Vivian pressed the baby against her neck and rocked harder and harder as the cries grew louder and louder.
Billy scrubbed his fist across his chin. Oh, for the peace of the outdoors.
“What’s wrong with the little guy?”
Vivian shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose I could try feeding him again.” She reached into the basket for the bottle.
That was another thing. The basket looked like something a woman would carry shopping in. Or store sewing materials. Not hardly big enough for the little critter. Was a wonder it hadn’t suffocated. He squeezed at his thoughts, not wanting to shed one whiff of criticism on Vivian but it seemed she was running. From what? Was she in danger? His insides pushed at his bones. No one would hurt her while he was around.
Vivian found the bottle and examined its contents—an inch of old milk. She tipped the baby into the crook of her arm and hesitated.
Surely, she wouldn’t give the baby that. When he saw she intended to do so, Billy reached for the bottle. “I’ll get some fresh milk.” He scrubbed the bottle in hot water before filling it. While it warmed, he studied Vivian.
She must have felt his eyes on her for she gave him a hard look. “What?”
“Nothing.” He handed her the bottle. “Except, how come you know nothing about caring for a baby?”
She turned her attention to the infant. “Haven’t had much experience. Have I, Joshua?”
“You said he’s almost two months old.” He let his words convey his doubt.
She didn’t answer as she tried to persuade the little guy to take the bottle. But the baby screamed and gagged. “Come on, Joshua. Eat something. You’ll feel better.” She struggled to no avail. “Please, take the bottle.” Her voice grew sharp, edged with desperation.
Ma rocked harder and moaned. Cat decided he’d had enough and scrambled from Ma’s arms. Ma tried to grab the cat but it meant uncovering her ears and she quickly returned her hands to the sides of her head.
“Ma, pick up Fluffy. He’ll let you hold him.”
When Ma made no effort to do so, Billy strode over and scooped the cat into her lap. Ma shot him an accusing look as she wrapped the cat into her arms and returned her hands to her ears. At the sight of tears washing her face, Billy closed his eyes and prayed for patience and wisdom. The weather better change real quick before things went downhill any further.
The baby’s protests turned to screaming. Milk ran down his cheeks and pooled in the folds of his neck.
Billy stated the obvious. “I guess he ain’t hungry.”
Vivian set the bottle aside, wiped the squalling face, and cleaned the baby’s neck. The screaming continued, assaulting Billy’s eardrums.
Fluffy squirmed in Ma’s tight grasp. Tom and Tiger edged toward the sound, ears tipped in curiosity. The rest of the cats shrank back under the stove.
“Can’t you make him stop?” Billy demanded.
“I would, if I knew what to do.” She looked annoyed and frustrated at the same time.
“Why don’t you know?” He waited as she scowled at him. “He ain’t yours, is he?”
She snorted. “You wanting him? Right now, you could have him. Real cheap. Free, in fact.”
Billy blinked. His mouth pulled down at the corners. “You can’t give a baby away just because he’s crying.”
“No?” She pushed to her feet, took three steps and thrust the squalling bundle into Billy’s arms. “You make him stop.” She dropped back to the chair as if exhausted.
Billy couldn’t move. He’d never felt anything like this little bitty human. He had to remind himself to breathe.
The baby weighed next to nothing, yet had the lungs of a cattle drover. The little bundle of noise drew in a breath, pulling his mouth into a pout.
The poor thing.
Billy lifted the baby to his chest and patted gently. The wails continued. Billy walked toward the door, turned and walked back. Were the screams less intense? He hummed the tune, “Fairest Lord Jesus, ruler of all nature.”
The baby snuffled a bit, then grew quiet.
Billy let the sweetness of success, the incredible pleasure of holding this baby, fill his thoughts.
Ma stopped moaning, stopped rocking.
He kept humming, fearing the baby would begin his caterwauling again if he quit. He sank to the chair across from Vivian and continued the song.
Vivian sighed and tipped her head back.
Convinced there was something not right about this whole situation—a woman who admitted she wasn’t married and obviously knew little about caring for the infant she claimed was hers—he tried to figure out a way to get the truth from her. But she could answer questions any way she chose. Truth or lie.
“You hiding from someone?” He kept his voice the same timbre as his hum, relieved the baby didn’t protest and Ma seemed content murmuring comforting noises to Fluffy. A fragile peace settled about his taut nerves.
Vivian studied him intently.
He thought for a moment she intended to ignore his question.
“What concern is that of yours?”
The baby whimpered and Billy hummed for a few minutes before he answered. “I think it’s my concern if someone is looking for a missing baby. Last thing I need is trouble with the law.”
She gave a tight smile. “It seems to me you can handle most any trouble.”
“You mean my size.”
“I think it would be a good deterrent to any nosy parkers.”
“I ain’t talking about snoops. I’m meaning angry citizens or lawmen. I make a mighty big target for a bullet.”
Again that look of defiance. “I’m not planning to stay.” She glanced at Ma and gave the barest shiver.
Billy guessed she wasn’t aware of it any more than she realized the fear in her eyes.
Tom and Tiger, the most curious of his cats, jumped to his lap and nosed around the baby, sniffing and meowing. Tom, the more aggressive one, laid his ears back as if to say he didn’t approve of sharing his space with this strange creature. “Tom, you be nice.” Tom meowed innocently then edged under Billy’s arm, making Billy chuckle. “You always got to be first, don’t you?”
He felt a little foolish talking to his cats in front of this woman, and shut up.
“I’ll be gone as soon as the storm lets up,” Vivian assured him.
“It shows no sign of doing that.” And suppertime approached. His stomach began squeezing his backbone. He didn’t care to miss a meal. Nor delay it even a few minutes, but Ma didn’t look about to make anything.
Vivian was a guest. She could hardly be called on to prepare food. Besides, she might expect him to eat like she did. In which case he’d leave the table as hungry as he was now.
That left him—with a sleeping infant in his arms. He shifted the tiny bundle and handed it back to Vivian.
The baby protested at the change of arms but didn’t waken.
“I’ll make us something to eat.” He hated cooking. Seemed to take forever to prepare enough food to satisfy his appetite.
They had a good supply of venison; potatoes and turnips from the garden; eggs, milk, cheese and a storeroom with