The Bridegroom (15 page)

“A good day to you, young Yarbro,” he said.

And then he turned, without waiting for a response, and headed back toward the mine and the shanties beyond, weaving as he went.

Watching, Gideon was reminded of the way a wolf or coyote will pretend to be wounded, in order to draw its prey into the midst of the waiting pack.

D
R.
V
ENABLE,
L
YDIA SOON LEARNED,
was a very old man, with a thin white film of cataracts covering both his eyes. His wife, Kitty, brought him to the house, sitting ably at the reins of a one-horse buggy, and when they came in through the back door, she carried his medical kit.

By then, with help from Sarah, who had arrived soon after Lydia had sent the children away, she had changed the bedclothes and Lark’s nightgown, and it seemed the worst of the bleeding was over. Lark had stopped screaming, but whether that was because the pain had subsided or because she was simply too exhausted to cry out, there was no way to know.

Although awake, Lark was mostly unresponsive.

She found enough strength to speak when the doctor entered, though. “My baby,” she whispered, when the old man bent over her, murmuring gruff
there nows
and pressing a stethoscope to her distended belly. “Doc, my baby—”

“Shush, now,” he replied hoarsely. “I hear somebody in there, raising hell, like any Yarbro might be expected to do.”

Lydia and Sarah, standing at the foot of the bed, exchanged hopeful glances. The baby was still alive, then.

This was something Rowdy would want to know. Wyatt had brought Sarah to the house, and persuaded his brother to come downstairs to keep his vigil.

Rowdy hadn’t wanted to leave Lark’s side, Lydia remembered, her throat tight. But Wyatt had spoken quietly, insistently, said they’d only be in the way if they stayed, a couple of outlaws like them. At a time like this, Wyatt’s reasoning went, a woman wanted other females for company, and nobody else—except for a doctor.

“Turn back those covers,” “Doc,” as Lark had addressed him, told his wife. “Have a look and tell me what you see.”

Sarah took Lydia’s hands, squeezed it hard.

And by tacit agreement, the two of them slipped out of the room.

In all the excitement, Lydia and Sarah had not spoken much, but they’d worked in concert to make Lark more comfortable, and several times, Lark had managed a grateful if frighteningly absent smile that took them both in.

Rowdy and Wyatt were at the kitchen table, when the two women descended the rear stairway.

Sarah went, not to her husband, but to her brother-in-law. Laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Doc heard the baby’s heart beating,” she said quietly. “There’s reason to hope, Rowdy.”

He didn’t move, or speak, just stared down into the full and obviously cold cup of coffee sitting in front of him.

“I’ve known Doc all my life,” Sarah went on gently, probably thinking, as Lydia was, that while knowing his unborn child was alive was a great relief to Rowdy, he was still crazy with worry over Lark. “He was Papa’s dearest friend. He’ll take good care of them
both
.”

Rowdy made a sound, but didn’t lift his head. “He’s blind,” he muttered, a few seconds later.

“Kitty sees for him,” Sarah replied. “You know that.”

“I wish Hon Sing was here,” Rowdy said.

Wyatt said something in response, but Lydia didn’t hear what it was.

Needing something to do, so she wouldn’t break down, Lydia set about brewing a pot of tea. She and Sarah could use the lift it would give them, and maybe Lark would even manage a few sips, though that probably wouldn’t happen.

She hadn’t thought of Gideon, except fleetingly, since she’d arrived at this house and heard Lark’s terrible screams. Therefore, when, looking out the window above the sink as she pumped water into the copper teakettle, she saw him vault over the back fence, not bothering with the gate, and sprint toward the house, she was startled.

The door flew open, and Gideon spared her one brief glance, as though she were a mere acquaintance, someone he’d met once or twice, and her name escaped him.

Maybe it had.

It was plain from the pallor in Gideon’s face that he’d learned that Lark was in a desperate way—most likely, he’d gone by the Porter house, earlier, and found Julia and the other children there. Julia, who adored her younger uncle, though he didn’t seem to notice that, would have told him what few terrifying facts she knew.

