Spring for Susannah (20 page)

She stepped into the clear night, searching the line where the stars stopped. No Jesse. No barking Jake. Frosted clouds of her breath vanished in the wind, cold air scoured her throat. Jesse would need a hot meal. She reached to hang the lantern from the end of the roof, and a sharp pain ripped through her lower abdomen.

The baby! No!

Susannah set the milk pail in the snowbank and pulled herself toward the door. The pain clawed at her insides. Just a few more steps and she could lie down. But a black roaring tunnel engulfed her and she dropped to the snow.

The baby .
. .

Chapter 17

Please, God, I can't lose her now . . .

S
usannah slid, faster and faster, deep into an icy tunnel. Opposing currents rushed at her like a whirlpool, twisting her body in two. A hot blade sliced between her hips. She couldn't breathe. Something soft brushed her cheek.

A flash of maroon and hunter green—the ceiling of the parlor in Detroit. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders and pinned her to the carpet.

Let me go!

She flung herself to one side. A knee punched into her stomach and forced her onto her back.
Leave me alone! You can have
the money!

A hand twisted her apron strings around her neck. The parlor faded to black.

Then from far away, someone else yelled, a shriek of pure rage. A woman. Ellen. The weight lifted from Susannah's stomach; she gasped in a breath. Pain flamed through her, and darkness descended once more.

Then . . . she was in a bed, her body weighted, too heavy to move. Water splashed. Large hands, too large to be her friend's, lifted each leg.

“I'm not sure she's up to—”

“I assure you, with the dose of laudanum she's had, she'll be insensible to the examination. I must determine the extent of her injuries.”

“She was fully clothed—”

“Mrs. Mason, we don't want any surprises, say nine months from now, do we? You haven't changed her clothes or bathed her?”

“No. We sent for you immediately.”

Cold air prickled her skin as the violation continued. Susannah tried to scream, but no sound came out.

“No blood. Fortunately, Mrs. Mason, you were successful in preventing further damage.”

Another man called her name. His voice . . . she couldn't remember. He pleaded, begged, encouraged. She attempted to answer, but the words stuck, thick and useless, in her head.

Help me, please .
. .

There was no response. She slid down the tunnel, away, into the silence.

Silver light. Cold dawn. Susannah felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach by a horse. Her fingers and toes ached with cold. Shivers racked her body. She curled into a ball, finding no warmth in the sheets. Her hand pressed against her empty abdomen.

The baby . . . gone
.

Jesse would be angry. He wanted a child so much. Her fingers slid lower. Dry clothes. He'd cleaned her. She couldn't even take care of herself, much less pull her own weight. She had to be strong, to show him—

The door scraped the icy threshold. Susannah turned, sending the room into a jerky orbit. Jesse came into focus. His shoulders drooped, his skin gray, his eyebrows drawn together. He glanced up, meeting her gaze. The grim set of his mouth widened into a smile. His fatigue dropped off with his coat and gloves.

“You're awake. Sweet Susannah, you sure had me worried.”

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, making her words come out garbled. “I lost your baby.”

His eyes were haunted and red-rimmed. He still wore his hunting clothes. Had he slept at all? “Afraid I'd lost you too. You're white as the sheets.” He lowered himself to the bed and brushed the hair from her face.

“I'm so sorry.”

“No,
I'm
sorry. I should have never left you alone. Got a buck and had to rig a travois to drag it back. Made me late. Jake ran on ahead. I knew something was wrong by his bark.” He shuddered, covering his face, his voice straining at the words. “So much blood. More than the deer, more than guys shot through with cannonballs. I couldn't wake you up. Even your medical books didn't say what to do.”

“There isn't any-anything you could have d-done.” A lady, Mother always said, must be calm. A lady must not get carried away by futile sentiment. “Miscarriage isn't that un-uncommon, especially with first b-babies. There's lots of sup-superstitions, but no one really knows why it h-happens.”

Jesse wiped his tears with the heel of his hand. “You're freezing. Stay here.” He tucked the covers under her chin, then hustled around the stove. Men didn't cry—not when their sons went to war, not at funerals, not even when the president was assassinated. But Ellen argued that Jesus cried, so maybe Christians were allowed. Even Jesse? Especially Jesse with the loss of his child.

“Susannah.” He held the bowl like an offering plate, its steam rapidly dissipating in the cold room.

She pushed upright against the headboard, but the edges of her vision grayed. “Maybe later.” She sank back to the pillows.

“No. Now.” He slid in beside her and cradled her head in the crook of his elbow. She opened her mouth to protest, and he spooned in hot cereal. “Most times I'm more than ready to listen to you, but not today. Get your strength back and then we'll talk.” Her shivering vibrated his arm. She forced a swallow. “Grandma said oatmeal gives heat to the body. 'Course us kids thought oatmeal was just a reason to get out the maple syrup.”

