The Meeting Place (30 page)
A querulous voice startled them both. “Well, well, if it isn't the lady of the forest.”
Catherine moved away from her husband's embrace to face Matty Dwyer, the sharp-faced drover's wife. Before she could think of how to respond, the woman said, “Been taking more of those walks of yours, have you? And this time with the baby.”
Catherine felt the breath freeze in her throat. Fortunately, her father was busy with the drovers, including the woman's own husband, and not paying any mind to their conversation.
“Uncommon strange it is, how a mother would take a newborn up into the forest like that.” Matty Dwyer's eyes seemed gripped by fever, the way they burned and probed. “Makes a body wonder, it does.”
“There's nothing to wonder about,” Andrew said, using as sharp a tone as Catherine had ever heard from him.
“Yes, wonder why a mother would risk her child like that,” the woman said, ignoring Andrew. She turned away and tossed over her shoulder, “I imagine other folks might wonder who it is she's been in such an all-fired rush to speak with. And why.”
Catherine stared after the woman, her heart squeezed by the sudden fright. Only when Matty Dwyer had moved behind her husband's wagon did Catherine bury her face against Andrew's jacket and cling to him. “What are we to do?” she whispered.
“Exactly as we are doing now,” Andrew said. Anyone else would think the man remained utterly untouched by the confrontation. But Catherine could hear the trace of concern, even as he attempted to hide it from her. “We must remember our mission here.”
“I'm so afraid.”
“Be strong, for us, for Elspeth, for Antoinette. And hurry back,” she heard him whisper. “I am going to be so lonely until I get my two girls back home again. I am almost glad I've been called off to Annapolis Royal.”
“Annapolis Royal? But you've said nothing.”
“Word came last eve, by dispatch.” He glanced at the baby. “You have been so worried I was not sure whether I should tell you at all.”
“No, no, you did right.” But she could not help her feeling of distress, as though somehow he was abandoning them. “Must you go?”
“The general signed the orders. I am to leave at first light tomorrow.” He ran a hand over Elspeth's blankets that now bundled Antoinette. “I shall miss you terribly.”
“Did they say why?”
“The summons said nothing further, only that I am ordered to muster my troops and appear. But I'm quite sure to be home again before you.”
Catherine held him tighter still. “Do be careful.”
“It is you going on the perilous journey.” He looked down at her with a grave smile. “I will be counting the days. I will miss youâboth of youâso much.”
Yes. Yes, it would be hard for Andrew. He would miss leaning over the small crib and watching his daughter respond with chortles and squeals of delight at seeing him. He would miss giving her rides on his polished boot. Letting her tug at his mustache, wrap tiny fingers in his hair. Yes, he would miss them both.
Catherine pushed herself back. Her father was anxious to be on the trail. They had a long way to go. She heard the horses of the accompanying soldiers stomping in impatience. She must go. She must. “Pray for me,” she whispered.
Andrew nodded.
“And I will pray for you. Every day. Every mile of the way,” Catherine promised and with one last look into his eyes she turned toward the clumsy cart.
They had fashioned a seat of pine boards, padded only by a heavy moose-hide throw. It would not help much with the sharp jolts and jars, but it was a place to sit and hold Antoinette as the heavy cart rumbled its way over the rugged bushland trail.
Andrew helped her to settle herself, spoke a quiet greeting to John Price, and squeezed her arm with one final good-bye. Catherine's father flicked the reins, and the conveyance jerked into motion. As they started up, Catherine turned from a final wave to Andrew to see Matty Dwyer standing on the trail's opposite side, her arms folded across her chest, watching intently as the wagons rolled off. Catherine turned. She had no time for the woman's prying ways. Not then. She fought to control her tears as her thoughts traveled to her infant daughter. Did Elspeth have the same feelings, sleeping in another cradle? Did she look about her at strange facesâthe unfamiliar roomâand wonder what had happened to her world?
Catherine forced the thoughts aside. God was with her baby, with all of them. There was a duty to be done. The baby in her arms needed medical attention. She would do her best to see that the little one got the help she neededâin time.
She lifted the infant to her shoulder and brushed a kiss against the hot little face.
Please let us hurry. Please, let us get there with no delays
, she pleaded silently.
Her father stood stoutly before her, his legs braced wide against the roll and pitch of the cart. The driver of the lead wagon was not hurrying the team. Good sense demanded that they travel cautiously. But her father would make certain they would not dawdle. Catherine knew him well enough to be sure of that fact. Unless something totally unforeseen happened, they would arrive in Halifax precisely as planned. For Catherine, it could not be too soon.
“Look at her. She is a little pig,” chuckled Louise as Elspeth nursed hungrily.
Henri smiled. “No wonder she is so round,” he responded.
“And several pounds heavier than our Antoinette,” Louise added.
“Our little girl will soon catch up. When she comes homeâthis one better be on her guard. Our Antoinette will soon make her look like the runt of the litter.”
