To Have and to Hold (Cactus Creek Cowboys) (17 page)

“He’ll be here in a minute.” Naomi knelt down where Wilma was lying on a pallet under the wagon out of the sun. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Like this baby is going to be born any minute.”

Naomi turned to Paul Hill. “Do you have some sheets you can hang around the wagon to give her some privacy?”

Mothers dispatched children to wagons to gather the needed sheets. By the time Naomi’s father arrived, the wagon was draped in sheets of various sizes and colors.

“I need to examine you,” he said to Wilma. “You can wait outside,” he said to her husband. “You can make yourself useful by telling Colby what’s happening.”

Paul Hill looked both reluctant to leave and relieved to be spared his wife’s ordeal.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” the doctor asked Wilma after his examination. “I can see the crown of the baby’s head.”

“I didn’t want to”—Wilma stopped when a contraction caused her to go white—“say anything until I was sure this was a real labor.”

“It’s real all right,” the doctor said. “If you can press down hard, this labor might be over quickly.”

Naomi had often wondered how a woman who’d had one baby could be willing, even anxious, to go through the ordeal of having more. Wilma’s body was soaked with sweat and gripped by agonizing pains.

“It’s coming,” her father said. “Push. It shouldn’t be long now.”

It took more than one push, but minutes later the baby’s shoulders emerged from the birth canal and it slid into the doctor’s hands. The baby took its first breath and let out a cry.

“You’ve got a fine baby boy,” he said to Wilma. “You can be proud of yourself.”

“Can I see him?”

“As soon as I make sure he’s all right.”

It took several minutes before Naomi had the baby clean enough to be placed in his mother’s arms.

“What have you decided to name him?” she asked.

Wilma was too exhausted to talk.

“She said if it was a boy, she was going to name him after his father,” Flora said, “but Paul doesn’t want another Paul in the house.”

“There’ll be plenty of time to decide,” the doctor said. “He won’t be responding to his name any time soon.”

Wilma gazed at her baby with a sense of wonder and happiness. “I think he looks exactly like his father.”

“Why don’t you go put his father out of his misery,” the doctor said to Flora. “The poor man has been jumpy as a frog on a hot stove the whole trip.”

“He didn’t want to try again after I lost our first baby,” Wilma explained, “but I insisted.” She gazed down at her son. “We would never have had this beautiful baby if I hadn’t.”

She had barely finished the sentence when her body was wracked by pain.

“What’s happening?” Flora cried. “She’s not going to die, is she?”

The doctor took the baby from Wilma’s slackened arms and handed him to Naomi. “I’ve suspected all along she was too big for just one baby.”

The second birth came quickly. A little girl made her appearance with less fuss and bother than her brother.

“Paul isn’t going to believe it.” Flora was so excited she stammered. “Two babies at once.”

“You want to tell him?”

“Let Naomi go. I want to stay with Wilma.”

“Take his son to him,” the doctor said.

The crowd was still gathered around when Naomi crawled out from under the wagon. “It’s a boy,” she announced. “And he has a twin sister.”

Everybody wanted to hold the baby, but Naomi told them they had to wait until the father had seen his son. But when Naomi tried to hand the baby to Paul, he was so nervous he backed away.

“I don’t know how to hold a baby,” he protested.

“It’s easy.”

“That’s because you’re a woman. All women know about babies. Men don’t.”

Naomi was about to respond to what she thought was a stupid remark, but Colby forestalled her.

“Let me take him.”

Naomi hesitated.

“If I could handle Little Abe, I can handle Paul, Junior.” He held out his arms, and Naomi placed the baby in them. It took a moment before he had the baby situated so he was comfortable. “See,” he said to Paul. “If a clumsy man like me can do it, so can you.”

There was nothing clumsy about Colby. But what struck Naomi forcefully was that he looked so comfortable, so natural, holding the baby. He actually seemed to like it. Could it be that he would have liked children of his own?

“The baby’s not crying,” one of the children remarked. “Are you sure it’s all right?”

“It’s fine,” Naomi said.

“But all babies cry.”

“Why should he cry?” Pearl Sumner asked. “He’s in the strong arms of a man who can do anything that needs doing. He couldn’t be more safe.”

Naomi was dismayed at the stab of jealousy that Pearl’s remark caused. Had her feelings gotten so far out of hand that she was jealous of any woman who admired Colby, even one who was happily married?

“Why don’t you try to hold him?” Colby asked Paul.

Paul shook his head, but he didn’t back away.

“Just hold out your arms,” Colby said.

“I’ll drop him.”

“I won’t let you. Now hold out your arms.”

Paul looked like he was about to faint, but he complied. Colby placed the baby in his father’s arms then positioned Paul’s arms until he held the baby in a comfortable and natural position.

“See, it’s easy,” Colby said.

Paul looked in shock.

“You’d better get used to it,” Pearl advised. “With two of them to feed, Wilma’s going to need a lot of help.”

Every woman and half the children volunteered to help Wilma at any time, but Naomi doubted Paul heard a single word. He stood there, stiff as an icicle in January, staring at his son like he’d never seen a baby in his life and had no idea what he was to do with one. Flora emerged from under the wagon with the baby daughter in her arms.

“Here is your daughter,” she said to Paul. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Paul looked so close to fainting, Pearl took the baby from him. He managed to collect his wits enough to ask after his wife.

“The doctor says she’s fine,” Flora informed him. “She’s a little tired, but she’s eager to have her babies with her.”

“I made a bed for her in our wagon.”

“You can’t drive the wagon and help with the babies,” Elsa Drummond said. “We have only one wagon so we don’t need Polly. She’ll be glad to help you.”

Renewed offers of help came from every corner.