His voice faded. “Susannah? C'mon now, stay awake. This isn't my most interesting story, but it's all my tired head can think of right now. Wish we had some syrup. Wonder if my sister would send some. Probably not. She was always the last to the table in the morning. The good stuff would all be gone by the time she showed up.” He held a mug to her lips. “Cocoa? Take a sip. Two more bites. Good girl.”

Despite warm food and piles of quilts and blankets, Susannah continued to shiver. Jesse wrapped her wool scarf around her head and spread her cape on the bed. He threw two more logs into the stove. He heated the new sadiron, rolled it in an empty flour sack, and set it by her feet. Studying her, he rubbed his stubbly new beard. “Bootless,” he muttered, referring to the ineffectiveness of his efforts. “Bootless.” He shifted his gaze to his footwear. In seconds he stripped to his long underwear, slid between the sheets, and curled around her.

She had lost enough blood to make her light-headed, but she was coherent enough to realize Jesse had saved her life. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“I love you.”

Love?
Love
. . .

Her shivering subsided and she slept.

Susannah rolled over and opened her eyes. Jesse stood at the stove, slicing carrots into the Dutch oven. Late afternoon sun glowed in his hair like a copper halo.

“Smells good. Maybe next year you could cook and I'll work on the threshing machine.”

A slow smile widened his mouth. “Crew'd love that.”

A sharp bark from the other side of the door interrupted him. Jesse let the dog in with a swirl of snow. Jake raced to the bed. Susannah reached to pet him. He licked her hand.

“I'm not the only one worried about you.” Jesse set a tin plate of meat scraps on the floor. Jake gulped his dinner, sniffed Susannah again, then vanished into the snowy dusk.

“I'm not that hungry,” Susannah objected when Jesse ladled up a large bowl of stew.

“Got to build you up, get the color back in those pretty cheeks of yours.”

“Well, at least I can sit without fainting.” Susannah leaned against the headboard.

“Shucks. I was looking forward to feeding you again. Good practice for when I become a pa.” Susannah turned away to hide her tears, and Jesse groaned. “I'm sorry.”

“I want to be strong, but—” She sniffled.

Sitting beside her, Jesse pulled her head to his chest. “God gave us tears for a reason, Susannah. Go ahead, let out all your sad so you can start to mend.” His voice held an odd note of relief. He seemed almost pleased about her crying.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “How can you miss someone you never knew?”

“I don't know, but I feel it too. Like a hole in my heart.” His large hand stroked the top of her head down to her back. “Boy or girl, do you suppose? Would have been a year younger than Ivar and Marta's baby. They could have played together. Now he's getting fitted for angel wings.”

“More likely taking his first heavenly harp lesson, seeing as how he's your child.”

“Eat your dinner, silly girl,” he said. And for the first time in days, he smiled.

After cleaning up, Jesse once again shed his boots and climbed into bed. “Ecclesiastes is right.”

“Pardon me?” Susannah asked from her sleepy haze.

“Chapter 4, verse 11.” He pulled her back against his chest, matching the bend of her legs with his. “‘If two lie together, they have heat.'”

The sun shone weakly through the frosted panes, providing a glimmer of light but no warmth. Grains of snow sifted through unseen chinks, forming drifts across the quilt, in the corners, and along the window frames. Another lumberjack-sized meal burbled fragrantly on the stove. Jesse worked through a four-bar phrase on his guitar.

“What day is today?” Susannah levered herself into sitting.

“Thursday. Didn't mean to wake you.”

“Oh no! I slept right through your birthday!” One step from the bed, her legs gave out.

“Whoa! Who said you were allowed to get up?” He scooped her off the floor and bundled her back to bed.

“But—” She had planned to surprise him with his favorite dessert, apple pie.

“Just get better, back to your usual lively self. You're all I want for my birthday, this year and all the years to come.” He leaned over to rub noses with her, his growing beard tickling her cheeks. “No sad faces.”

“You haven't had anyone here to fuss over you, and now—”

“With a family the size of ours, no one ever fussed over me.” He dismissed the idea with a swipe of his long hand.

“You didn't celebrate birthdays?”

“Sure. If it was your day, you got served first. Every night at dinner, Ma would look around the table at the ten of us and whatever cousins were visiting and try to remember whose turn it was. We'd all point at the birthday kid—soon as he got his, we'd get ours.”

Our baby won't have a birthday
, she thought, then pushed the thought away. She had to stop crying and get better. “What else?”

“We'd sing ‘For He's a Jolly Good Fellow' and get lots of hugs. How 'bout you Underhills?”

“Mother made spice cake and served it on her best plates. She decorated the table with violets.” Susannah received gifts too: hair ribbons, books, watercolors. But she didn't mention it. Maybe Jesse's family couldn't afford presents.

“Good thing you were born in the spring.” He patted the covers. “You'll be ready to make a birthday cake by December 25.”