The Badger's Revenge (12 page)

“No, ma'am. I wish I could tell you I have.”

“But you had four children. What did you do? Go huntin' while your wife laid in misery?”

“I stood outside the door, watched the little ones after there was more than one. Ofelia, the
comadrona
, um, the midwife, was there for every one of the births of my children.”

The scowl returned to Billie's face as she regained normal breathing patterns. “You weren't there for any of them?”

“The last one. My son.” Josiah hesitated, tried to force the memory out of his mind, but that was impossible.

Lyle was born nearly a year after they had buried the last of their children. Lily's pregnancy was a new hope, a rebirth of their family. But it wasn't long into it that she started to grow weak. By the time the baby was due, the fevers had come for her. She died in labor, and with little time to spare, Josiah's son, and only living child, was cut from Lily's belly by Ofelia—with Josiah's help.

It was the saddest moment of his life.

“. . . But it was a difficult birth,” Josiah added, looking away from her, away from her stomach. Tears settled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

“This one ain't gonna be easy,” Billie said.

“I suppose it's not. It's your first pregnancy?”

“Yes,” Billie said. “And from the feel of it, I ain't gonna be in no hurry to ever do it again.”

“Can you change yourself into a dry dress?” Josiah asked.

He wasn't a praying man, although there were circumstances when he sure hoped for a certain outcome—but asking an unseen force for a favor seemed silly at the moment . . . when it was just the two of them, stuck in the middle of a storm, with Billie about to give birth.

When Billie nodded yes, Josiah was greatly relieved. “I'll be right outside the door if you need me.”

“You're good at that.”

“It's the last place I'd prefer to be at the moment.”

“Beats bein' out in the storm, a wanted man, a posse on your heels that won't offer you a moment of justice,” Billie said.

“I don't mean to sound ungrateful. That's not what I meant. I'm sure I'd be hanging from that live oak just outside the door, my feet dragging the ground, if it weren't for your generosity.”

“This has to be hard for you. I can't imagine losin' a baby, much less three. But I don't think I can do this myself.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Josiah said, easing out the door, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, wishing he was the kind of man who could run right out of the house and not look back.

 

 

Billie's bloodcurdling scream matched the roar of
thunder over the house. Sweat and tears mingled as they streamed down her face. She looked like she was standing outside in the storm instead of lying on her bed, her legs pulled up in a V, about to give birth to a baby.

Josiah could see the baby's head starting to protrude out of her body. There was no time for embarrassment or hesitation. Billie needed his help, needed him to be strong, to be there for her in a way he couldn't be there for his own wife when she was alive. He had no choice but to put his hands down between her legs and guide the baby out into the world.

In his memory, Josiah heard Ofelia speaking in Spanish, “
Empujar al bebé hacia fuera
.” And then in English: “Push, Miss Lily. Push hard.”

Josiah repeated what he remembered. “Push, Billie, push.”

“Oh damn it. Where's Charlie?”

“Push, Billie.”

The baby's head was halfway out.

“Push harder, damn it,” Josiah demanded.

Billie screamed again, and with a swift and surprising thrust, the baby was in Josiah's bloody hands.

For a second, he was in shock, holding the wet and warm little thing. It wasn't moving. It was all red and wrinkled like a prune. Honestly, the baby scared him, covered in mucus and blood like it was. He'd only seen one that wasn't cleaned up, and that was Lyle, cut out of his dead mother's stomach. Josiah had tried to forget that.

Billie was panting, catching her breath, staring at him. Her eyes were all glassy.

Josiah stood back, brought the baby up to his face, and tapped it between the shoulder blades gently. The baby didn't hesitate. It gasped, let out a whimper, opened its eyes, and began to cry, filling the room with life—and relief.

“What is it?” Billie whispered.

“A girl,” Josiah said. “You have a daughter, Billie Webb. You have a healthy little girl.”

 

 

The day had passed right on by with Josiah completely
emerged in the drama of the baby's birth.

The strongest part of the storm had passed over them, too, but the rain persisted, steadily now, tapping on the roof comfortably instead of with the threat of menace or destruction.

There was some coffee left, and Josiah poured himself a full cup. He wasn't sure what time it was. Coming up on evening. It was hard to tell with the continuing cover of grayness that seemed like it was never going to go away.

Billie and her daughter lay sleeping in the bed. Josiah had done what he could to clean the two of them up, but eventually Billie ran him out of the room, certain she could do it herself. Another relief.

The coffee was strong and only lukewarm since the fire in the stove had nearly died out. After a couple of deep drinks, Josiah set the cup down and tossed a few pieces of wood inside the stove. The pile was getting low and probably wouldn't last another day. The thought caused Josiah some deep concern. He had no idea how Billie was going to take care of herself.

There was nothing he could do at the moment to help her out, other than warm up the beans and bacon and fry up some bread. He figured Billie would be pretty darn hungry when she woke up.

He wasn't totally inept when it came to women's work. He couldn't be. There were a lot of things he'd had to learn after Lily died. Ofelia was a great help, but in the beginning she wasn't around all the time. That didn't happen until Josiah moved to Austin, and Ofelia had decided to come along with him.

He eased over to the window, then eyed all of the ingredients he'd need to get supper going.

The land was flat beyond the barn, and the horizon was a good distance off. It was hard to tell where the rainy sky left off and the earth began.

