie down and wrapped him up again, quietly smug with her success. ’Course, she shouldn’t take all the credit. God helps fools and children. He certainly had taken care of her this day. She could well be frozen to death—Joshua, too—if not for this man, who was no doubt guided by God’s divine hand….
“I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me.” She smiled, determined not to reveal any of her trepidation at his size and her vulnerability. “Thank you. You were an answer to a prayer.”
He nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome. I’m sure ’twas God that led me there. No other reason I should be where I could hear you.” He tipped his head toward the baby. “I guess rightly speaking, it was this wee thing I heard.”
She met his eyes squarely. Despite his size, could he be anything but a good man if he acknowledged God’s hand in rescuing her?
The windows rattled as the door behind her opened. A cold breeze, straight from the jaws of the storm, blasted across the room. She cuddled Joshua to her chest, protecting him from the icy invasion.
The man at her side, who had been hunkered down on a sturdy wooden stool, bolted to his feet. “Ma’s back. Ma, Ma…”
But whatever he meant to say was drowned by an ear-splitting scream.
Vivian jerked to her feet and spun around.
A woman swaddled in a bulky woolen coat and hat faced her, a bucket of frothy milk in one hand. The woman put the pail on the floor, yanked her hat off and rubbed her pale hair into wild disarray, all the time making the sound of a cat with its tail slammed in the door.
Bony fingers of fear dug into Vivian’s scalp. She tried to back up but ran into the stool she’d used a few minutes earlier for changing the baby. The fireplace blocked her retreat to her left; the big man blocked her right.
The screeching woman stopped to suck in air.
“Ma, I found them in the storm. I couldn’t leave them to freeze.”
The woman scrubbed her hands over her hair again until it was a cloud of faded blond tangles. “Nobody comes here. Nobody.” Her voice shivered along Vivian’s nerves.
Vivian’s jaw dropped. Although she hadn’t seen this woman or her son in eight years, she knew who they were.
Mad Mrs. Black.
And her son, Big Billy.
Everyone was terrified of the pair. Rumors said they turned wild after being captives of Indians for years. Vivian scrambled to remember what she knew or heard. But it was just before her own disaster. Seems she’d misplaced bits of her memory along with losing her parents and home. About all she knew was she couldn’t have landed in a worse situation.
She clutched the baby to her chest and prayed to be able to save him from this savage pair.
Chapter Two
He saw the way she jolted. Knew she’d figured out who they were. Knew, too, what direction her thoughts took. He’d heard the comments often enough, seen hands raised to mouths to unsuccessfully hide a whisper. Everyone thought the Blacks were mad and dangerous. He’d long ago given up trying to prove otherwise, no longer cared what people thought so long as they left him and Ma alone. Though, if he could convince just one person it wasn’t true, it would be the woman standing wide-eyed with fear not inches from his elbow.
But he didn’t have time to deal