A Most Unsuitable Match (39 page)

Back at the clinic, Fannie handed the nightgown to Edie. She looked so worried. And Edmund . . . Edmund’s expression sent a shiver of fear up her spine.
Oh, God . . . please.
At times like this, she wished she understood prayer better. God controlled everything, and yet people were supposed to pray. Would God change things if they did? She’d never seen Edmund so concerned . . . not even when Lamar and Samuel were hurt.
Father . . . please.

Sam lurched through the door. Bible in hand, he fell to his knees beside his sister. Tears streamed down his face as he brushed her burnished hair out of her dirty face and bent to whisper in her ear.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” Edmund said. “It could be the labor was premature. Brought on by stress. Things may settle down . . . we’ll see.”

Was it Fannie’s imagination, or did Emma turn toward Sam? He obviously thought so. A faint smile flickered across his face and he set the Bible aside. Fannie couldn’t discern his words, but the tone spoke hope and encouragement. He looked over at Edie, then at Fannie. Finally, he got off his knees and moved a chair to the head of the table, sitting down and taking Emma’s pale hand in his.

Edie laid the nightgown aside. Edmund had retreated to the kitchen. Now he returned with a pan of warm water which he settled on a table holding a frightening array of instruments that hadn’t been there when Fannie ran to get Edie. Edie dipped a cloth in the warm water and began to wipe the dirt from Emma’s scarred cheek.

“The poor dear must have been on the trail for a long while,” she murmured. Once she’d wiped the grit from Emma’s face, she paused. Looked over at Fannie. “You don’t have to talk to me . . . but I need your help.” She turned her gaze on Edmund. “If you and Sam will give us a moment, Fannie and I will cut Emma out of these rags.” She looked back toward Fannie, an unspoken question in her eyes.
Will you help me?

Terrified at the prospect and ashamed that the idea repulsed her, Fannie still nodded. She’d do it for Samuel. Emma stirred. Grimaced. Edie took her free hand. “It’s all right, honey,” she said. “You’re safe now.” Edmund and Sam retreated to the kitchen. Edie reached for the scissors.

They worked in tandem, one on either side of the examining table, Fannie merely shadowing whatever Edie did. Edie made short work of what was left of Emma’s faded calico dress. The layer of unmentionables closest to her body was surprisingly fine. Edie sliced through them all, clucking her tongue softly and muttering to herself as she worked. She was tender . . . respectful . . . and it wasn’t long before Fannie’s embarrassment faded and she simply concentrated on the task at hand. Poor Emma. She was dangerously thin, her body distorted by pregnancy.

Wondering about lice and other vermin, Fannie obeyed Edie’s directive to try and comb through Emma’s tangled red hair. She sat at the head of the examining table while Edie finished washing Emma’s prone body. By the time Fannie had worked her way through the last of what she thought was a hopeless snarl, Edie was holding the nightgown aloft. “I’ll lift her shoulders and hold her against me. You work the nightgown down over her head.”

Feeling awkward, Fannie obeyed. Edie had obviously done this before. Many times. Fannie blocked out thoughts of how and why with a question. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Instead of answering, Edie busied herself gathering up the fragments of Emma’s clothing. Fannie repeated the question.

Finally, with a sigh, Edie sat down. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I could be content to remain ‘Aunt Edith.’ ” She took one of Emma’s hands in hers. “You already knew enough horrible things about me. But you seemed willing to look past it.” She concentrated on rubbing Emma’s hand. “Got to get some circulation back into this girl,” she said, swiping at a tear while she worked. Finally, she said, “With you coming to find me, I already had more than I’d dared hope for. I didn’t know what would happen if I admitted to the rest.”

Emma stirred. Grunted. Edie put a hand on her swollen abdomen. Waited. “It’s all right, Emma. Baby’s taking a rest. You should, too. Sam’s here and we’re all going to take good care of you.” When she stroked the girl’s arm, Emma settled.

Fannie didn’t know what to feel. Edie was so tender . . . so caring. And yet, she’d given her own child away. How could she do that?
It was twenty years ago. People change.
She began to brush Emma’s hair. Emma sighed.

Edie smiled. “That’s good. It’ll calm her.” Finally, she said, “You didn’t quite believe me when I told you that my business up in the gulch was only a grain of sand atop an entire desert of sins.” Her voice wavered. “Well . . . now you know I was telling you the truth. I’m . . .” She strung an entire dictionary of epithets together. The names Edie called herself made Fannie’s cheeks burn with shame.

After a moment, Edie took a deep breath and said, “I’ve awakened to regret every single morning for a big part of my life. The first regret was always connected to leaving you. I wondered where you were, what you were doing, and I wished . . .” She shook her head. “I have wished countless times that I wasn’t who I am. That I could somehow go back and . . . change. I am so very sorry, Fannie. Sorry I was too much of a coward to stay. Sorry you didn’t—” She broke off. “I’m so sorry.”

Fannie worked at another snarl in Emma’s hair. Her emotions wobbled from anger to hurt, from resentment and, finally, she recognized an unexpected emotion. Relief. Somewhere, in the middle of everything, she felt relief. Knowing the truth explained so much. She moistened her lips. “At least I finally know why Mother never seemed to . . . quite . . .
want
me.” It was silly that those were the words that finally brought her own tears to the surface. She’d thought them a thousand times. Giving them voice made it real. Made it hurt more than she thought it would.

