The Baby Gift. Bethany Campbell
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the tormented cat, the nauseated sister-in-law, her father with his pants full of root beer.
She fought the hysteria and dashed the tears from her eyes. She forced her mouth to stop quivering and by sheer willpower composed herself.
Josh was coming home. That’s what was important. He would help her face the tumultuous emotions, the terrifying decisions about Nealie. As for her feelings about Josh, she could not worry about that now.
She swung open the door and looked at her two oldest nephews. “Rupert,” she said calmly, “you are never to batter this door again. Or any door in this house. Or anything else.”
Rupert looked hangdog. He often disobeyed his mother, but Briana had a steely moral force that could wither him when she got him eye to eye.
“I thought you’d want to know about the cat,” he said sulkily.
“I got the message the first time you said it.” She swung to face the other boy. “The same goes for you, Neville. In my house, no kicking.”
“Daddy sent me to get you,” Neville said righteously. “He said he wasn’t going to clean up after that old cat. And Grandpa needs—needs soda pop for his pants.”
Briana deciphered this. “You mean club soda. Let’s go downstairs.”
“Can Nealie get up and play?” Neville asked.
“No. She needs her rest.”
“Why’s she always gotta rest?” Neville asked, hopping heavily down the stairs. “I don’t have to rest. I’m not even tired. I could go all night.”
“I wasn’t trying to hit Nealie,” Rupert whined. “Her nose got in front of my fist, that’s all. I was showing her how to box.”
“Well, don’t,” Briana ordered and herded both boys into the living room.
“There you are,” her brother, Larry, said almost accusingly. “Help me with Dad’s pants.” He stood by the sink tearing off great swaths of paper towel and handing them to Leo Hanlon, who looked bewildered.
The scene was as chaotic as Briana had feared. Glenda, her sister-in-law, was three months pregnant and lying on the couch, her feet up on a cushion. Her face had a greenish cast.
She smiled weakly. “Hi, Briana. Have you got a cracker or something? To settle my stomach?”
Little Marsh toddled toward Briana with an empty plastic mug. “More root beer,” he said. “More root beer.”
“No more root beer,” Larry said. “You ruined these pants. These are your good pants, aren’t they, Dad? Your Sunday pants?
“I just had ’em cleaned,” said Leo and did his best to glower at Marsh. Marsh glowered far more fearsomely.
Briana marched into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of club soda. She thrust it into her father’s hands. “There. Go into the bathroom and scrub those pants.”
“How do I get them dry?” Leo asked with a helpless air.
“Use the hair dryer,” Briana said. “It’s under the sink.”
“I’ll get scorched,” Leo complained.
“Take off your pants and then dry them,” Briana said.
“Oh. Well. I would have thought of that. Of course.” He took the club soda and went into the bathroom.
Larry leaned against the closed door and looked at Briana. He waggled his brows. “I bet Harve Oldman would love it if you told him to take off his pants. He’d probably pass out with happiness.”
Briana said nothing. Harve Oldman was a neighboring farmer, a bachelor and a would-be suitor. She had cut off all contact with him as soon as she knew Nealie was sick.
“Where is good old Harve, anyhow?” Larry asked. “He hasn’t been around lately.”
Briana still said nothing. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out the box of soda crackers. As she arranged half a dozen on a plate, Larry gave her a friendly leer. “I mean Harve’s well off. And he’s got the hots for you.”
“Please,” Briana said. “The cat is nauseated, your wife is nauseated. Don’t make it three of us.”
Larry shrugged. “Easy to love a rich man as a poor man.”
She didn’t answer. She carried the crackers to Glenda, who forced herself into a sitting position and began to nibble.
Briana put her hands on her hips and surveyed the living room. “Where’s the cat?”
“Hiding from Neville,” Rupert said. “Neville dragged Zorro out from behind the washer and held him upside down and shook him.”
Glenda gave an apologetic smile over the cracker. “I told him not to.”
“Boys will be boys.” Larry shrugged. Then he squinted at Briana. “Who you talking to for so long on the phone?” he asked. “The whole family’s here.”
“It was personal,” said Briana, getting disinfectant and cleaning cloths from the pantry.
Larry shrugged again and said, “Poppa figured it was Josh. He said he knows that look you get on your face when the phone rings and it’s Josh.”
“I said it was personal.” Briana set about cleaning up the mess the cat had made. The boys were chasing each other around the dining room table.
“You boys be quiet,” Glenda said from the couch.
“Ah, let ’em alone,” Larry told her.
The boys chased on.
“Don’t those sons of guns got energy?” Larry said with a proud laugh.
I can last until they’ve all gone home, Briana told herself. It became her mantra for surviving the rest of the night. Till they’ve all gone home.
AT LAST, the little house was empty of its guests. Her father returned to the main farmhouse, where he had lived all his life. Her brother and his family went home to the neighboring house Larry had built when he’d married.
Briana lived in the house that years ago had belonged to Uncle Collin, her father’s bachelor brother. It was far smaller than the others, only two bedrooms, but it was set nicely apart from the main house, and its simplicity suited her.
Now it was quiet, blessedly so. She washed the last of the dishes and put them away. Still restless, she got out the ladder and took down all the balloons and the crepe-paper streamers.
There. It was her normal, peaceful little house again. She made herself a cup of hot chocolate and sat down on the couch to savor the hush that had at last settled.
Zorro came padding soundlessly from behind the washer. He leaped to the couch and settled heavily into her lap, thrumming with his almost silent purr.
“Poor Zorro,” Briana whispered. “Neville got you, hmm? Poor kitty.” She scratched him between his black ears.
Briana loved her family, but she was glad they were gone.
She could not tell them of Nealie’s illness. She could not. She knew some of this was simple, cowardly denial. Every person who knew Nealie was sick made her sickness seem more real.
Nobody would treat Nealie the same, or Briana, either. The boys would not understand, and they might say wounding things to Nealie. Glenda would be too sympathetic, and Larry wouldn’t want to talk about it at all. He wouldn’t know how to deal with it.
And her father—her father’s heart would break. He was a sentimental man, especially when it came to his family, and he worried incessantly over his loved ones. Larry was big and strong and a hard worker but, unlike Briana, he’d never done well in school. Neither was he skilled with people. He talked too loudly, made inappropriate