Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) (18 page)

Bear took a cookie and put the entire thing in his mouth. After a few chews he said, “That’s paw-lickin’ good!”

The cookies made Catherine miss Little John’s presence. “Excuse me,” she said, “I want to peek my head in to see if Little John’s awake yet.”

She opened the door to his room as quietly as she could. Her son lay crying in the semi-darkness. “Little John,” she said, “what’s the matter dear? Are you still frightened? Those men are gone now. Our hands are taking them to Fort Harrod’s jail. You’re safe now.”

She sat on the edge of his bed and took the boy’s hand, moist with just wiped tears.

He sniffled and rubbed his nose on the sheet. “I’m not afraid of them. Pa took care of them.”

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t tell you,” he sobbed.

“You can’t?”

“No!” Despite his defiant answer, he sat up and hugged her tightly, his little arms wrapped completely around her neck. He clung to her for several moments crying on her shoulder before he finally released her.

She kissed his head and then both his wet cheeks. “I love you Little John. You can tell me what’s bothering you.”

That only seemed to make him cry harder. “I love you too,” he managed to choke out.

“You can’t talk about it?” she asked, and swabbed his tears with her
fingers.

“No, I cannot.”

“Could you talk to your Father about it? I’ll go get him if you want me to.”

“No, he’s already worried too. I can tell.”

“Worried about what?” she asked.

“I said I can’t talk about it.” He laid back down and yanked the sheet over his head.

The sight tugged at her heart. Perhaps he just needed time alone. “Rest for few minutes. Then I’ll bring you some warm cookies and milk for breakfast.”

He didn’t respond to her, even though it was his favorite breakfast. Catherine shut the door behind her and went out to the front room. “Sam, Little John is upset. He’s crying and says he can’t tell me why. Or you.”

“Maybe the lad is still scared from his ordeal,” Artis suggested.

“He said he wasn’t. He said he wasn’t scared of the men anymore because his father took care of them.”

Sam stood. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“No, wait,” Catherine told him. “I think it might be better if Bear went to him. Perhaps he can tell his uncle whatever it is he can’t tell us.”

“I’ll see what I can do to help the lad.” Bear sprang up from his chair, and headed toward Little John’s room.

Catherine awkwardly plopped into her chair, still tired from their long night.

Artis rose and poured her a cup of coffee. “Here. Ye look awfully peely-wally.”

Catherine recognized the Scottish expression and smiled at Artis as she accepted the steaming cup. “No, I’m not feeling poorly. I’m just a bit tired.”

“Is that ache still there?” Sam asked.

Catherine could still hear apprehension in her husband’s voice, despite his good intentions to not be fearful. Little John was right. Sam was worried. It amazed her how perceptive a young child could be. Was Little John worried about her too? She looked up at Sam. “No, surprisingly, it’s disappeared for now,” she answered. It was the truth. Perhaps the midwife’s suggestion to drink coffee had worked and the baby turned after all.

It would be an answer to her prayers if he had.

Bear ducked his head and entered Little John’s room. “Little John, I would have a word with ye.”

“Bear!” the boy cried out, then flung the sheet down and sat up. “I didn’t know you were here!”

“Aye. I came last night and helped searched for ye. What’s this I hear about ye feeling a wee bit down?”

Little John stood up on his knees in the bed and grabbed Bear as soon as he sat on the bed. Before he knew it, the boy sat in his lap and he enclosed his nephew within his big arms.

“Bear, I missed you.” Tears trickled down the boy’s cheeks.

“I missed ye too, Little John. But I’m enormously glad we are together now. And we will be together for quite a while too—until a few days after Christmas. And I brought ye those presents I promised.”

“You did?”

“Aye, but ye will have to wait until Christmas morn to get them.”

“I can wait. If I have too,” he mumbled with a pout. The lad sniffled, but the tears had stopped.

“And I brought my new wife too.”

“You did! Is she beautiful like my mother?”