Louise smiled. It was exhilarating to think about Antoinette returning strong and healthy. But she sighed when she thought of the long, long way to Halifax. Henri, who had once visited the market there, had drawn a crude map in the dust of the garden path to show which way their baby would travel. Louise tried not to fret as the time passed and the distance grew greater and greater between her and her child. Would Antoinette travel safely all the way there and all the way back? Thoughts she tried to shield against continued to stab her heart. What would happen if she did not endure the trip? Would her baby be buried beside the trail in some remote part of the forest? And if she were, what then? What would become of Henri and her? How would Catherine explain that she could lose a babyâyet still have a baby in her cradle? Would Catherine be
churched
, as she had once feared? What would happen to Andrew's career as a military man?
Louise again pushed all of the troubling thoughts aside as Elspeth pulled away from her nursing. Milk dribbled down one side of her mouth, and Louise couldn't help but laugh as she wiped it away with a corner of the blanket. A loud burp escaped the small child even before Louise could lift her to a shoulder. The young woman laughed again outright. Elspeth responded with a giggle of her own.
The soft sound brought tears to Louise's eyes. Was this what it was like to have a healthy child? Was this what she could one day enjoy? If Catherine brought her this gift of joy, of peace from troubled nights and long, anxious days, it would be far more than she would ever be able to repay. Louise closed her eyes, pretending for one moment that it was Antoinette who squirmed happily in her arms.
It was going to be so hard to wait.
The thought that Catherine came back to again and again throughout the four long days of travel was
God's hand is on this journey
.
The little baby did surprisingly well. There were times when she whimpered and squirmed as the wagon bounced over boulders, or the team of horses slipped and struggled through muddy bogs. Though the baby was so fragile looking, with dark circles under her eyes, Antoinette seemed to be holding up well. Catherine checked often, feeling her forehead for fever, passing a finger lightly over the little head's soft spot to watch for dehydration, coaxing the child to nurse, if only a few drops of nourishing liquid. Antoinette's dark eyes seemed to study Catherine carefully, no doubt puzzled about the change of face bending over her.
Hour after hour the wagon jounced and pitched on the rough trail, climbing ever higher through great trees which stood like ghostly sentries above unseen cliffs. Catherine prayed over the little one, watching Antoinette and stroking the fine dark hair, the smooth cheek.
John Price seemed little concerned with the baby's presence. Having never paid the child much mind, here on the trail he seemed to have even less time for his granddaughter. He remained preoccupied with his papers, which he continually perused. Eventually growing impatient with their slow progress, he barked at the sergeant major, urging them to greater speed.
Throughout the third day of travel, the summer fog did not lift, but rather condensed and settled more firmly. That evening, as Catherine moved away from the fire and began to nurse the baby, she realized just how isolated she had become. God seemed very far away just then. All the growth and strength she had sensed within herself vanished in a cloud of fatigue and confusion.
She longed for her little Elspeth. The pain was so sharp she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. She searched the night but saw only drifting tendrils of silvery mist and trunks huge as temple pillars and shrouded by dark.
What am I doing here? How could I have ever thought to leave my baby behind and take to the road with someone else's child?
She heard the sentry's steady footsteps count a circle around their gathering, listened to the soldiers talking quietly by the fire, and turned her back to them all so they would not hear her weeping.
But the next morning, when she awoke before the others to a world of green and a sky of sweeping blue, she herself felt reborn. They had made camp upon a high knob, surrounded by stony peaks and forest valleys of emerald green. The night's fears seemed as distant as nightmares from her childhood. She looked down at the pale and silent Antoinette, and felt a sudden welling of love. It was not the same as for her own Elspeth. No, but it felt like God was using this journey to create new space in her heart, a space intended to hold even more love than before, a love for this needy little child.
Henri leaned over the crib and chuckled as the little face immediately blossomed into a delighted laugh. “She is a cheerful one, isn't she?”
Louise moved over to stand beside her husband. “She is that.”
He glanced at his wife. “This is hard for you, no? Seeing healthy Elspeth here, the one who is not your own.”
“In a way, yes. I miss Antoinette so.” Louise reached out and allowed the tiny waving fist to attach itself to one finger. “Yet I feel as though I am looking after my own sister's child.”
Even so, as she reached down into the crib and bundled up the infant, Louise felt a hollow ache for the child who belonged there.
Please, dear Lord, make my baby well
. But all she said was, “Time for the little one's next feeding.”
Henri reached up, and with a movement of surprising gentleness for all his strength, he brushed a lock from Louise's face. “You are a good woman. Better than I should ever deserve.”
She made to laugh, though at the moment it would take some effort. “Do you see how she feeds? Never have I seen one as hungry as Elspeth.”
But Henri's gaze was soft and open and only for his wife. “I do not know why the Lord decided to bring us together,” he murmured. “But I thank Him every day for the gift of you.”
The longing of her heart gradually eased, as though she heard not just the words her husband spoke, but rather another voice speaking along with his. One so filled with love she could not help but accept the gift of peace. She settled the nursing baby more comfortably and asked, “Would you pray with me for our baby?”