“Lark—?” he said to Rowdy.

“It’s the baby,” Rowdy said distractedly. “Something’s wrong.”

Wyatt looked up at Gideon, looming over the table, and ordered quietly, “Sit down. Doc’s with her now, and there’s not much any of us can do but wait.”

Sarah had moved to stand behind Wyatt now, her hands resting on her husband’s shoulders. But she looked at Gideon with such sisterly tenderness that Lydia’s heart squeezed.

She wished she had the courage to stand behind her own husband, the way Sarah was standing behind Wyatt, and lay her hands on his shoulders, but she knew, after this morning, that Gideon wouldn’t welcome such a familiar gesture.

Upstairs, Lark cried out again.

All three of the Yarbro men got to their feet at the same time.

“No,” Sarah said, moving swiftly to block them from rushing up the stairs. “Let Doc do what he needs to do. I’ll go up and see what’s happening—and Lydia will make tea.”

“Tea?” Wyatt croaked.

But he sat down again, and so did Gideon and finally, Rowdy, too, returned to his chair.

Lydia busied herself finishing up that batch of tea, shaking all over, Lark’s latest anguished cry echoing in her ears. With her back to the men, she felt free to weep, and allowed her tears to flow.

Sarah went briskly up the stairs, a small, trim figure, all business.

Lydia continued to go through the motions, finding a spouted pot, and then searching out the pretty enameled box where Lark kept tea leaves. She set a kettle on the stove to heat, barely glancing at Gideon as she passed because she wanted so badly to stop and touch him, reassure him somehow.

Gideon adored Lark, just as she did. Even when he was a boy of sixteen, and Lydia herself only eight, he’d looked up to the new schoolmarm. He’d even gone to class, Lydia recalled with a pang, though that had probably been because Rowdy had forced him.

She felt his gaze resting on her before she turned away from the stove, and when she did, their eyes connected, locked.

The despair Lydia saw in Gideon’s face rocked her; left no room for hurt feelings. Looking at him, she felt only love, only a desire to hold him and tell him everything would be all right.

But that wasn’t to be.

Sarah came back downstairs, hurrying, a little breathless, before Lydia could say a single word to Gideon.

“The baby’s come!” Sarah cried, smiling and weeping both at once. “Rowdy, the baby’s here, and she’s—she’s breathing—”

Rowdy scraped back his chair and headed for the stairs, and this time, no one tried to stop him. No one could have.

“Lark?” Wyatt asked hoarsely, when Rowdy had gone.

“She’s—alive,” Sarah whispered, dashing at her face with the back of one hand. “The baby is small, and she’ll need extra care, but Doc says she’s sound.”

The newborn squalled just then, a puny sound, but a determined one.

Wyatt rose, went to his wife, took her into his arms. Held her while she wept, murmuring to her.

Lydia was so caught up in watching them, feeling both exultation over the baby’s arrival and envy because of the tender way Wyatt and Sarah comforted each other, that she was caught unawares when Gideon stepped up behind her, pulled her back against him, and kissed the top of her head.

It was all she could do not to turn into his arms—but she knew she mustn’t. Gideon meant to leave her—he’d told her so that morning, straight-out—and she had to stop loving him.

Had to stop needing him.

Somehow.

After a few moments, she stiffened, and, with a sigh, Gideon released her. Stepped away.

She went back to making tea.

Wyatt said he’d better go out to the ranch, see to the kids and feed the livestock, promised Sarah he’d come back as soon as he could, and left. After some private words between
Wyatt and Gideon, too low to be heard but obviously heated, both men left the house.

The teakettle boiled.

Sarah fetched two cups and two saucers from the breakfront, and Lydia poured hot water into the teapot.

All this transpired without a word passing between the two women.

They sat companionably at the table, across from each other, and sipped from their teacups.