“She is indeed. Her hair is a lovely golden-red color and her eyes are a brilliant green. And she’s tall for a woman. Now tell me what’s got yer insides all stirred up,” Bear told him.

“It’s my mother. Something is terribly wrong.”

“And how, pray tell, do ye know this?”

“Because the mid-wife came yesterday and when she left, I saw her leaving in her wagon. I was hidden behind a tree. She did not look happy at all. Her face was frowning. And then,” another sniffle, “and then I saw my mother on the front porch crying. Her face looked so worried and she seemed upset.”

“So that made ye worried?”

“Yes. I was afraid the mid-wife told her she was gonna die, just like my first mother. You know my first mother died having a baby, don’t you? The baby was me!”

“Aye, I knew yer lovely mother, Little John.” Someday he would tell the boy that he and Sam were both there when he was born. And that his mother died bravely.

“She died! And I never got to see her again. And it’s going to happen a second time.” Little John started crying all over again.

“What did ye do when ye saw yer mother cryin’?”

“I started running into the woods and I just kept running and running and running. But then those men found me.”

“It sounds as if ye had a dreadfully bad day indeed my lad.”

“I did,” Little John agreed.

“Well now. Let’s see if we can make this day a better one. Shall we?”

Little John nodded.

“First, women who are about to give birth, often worry that all will be well. ‘Tis common because they already love their babes so. Seein’ yer Mum looking worried is not somethin’ that should frighten ye. Ye must
help her na to worry.”

“What about the mid-wife? She looked and sounded worried too.”

“From what Sam tells me, there’s no pleasin’ the woman. Sam said that when she gets to heaven, she’ll ask to see another room.”

Little John chuckled a bit.

“So ye see, there’s nothin’ to worry yer head about. We need to be brave for Catherine, so she will na worry so much herself. Can ye help me do that lad? Aye?”

“Aye.”

“Excellent! The cook has made some wee cookies that will make ye smile from ear to ear. Want to go try some and meet my lovely wife?”

“I’ll get dressed now and come out in a few minutes.”

“Aye, but promise me ye’ll talk to me or yer father if ye start to get worried once again.”

Little John nodded and Bear poured some water into a basin set on a low table for him. “Wash yer face well and comb that pile of straw on yer head ‘fore ye come out. I want ye to make a good impression on Artis. I’ve been braggin’ about ye to her ever since we met.”

“You have?”

“Aye. I’m awfully proud of ye lad.”

Little John smiled, got out of bed, and hugged him again. “I feel better now, Uncle Bear.”

Bear quickly patted Little John on the head, swung around, and left before he got weepy himself. He loved that boy with all his heart.

Bear entered the front room and everyone looked his way expectantly.

“Well?” Sam asked, standing. “Should I go see him?”

“He’ll be out as soon as he gets dressed,” Bear answered. “He’s worried about Catherine. He’s terrified that she’ll die too, like his first mum.”

“What would make him think that?” Sam asked.

“Because he saw the midwife leave yesterday and she appeared worried. Then he saw Catherine cryin’ on the front porch as she watched the midwife leave. He’s a smart lad. He put two and two together and decided somethin’ must be wrong.”

Sam instantly turned to Catherine. “Why were you crying?
Is
something wrong?”

Catherine’s face looked stricken. She leaned back in her chair.

“Catherine, please answer me,” Sam insisted, moving closer to her.

Catherine closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “I was waiting until the midwife’s next visit to tell you when we would know for sure. She thinks our baby is breech—feet first.”

“I know what breech means,” Sam bellowed. “Tell me what it means for
you
, and our baby.”

Bear gave his brother a reproachful look. Sam must be truly worried or he wouldn’t be so testy. Particularly with Catherine. Sam never raised his voice with her.

Sam knelt in front of Catherine, whose eyes were watering, and took her hands in his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so cross, but you should have told me. What else did she say?” he asked gently.

“She wanted me to drink a lot of coffee to see if the baby would turn.”