“No. Don’t ever think that.” Edie seemed about to reach for Fannie, but instead, she gathered up the filthy rags and, crossing to the stove in the corner, took up a handle, removed a burner cover, and began dropping the remains of Emma’s clothing into the fire. “Eleanor and I . . . we were so very different. She used to say I was the hummingbird and she was the sparrow. I wore my feelings on my sleeve. Emotions were always harder for Eleanor. I don’t know why.” She glanced across at Fannie. “I think you may be more like her in that.” She sighed. “She always said she wished she had my courage. I wished I had the love of a good man like Louis.” She put the last rag into the fire and put the cover back on.

“Eleanor was the good one, Fannie.” She came back and sat down. “Think of all the love it took for her to raise you. Think of the love she must have felt for your father. And for you. Louis and I both hurt her so very badly. It could have destroyed her.” She paused. “If it were me? I would have kicked Louis out of my life. But Eleanor? Eleanor
loved.
Even when it hurt. She loved.”

So many things Fannie had never understood made sense—if she accepted what Edie was saying. Hannah had tried to tell her the same thing, but Fannie wouldn’t have it. Now, knowing what was behind Mother’s sorrow . . .
Oh, Mama. I’m so sorry for you.
She was glad she’d planted those roses at Mother’s grave. Glad she’d chosen Mother’s favorite color.
I hope they bloomed for you this year. I hope you saw them. Thank you for loving me. I’m sorry it hurt so much.

Edie’s voice wavered as she said, “Can you ever forgive me?”

Fannie set the brush down. She wanted to be angry. But the truth was, Edie hadn’t had such a glorious life, after all. She’d lived with pain, too. And still . . . still she shone kindness. She’d treated Emma like a precious jewel just now, murmuring comfort, showing tenderness. Edie wasn’t a terrible person.

Compassion.
It seemed impossible, but that’s what finally emerged in Fannie’s heart. Compassion and a deep sorrow for all that Edie had to regret and the joy Mother had allowed to be robbed by bitterness. She let her own tears come, weeping for all the brokenness hanging over lives that could have been different. For what was lost that could never be reclaimed. And for Edie. Mostly, in the end, Fannie wept for Edie. Finally, she reached out and took the older woman’s icy hands in hers.

“It’s . . . done,” she said. Edie lifted her head. Disbelief shone in her eyes. Disbelief and desperate hope. Fannie swallowed. “Mother’s gone. It’s too late for me to understand her. She never let me in. But now . . . now I’ve found
you.
And it’s not too late for us.”

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Pete scooped Emma up off the prairie and brought her into Fort Benton. Labor pains came and went, but Emma hadn’t opened her eyes once, and the look on Dr. LaMotte’s face and the worry in Edie’s eyes enclosed Sam’s heart in iron bands of fear that made it hard to breathe.

He’d prayed until he didn’t have any more of his own thoughts. And so he turned to the Scriptures, reading Psalm 139 and silently praying it over Emma.
O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. . . . Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me. . . . Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day. . . . Thou hast covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise thee. . . . Search me, O God. . . .
He read on into the next psalms, savoring phrases like
I know that the Lord will maintain the cause of the afflicted. . . . Lord, I cry unto thee: make haste unto me; give ear unto my voice.
He stroked Emma’s scarred cheek and tried to encourage her, but all he could manage was an occasional word. It took so much effort to talk . . . and there was no sign that Emma even knew he was there.

Samuel stayed with his sister for most of the day, and labor returned with a vengeance that night. With every contraction, Emma grunted and moaned, and with every passing hour Dr. LaMotte said it would be “just a little longer now.”

Edie and Fannie came in to help and encouraged Samuel to take a break, but he wouldn’t leave his sister’s side.

Finally, Emma opened her eyes and screamed Sam’s name.

“Here,” he said. “I’m . . . here.”

She blinked, looked at him and, with terror in her eyes, clung to his hand.

“Just a little longer, Emma,” Edmund said. “Push now. Push with all your might.” Emma struggled and strained. She yelled a man’s name . . . pushed for all she was worth . . . and finally, a baby slid into the world, squirming and squalling, red-faced and sticky . . . with a thatch of bright red hair.

Dr. LaMotte cut the umbilical cord and laughed aloud as he held the baby up for Emma to see. “You’ve a beautiful daughter.” He smiled. “A bona fide miracle.” He laid the baby in Edie’s outstretched arms and went back to work, one hand on Emma’s abdomen while the other reached out for . . . gauze. Bandages. Anything Fannie could find.

Sam swept Emma’s sweat-soaked hair back off her forehead. Then with a deep sigh, she closed her eyes.

The doctor called Sam’s name. When Sam looked his way, Edmund shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

With an anguished cry, Sam pulled Emma into his arms. He cradled her against his chest, rocking and weeping. The terrifying sight rooted Fannie in her place. With the baby snuggled in her arms, Edie stepped up behind her. “Let him wail,” she murmured, and nodded for Fannie to follow her into the kitchen.

Edmund retreated with them and slumped into his rocker, pale and listless. Fannie handed him a mug of coffee. He took it but didn’t drink it, just balanced it on one knee and sat, staring at the back door.

“Edmund.” When Edie spoke his name, he looked her way. “You did everything you could. And you saved a beautiful baby girl.”

The baby whimpered. Fannie gazed at the pink cheeks, the flaming red hair. . . .
What’s to become of her?
Her heart thudding, she spoke the question aloud.

“Mollie,” Edie said, looking to Edmund for confirmation. “It’s possible . . . right? It’s only been a few weeks.”

He nodded. “If she’s willing, yes. It is possible. Her body will respond once she begins to nurse the baby.”

“We also have a goat and a milk cow at the ranch,” Edie said.