A Baby For Christmas. Linda Ford
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rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_83866c75-e93a-5d53-bbe5-b58021cff4b5">Chapter Four
Louise was awake long before it was time to rise. The baby kicked as if excited about the journey. Just stay where you are for a few more days.
She lifted her head from her pillow. Did she hear a tapping at the door? A chill wove around her spine. Not Vic! She’d locked the doors solidly. But she knew that wouldn’t prove enough barrier to stop the man.
“Louise, are you awake?” Nate whispered from the other side of the bedroom door. He’d spent the night in the parlor, which should have made her sleep a lot better than it did.
Her lungs emptied in a whoosh and she rose gingerly from bed, donned a wrap and cracked the door open. “Yes?”
“I’m going to get a wagon. Lock the door after me.”
She waited until he went outside to move down the hall as fast as she could and turn the key.
Missy had begged to sleep in the room with Louise last night, saying she was afraid to be alone, afraid Vic would find her. She sat up as Louise returned to the bedroom. “Today we start our great adventures.” She lifted her hands over her head and laughed. With an ease Louise could barely remember, Missy scurried from bed and began to dress.
“Remember to wear your warmest clothes.” Although the weather had been mild, it was December and the temperatures could drop anytime.
Missy chattered as they dressed. “I’ve always wanted to see what was north of here. But more than anything, I want to get away from that vile Vic.”
“You’re about to get your wish.” Louise put the last of her things in her valise. She wouldn’t need much for the journey. Everything else was in a small trunk—baby things, some outfits for after she’d had the baby and a few mementos of her mother.
She paused a moment to let regrets at what she was about to leave waft through her, combined with wishes for what might have been if her mother had stayed.
Aunt Bea had told her the truth about Louise’s mother. Not that she died and that was why Louise and her pa were on their own, as Pa always said, but that she’d left Pa because she couldn’t stand the mining camps. Aunt Bea said she thought Ma had tried to take Louise, but Pa wouldn’t allow it. Louise thought Aunt Bea only wanted to remove the look of shock from Louise’s face. Ma had died of consumption three years after leaving them.
Louise reached into the trunk for an item.
“I have something of your mother’s,” Aunt Bea had once said, and brought out a painting of a young child. The painting she now held in her hands.
“Is that me?” Louise had fingered the frame.
Her aunt had nodded. “Your mother was a talented artist. The picture is now yours.”
“Thank you.” The painting had been her most cherished possession ever since. In it she was sure she saw love. But love had not been enough to make her mother stay. Because of that thought she’d never display the picture. For a moment she mused on a thought. What was enough to make any person stay? If not love, then what?
She’d considered the question many times and had never found an answer. Nor did she expect to today, either. She put the picture into the trunk, closed the latches, then went to the kitchen.
They ate a hurried breakfast. Aunt Bea insisted they take an abundant lunch for the journey, most of which was the remainders of meals Louise had prepared in the past two days.
A wagon rattled up to the house and Nate knocked.
She unlocked the door and stepped back to let him in.
“Where’s the luggage?” he asked.
Louise directed him to the two trunks—hers and Missy’s, and he hoisted one to his shoulder and trotted to the wagon. She and Missy carried their smaller bags. In minutes, he had both aboard and stood at the door. “Are you ready?”
Louise and Missy pulled on their warmest outer clothing. Aunt Bea pressed a gray woolen blanket into each of their arms.
“Stay safe. Let me know when you arrive.” She hugged Louise.
Tears stung Louise’s eyes. Aunt Bea had only twice before hugged her. Once when she told her about her mother and the other time when Gordie was killed.
“I’ll send a letter,” she promised Aunt Bea, then let Nate lead her to the wagon and help her aboard. He had to practically lift her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m such a size right now.”
“For better or worse,” Aunt Bea reminded them.
Louise met Nate’s gaze, as full of secret and regret as hers. He acknowledged the moment with a little nod of his head and a barely there smile before he turned to assist Missy.
They rattled down the street to the depot. He helped them alight and, with his arm around Louise’s shoulders, led them inside where it was marginally warmer than outside. It would be warmer if the door was closed, but the ticket man had it propped open.
She sat on the narrow wooden bench and Nate unfolded the blanket Aunt Bea had provided and draped it over her lap. A person could get used to being taken care of. She buried the thought. Best not get used to it. This was temporary. She must stand on her own for her sake, as well as that of her unborn child.
“Wait here,” he said. “While I take care of the wagon.” He rushed out. Seemed he was as impatient to start this journey as Missy, who wriggled on the bench beside her. Louise tried to decide what she felt. Certainly not the excitement Missy showed. Truth was, she was worried. Not so much about Vic anymore, though she’d never quite believe he was out of her life. But the baby had been more active lately. Please, God, don’t let it be born before we reach Eden Valley Ranch. Let it be a Christmas baby. But would God even hear her? Or listen if He did? So many times in the past she had felt abandoned by God, though she did her best to believe He loved her, as the Porters had so fervently taught her.
If the baby came on the trip, it would slow them down, and Nate had made it clear he wouldn’t let them hinder him from getting back to Edendale in time to see a man about buying a ranch. She drove steel into her spine. If he left them somewhere, she would simply continue the journey at her own speed.
What if the stagecoach left them, too?
She would not contemplate all the things that could go wrong.
A shadow crossed the floor. She looked up and there stood Vic leaning against the door frame.
“Going someplace?” He drawled the words.
“Away from here.” Louise’s reply carried a full dose of her dislike for the man. Away from you.
“Hear you and Nate got hitched. You figger you can tie that cowboy down, do ya?”
She figured no such thing. “I fail to see how that’s any of your business.”
The man behind the ticket wicket watched them. The room was small enough he could hear every word. She didn’t care. She and Nate were legally married. That’s all anyone had to know.
Vic strode over and sat beside Missy.
Louise moved down the bench so Missy could put space between herself and Vic. He simply moved down until Louise balanced on the end.
The ticket man cleared his throat.
Vic ignored the subtle warning. “Missy, you don’t have to go with Louise.”
“I’m going because I want to.”
Louise had to give the girl credit. She never let on how much Vic frightened her.
“You sure? Hear it’s real primitive up there. No decent town for miles. Mostly Indians and buffalo roaming about. You might get tired of nobody who can show you a good time.” He pushed closer to