“And has it?” Sam asked, his eyes scrutinizing Catherine’s face.

“I haven’t felt it turn or move significantly. I just don’t know.”

“Catherine, please don’t keep anything from me,” Sam said, keeping his voice gentle. “I asked you to share your worries with me.”

Catherine’s lower lip quivered. “Sam, I truly don’t know. I wish I did.”

Artis stood and went to Catherine. “Come dear, ye need to rest.”

Catherine glanced up at Artis. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I am perfectly fine. I just want to rest here a while and wait for Little John. If I
leave, he’ll be worried again.”

Sam stood and let out a long breath. “I’m going to go get that damn midwife.”

“Sam, it’s not my time yet. I’ll tell you when you need to go fetch her,” Catherine said. “Please, try to calm down.”

“Aye, Catherine will be fine, Sam,” Bear said, trying to calm his brother, and hoping his words would prove true. A breech babe often meant the worst possible outcome. “Did I mention that William and Kelly should be arriving tomorrow? And Kelly is bringing her father. McGuffin never told us when he was here helping to build this house, but he’s a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Sam asked. “Why would he keep something like that a secret?”

“He had his reasons,” Bear said, “and they were good ones. But if Rory wants to tell you, it should come from him. We only found out when Artis was shot.”

Sam peered at Artis. “Shot?”

“It’s a long story and I will tell it to ye later. Because of a terrible storm and flooding, we couldn’t get Artis back to town. So Rory operated on her,” Bear explained.

“Operated?” Catherine asked, looking astounded.

“Aye, he’s a surgeon. And a damn good one,” Bear said.

“He saved my life,” Artis said. “He saved the life Bear and I will share together,” she added looking up at Bear.

“Aye, he saved her from certain death,” Bear said, trying to sound optimistic despite his worried thoughts. Would McGuffin be able to save Catherine? And the life she was meant to share with Sam?

Chapter 18

S
am was just finishing bathing and shaving when he heard pounding against the sturdy wooden planks of their front door. He tugged on his leather breeches, strapped on the belt that held his long knife, and snatched up the pistol he kept on the table beside the bed.

Waking, Catherine sat up in bed. “What was that?”

“Stay here,” he told her, grabbing his buckskin shirt on the way out.

He threw open his bedroom door and in the hall nearly ran into Bear, his hatchet clutched in his hand.

The frantic knocking did not abate at all as they made their way into the front room. Bear stood just to the left of the door, hatchet poised to defend Sam if needed.

Sam tossed his shirt into a nearby chair. “Who goes there?” he demanded.

“Sam!” It was Stephen’s voice. “Open up!”

Sam sat the pistol down by the entrance table, unbarred the door, and flung it open. “Stephen!” He peered out as his youngest brother rushed in. He saw Stephen’s stallion panting hard, hot puffs of mist floating from the horse’s nostrils into the frigid air. Not seeing anyone else, or signs of trouble, he closed the door.

Bear gave Stephen a hasty hug. “What’s amiss brother?”

Stephen’s cold-reddened face appeared worried. “My family is out there in the cold. I broke a wagon wheel and we spent a long miserable night shivering. I didn’t want to leave them alone at night in the woods, so I waited until this morning to come for help.”

“Jane and your lasses and wee lad must be near freezin’,” Bear said.

“They were, so before I left, I gathered a supply of wood and built them a warm fire. I wasn’t on the road very long before your men came along with their prisoners. They agreed to wait with Jane and the children until we got back there with another wagon.”

“How far away are they?” Sam asked, slipping his buckskin shirt over his head. He hoped his four men would guard the prisoners well and not let the two pose a threat to Jane and the kids. He didn’t mention his concern to Stephen. His brother had enough to worry about.

“About an hour’s wagon ride,” Stephen answered. “I’ve made the trip between our homes dozens of times. And the old wagon chooses to strand us in the middle of the forest on one of the coldest nights of the year. What rotten luck.” He sounded tired and disgusted.