Some time had gone by when Doc Venable came carefully down the back stairs, Kitty holding his arm and carrying his kit.

Sarah and Lydia both rose immediately. Lydia’s heart was pounding in her throat, and she suspected it was the same for Sarah.

“Lark?” both women asked, at the very same moment.

Kitty, not only the doctor’s wife, it seemed, but his eyes, as well, smiled, though a little sadly. “She’ll pull through, I think,” she said. “But there won’t be any more babies.”

Doc made a harrumph sound. “Five ought to be enough for anybody,” he blustered.

Dizzy with relief, Lydia literally fell back into her chair.

“Lark will need some tending,” Kitty went on, after giving her husband an affectionate elbow to the ribs in response to his crusty remark. “And since men aren’t much good in these situations—” Doc harrumphed again at that “—one of you will have to sit with her until she’s stronger.”

“I will,” Lydia and Sarah chorused.

A moment later, Sarah went to Doc, kissed his grizzled old cheek. “Lydia and I will take turns,” she said.
“Thank you.”

“Seems like I’m still good for something after all,” Doc said heartily.

“I don’t know what we’d have done without you,” Sarah answered, and Lydia knew her sister-in-law had addressed the remark to Kitty, as much as the doctor.

“Send word,” Kitty said, already steering her nearly sightless husband toward the rear door, “if Lark starts bleeding again, or shows any signs of a fever. Day or night—no matter the time.”

Lydia and Sarah both nodded.

When they’d gone, Sarah turned to Lydia. Smiled gently. “You’ve been here for a long time,” she said. “Go home, Lydia. Get some rest. I’ll stay with Lark until morning, and you can come back then.”

Lydia hesitated, then saw the wisdom in Sarah’s words. There was no point in both of them staying.

“What about your children?” Lydia asked, worried.

“Wyatt will look after them, and our oldest boy, Owen, too—Owen and his wife, Shannie, will see to things—they live just over the hill from us. All the little ones will be fine, Lydia. And so, thank heaven, will Lark.”

Lydia nodded, swallowed. She’d been so brave all day, but now that the crisis was past, at least for the moment, she felt as though the floor had turned spongy under her feet.

But Rowdy and Lark’s four children would be waiting for word, and so would the aunts. They were old ladies, not used to such upheavals as they’d endured lately, and while Helga could be trusted to keep them calm, she’d probably had a hard day, too.

“What about Hank and Julia and the little ones?” Lydia asked.

Sarah smiled, though her eyes were bright with tears. “Send them on home. They’ll want to see their mother, and their baby sister, too, and they need to be where Rowdy is, even though he probably won’t pay them much mind for a while.”

Again, Lydia nodded. She glanced once at the ceiling, offering a silent prayer for Lark and the new baby, for all of them, and started for the door.

Sarah stopped her with a few softly spoken words of concern. “You’ll be all right? Walking home by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine,” Lydia said. For she’d learned something important about herself that day—that she was stronger than she’d ever dreamed of being. Even when Gideon was gone, she would go on, find ways to get through the days and, worse, the nights. “I’ll be just fine.”

T
HE OLD
P
ORTER HOUSE WAS DARK
when Gideon let himself in through the kitchen door that night. No sign of the aunts or Helga—or Lydia.

They were probably sound asleep, all of them, even though it was relatively early. After all, it had been one hell of a day.

Gideon fumbled until he found one of the light fixtures, bolted to the wall next to the door, and turned up the gas until the room took on a soft glow.

He’d tried to be quiet, but without success evidently, because a door opened and closed somewhere nearby, and then Helga appeared, looking formidable in her nightcap and wrapper.

“There’s a plate for you in the warming oven,” she said, none too hospitably.

Gideon nodded, wondering if Lydia had confided in the housekeeper about his leaving, and decided she probably hadn’t had the chance, given the events of the day. Lydia had spent the bulk of it tending Lark and, according to Wyatt, she’d done a fine job of it.