The ground was soaked. Newly created streams crisscrossed the yard, rain cutting through the dry, unsettled dirt around the house. Puddles looked like ponds, and the pasture appeared more like a lake than a field left unattended.

Wispy clouds rolled east, pushed by a strong unseen breeze. Rain fell from the sky in a slant, and there was no brightness in the distance. Not a single hint that the storm and the rain had run their course. The only certainty, the only promise, was that night was coming soon.

Josiah was, in a gentle way, glad of that. It would be nice to settle in for the evening. Build a fire. Tend to Billie's needs as best he could. And worry about what lay ahead of him tomorrow . . . with the hopes that the weather would pass, allowing him to figure out what to do.

Any thought of comfort left Josiah immediately as he took a swig of coffee, still standing at the window, surveying the landscape, peering over the top of the cup. He stopped drinking and blinked his eyes to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

It only took a second to realize he was right. A lone rider, sitting on a horse, about fifty yards north of the barn, sat staring at Billie's house.

The rider was well protected from the rain, a slicker in the shape of a poncho covering his guns—with the exception of the rifle that was settled firmly in his hand. It was hard to make out any definite features through the gloom and rain, the horse and man were black to the eye; an unknown silhouette on the horizon.

But there was no mistaking who the rider was. It was Liam O'Reilly.

Josiah turned away and fetched the Spencer from next to the door, moving quickly but trying to be quiet so he wouldn't alert Billie.

When he got back to the window, O'Reilly was gone.

Gone like a wraith disappearing into the depths of Hell.

A warm ray of sunlight filtered into the cabin
through the window. Sometime during the night, Josiah had awoken from his spot on the floor and realized the rain had stopped. The storm was over. The only sounds he could hear were Billie breathing gently and rain dripping off the roof. He'd stirred at daybreak, then pulled himself up off his makeshift bed of clothes and blankets. His leg hurt and he was stiff, but the bleeding had stopped. There didn't look to be any infection.

Now that it was full on into the morning, with the sun up, the ground was soaked and muddy but navigable.

Josiah had kept himself busy. He tried to be as quiet as he could, stacking a fresh pile of wood by the stove, gathering whatever he thought Billie would need, without his assistance, in the coming days.

A few times he was certain he'd heard Billie and the baby stir in their bed, heard suckling sounds, figured if there was any need for him to invade the girl's privacy, she would call out for him. She hadn't.

“What are you doing, Josiah?”

Her voice caught him unaware. Josiah turned his head to see Billie standing in the sunlight, cradling her baby, a certain glow about her that Josiah recognized from his days as a new father. Lily was never more beautiful than right after she'd had a baby.

Billie had combed her long brown hair and let it fall over her shoulders. She had on a fresh yellow dress and was barefoot. Her feet even looked like they were sparkling. Her eyes, nearly the same color as her hair, twinkled, too, and her skin looked healthy and well scrubbed. Somehow, she had managed to clean herself up without Josiah knowing it.

The baby girl was wrapped in a blanket, but Josiah could see her head topped by a full head of hair that was black as coal. A hand reached up out of the blanket, fingers reaching and grabbing for the first time.

He'd been stooped over, straightening the last bit of wood into a proper stack. “Making sure you have everything you need,” he said.

The color drained immediately from Billie's face.

Josiah stood upright then, still dressed in Charlie's clothes, and exhaled deeply with resignation. “I think it's best if I go.”

“You can't leave in broad daylight.”

“They know I'm here, Billie, I'm sure of it. If they don't, they will soon. Daylight will be their chance, too. I saw O'Reilly watching the house. My presence is putting you and the baby in danger. It's hard telling what they'd do to you for helping me.”

Billie walked over to him, her eyes hard and unyielding. The baby gurgled and cooed. “They won't hurt me.”

“I can't take that risk.”

“They'll hunt you down. You think I want to live knowin' that you died because of me?” Billie said.

“If they kill me, it won't be because of you. I told you, O'Reilly and I have a history.”

“Looks more like unfinished business to me.”

“I suppose you're right. Neither of us will rest until one of us is dead. If he found out for certain you gave me food and shelter, he'd take his anger out on you, I'm sure of it.”

Billie turned away from Josiah, tears streaming out of the corners of both her eyes. She was biting the corner of her lip to restrain a full-out cry. The beauty that had previously held her in such grace was now completely gone. She stopped at the door, her back fully to Josiah, and rocked the baby.

“I was hopin' you'd stay,” Billie said, softly, staring down at the baby. “I knew you'd have to leave sooner or later. But I was hopin' to have at least a day or two with you here. More really. At least till I got my strength up. I could keep you well hid, Josiah. There's a root cellar out yonder that ain't too infested with critters. If the need arises for you to disappear there.”

“It'd be the first place they'd look. I'd have no way out.”

“In the barn, then,” Billie pleaded.

“I'm sorry,” Josiah said. “I don't think we have a day to spare. The sooner I leave, the better off you and the baby will be.”

Billie turned and faced Josiah. “There's nothing I can do or say to make you change your mind?”

“No, ma'am, there isn't.”

He wasn't sure of her offer, but there was a different look in Billie's eyes. One he knew, too, and it was not just the glow after having a baby. She was lonely. She missed her husband. She needed a man. But Josiah was not that man . . . and they both knew it. Or, at least, he hoped she knew that was true. He had a life in Austin that was as fragile and new as Billie's baby. He needed to go home—or at least, try to go home.