Maybe My Baby. Victoria Pade
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passed for Boonesbury’s thoroughfare, scattered as erratically as marbles tossed on the ground. Some of them were close enough together to be considered neighborhoods of sorts, others sat off alone as if anyone who had been inclined had staked out a plot of ground for themselves.
And that was it.
Which was exactly what Emmy said. “That’s it?”
“That’s the heart of the town. The business district, I suppose you could call it. There’s more—a lot more—that’s Boonesbury county, it’s just too widespread to see from any one spot.”
As they drove into town, Aiden pointed out the highlights of the businesses they passed.
They were all small businesses—no chain stores or recognizable names were anywhere to be seen—and only the bare necessities of the community seemed to be served.
There was a barber shop and a beauty shop side by side in the same building. An accountant and a lawyer shared an office. There was a mechanic. A tiny bank. An equally as tiny chapel for a church. An insurance office. And several other places that offered more than one interest per establishment—the Laundromat was also the library, the snowblower sales and repair shop was also the post office, the local mortician also sold real estate and acted as travel agent, and, as Aiden had said before, the only restaurant was also the mayor’s office and the gas station.
The general store was housed in the largest building, a white clapboard structure two levels high with a recessed front door and cantilevered display windows on either side of it.
Aiden parked in front, and once he’d taken the baby carrier out of the back seat they were let into the store by a tall woman with an extremely long nose and kind green eyes.
Aiden introduced her as Joan, and as Emmy went to explore the shop that carried everything from groceries to underwear to farm equipment, she could hear him telling the other woman about Mickey, asking if she recognized the baby or knew anything about him.
Joan didn’t, but before they left the store Emmy bought a down-filled parka, three sweaters, another pair of jeans and some warmer socks, and Aiden purchased a travel crib, more diapers, formula and baby food.
Introducing Emmy, showing off Mickey and telling his story, and asking about Nora Finley became a pattern once they’d left the store and begun their trek along the street. A number of the shops were closed, but there were still people milling around between the few that opened on Sunday, and since Aiden knew everyone they encountered, they all stopped to talk.
By midafternoon they’d gone completely up one side of the street and down the other with Aiden providing commentary about every building and most every owner and employee. Plus, Emmy had met more people than she’d ever be able to remember, and word of Mickey’s situation was well spread.
Aiden suggested they get in out of the cold for a cup of coffee and they ended up at the Boonesbury Inn—the only restaurant and bar.
It was a big adobe building with water-stained walls and four wooden steps up to a scarred double door.
The place was packed with people sitting on stools at the bar to watch a baseball game on the television, playing pool on the three tables that occupied the rear or sitting at the tables and booths where food was being served.
Aiden and Emmy got the last booth, which was where they spent the remainder of the day doing as they’d done through the rest of the city tour with people they hadn’t yet spoken to. But with no better results—no one recognized Mickey or knew anything about Nora Finley.
Through it all Emmy was struck by the friendliness of the whole town, though, and by the time they left the place—after coffee evolved into a dinner of hamburgers and fries and Mickey had been passed around like a football—Emmy was actually beginning to appreciate the warmth of Boonesbury.
Mickey was sound asleep when they got him home, and Emmy offered to get him ready for bed while Aiden set up the travel crib.
The baby slept through the change and went right on sleeping as Aiden set him in the crib that he’d put alongside his own bed—the bed that Emmy had to work very hard not to picture Aiden in when she brought Mickey into the bedroom.
And then Mickey was down for the night and Aiden was ushering her out of the room, and she knew she should say good-night and go up to her own room.
She just didn’t know what she was going to do up there since it was only nine o’clock and there wasn’t a television or a radio and she didn’t feel like reading the book she’d brought along for the trip.
Aiden solved the problem by reminding her that the space heater needed to be turned on to warm the attic room in advance, leaving her to wait downstairs while he did it.
“How about a little brandy to chase away the chill?” he suggested when he returned.
Neither of them had had anything stronger to drink than coffee and water at the inn, so a small drink now didn’t seem so out of the question. Even if she was there on business, Emmy reasoned, there had to come a time when she was off the clock.
“Sounds good,” she said.
“Sit down and I’ll get it.”
He’d motioned to the sofa and that was where Emmy sat, hugging one end with her hip.
When Aiden joined her with the brandy he sat on the chair where he was closer to her than he would have been at the other end of the couch.
He’d been clean shaven when Emmy had come downstairs that morning, but his beard was beginning to shadow his jaw now. It added to his rugged masculinity and made him resemble a burly lumberjack all the more. A very attractive burly lumberjack.
“We didn’t learn much about Mickey or the woman you think might be his mother,” Emmy said to get her mind off just how good he looked.
“No, we didn’t. I thought if it was Nora who left him, someone might have seen her at least pass through town.”
“So maybe Mickey isn’t hers.” Or yours either, was the unspoken finish to that.
“Maybe. But I can’t rule it out all the same. She could have come here and left again without ever going near Boonesbury.”
“What’s your next plan of action? Or is it just to see if the radio announcements tomorrow bring any information?”
“The radio announcements only start tomorrow, they’ll go on until I stop them. But, no, I can’t just leave it at that. I thought we’d spend tomorrow at the office. Monday is always a full day, and it’ll give you a chance to see what goes on. Then, when I get a minute to spare, I’ll take some of Mickey’s blood to type it, see how it compares to mine. And to Nora’s, if I have that in her file.”
Obviously, he hadn’t ruled himself out as Mickey’s father.
Thinking along that line, Emmy said, “I suppose it is hard to understand why anyone would leave him with you if you’re not his father.”
But her assumption that Aiden was leaning more in that direction was wrong.
“Actually, it isn’t all that far-fetched. As the only doctor for miles, and one of the few people educated beyond high school, I hold a pretty unique position. Even folks who shy away from civilization or value their independence and self-reliance above all else, still come to me with their problems—medical and sometimes otherwise. Basically, they trust me around here.”
“In other words, if someone was going to leave their baby on another person’s doorstep, you’d be the likeliest choice?”
“As a matter of fact.”
“That’s an even heavier responsibility than most doctors have.”
“Maybe. But I like it that way. As I said, I’m not thrilled with having a baby left with me without any explanation—and in the middle of this grant stuff, to boot. But I like having a closer relationship with my patients. Knowing them