“I don’t want to rush anyone,” Colby announced, “but we need to get underway as soon as the doctor says Mrs. Hill is ready to travel.”

The women assured him they’d be ready then turned their attention back to the babies.

“I hope their husbands aren’t this fond of babies,” he said to Naomi, “or we’ll never leave.”

“You don’t have to worry. They’re all like Paul. Why aren’t you uncomfortable with that baby?”

“Why should I be? He’s too small to hurt me.”

Naomi laughed. “I don’t mean that. You held him like you were used to it.”

“I figured it couldn’t be that difficult if every woman and child could do it. Besides, Paul has wanted that baby—those babies—for so long it would be a shame if he was too afraid to hold them. He just needed someone to show him how.”

“Why couldn’t he have learned from watching me?”

“Because he figured it was different for a man.”

Naomi stared at him for a moment. “How do you know all of this?”

“All of what?”

“Everything. Horses, snakes, babies,
everything
.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just watch and pay attention. And now I’d better pay attention to getting these wagons moving, or we’ll still be here at nightfall.”

Naomi watched him walk away completely unaware that he’d done anything unusual.

Then maybe it wasn’t unusual for him. Maybe he didn’t think of anything as being too hard, just as a problem to be solved. She’d have to start doing that. There was no going back to Kentucky. The rest of her life would be unfamiliar, an unending series of problems to be solved.

It would be a lot easier if Colby were there to help her.

***

Colby was grateful to have reached the Upper Springs of the Cimarron before dark. A small spring flowed into a ravine four miles from the river. It was a lovely spot surrounded by towering cliffs, craggy spurs, and deep-cut crevices winding through thickets of greenbrier, wild currant and plum bushes, grapevines, and wild gooseberries. The trail passed over a ridge a quarter of a mile from the stream, but before making camp, he’d turned aside so everyone could fill their barrels with its refreshing water.

The new leadership under Dr. Kessling, Vernon Edwards, and Morley Sumner had managed to smooth over some of the antagonism between the factions while Wilma’s safe delivery was a cause for general celebration. Colby was making a last-minute check with Ethan, who’d volunteered for night guard duty in place of Paul Hill who wanted to stay with his wife and new babies.

“Everything’s quiet,” Ethan said from his perch on a mound above the small valley where the animals grazed. “Some of the oxen have lain down.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about a stampede, but don’t doze off. There are pumas around here, and they love mule meat.”

“I have my rifle. I’m a good shot.”

“Who’s your relief?”

“Norman.”

“Let me know if he doesn’t show up.”

“I’m not afraid to go get him.”

“I know, but you’ll need somebody here while you do it.”

Ethan grinned. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“I don’t like what he’s done. He might be a decent man if he wasn’t so wrapped up in his money.”

“He’ll never be decent. I don’t know why Sibyl married him. I mean, I
know
why she did it, but Naomi nearly had a fit. Sibyl wouldn’t listen to anything she said. That upset Naomi because they’d always been close.”

Colby was uncomfortable hearing details he didn’t want to know. “It’s time I head off to bed. I want to get moving early tomorrow.”

It was a short walk back to the circled wagons, but Colby was tempted to pause and enjoy the night. It could hide many dangers, but could set everything else at a distance, leaving him able to see himself more clearly than he could in the daytime with so many demands on him.

He had hoped to have more time to talk with Naomi. He needed to sort out the feelings she aroused in him, needed to find a way to get over feeling he wasn’t in control, that he was careening toward a place he couldn’t see and didn’t know anything about. He didn’t like that. Ever since he ran away, everything had been about control because he could depend only on himself. Elizabeth had been the only time he’d put himself into the position of being dependent on someone else. He didn’t mean to repeat that mistake.

He was certain he wasn’t in love with Naomi. Yet he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something significant and powerful was happening. Otherwise, why would he keep pursuing an explanation of love when he’d already decided it didn’t exist? Was he trying to convince himself that he was wrong, that it would be different with Naomi?

It
would
be different, but that didn’t mean it would be right. Did he believe what he wanted was possible? If he was certain, would he recognize it when he found it…
if
he found it?

Why was he driving himself crazy? He had started by attempting to enjoy the night before going to bed, but he’d ended up beleaguering himself with questions he couldn’t answer. Time to bid the night good-bye and put himself to bed.

The camp was quiet. After so much activity earlier, the stillness was almost eerie, like it was a ghost camp. He wondered when he’d started to be so fanciful. He never used to think of things like that. It would be better to make the rest of the trip as quickly as possible, but they still had about one hundred and fifty miles to go before they reach La Junta. The sooner he got away, the sooner he’d start feeling like he was in control again.

He tossed his bedroll on the ground and spread it alongside the Kesslings’ wagon. He could hear the sound of Ben’s soft breathing, but no sounds came from inside the wagon. He wondered how he could be so aware of a woman he could neither see nor hear that he had difficulty sleeping. It didn’t make sense, but so much about his feelings for Naomi didn’t make sense.

He dropped down on his bedroll and started to remove his boots. He didn’t undress, but he couldn’t sleep in his boots. Once they were off, he removed his socks. It felt good to wiggle his toes in the cool, night air. He and the boys had taken quick baths once they were well away from the camp so he felt fresh and clean. Having accepted one set of clothes from Morley, he’d let himself be talked into accepting more. It felt good to wear clean clothes even if they had been washed in the Cimarron.

A sound from inside the wagon caught his attention. It sounded like Naomi had turned over. He didn’t hear anything else so his thoughts returned to his bed. When he lay back, there was a rock right where his left shoulder rested. With a silent curse, he sat up again.

Naomi must be restless tonight. She was moving about again. Maybe she was still keyed up from helping her father deliver the babies. He could still see the stunned look on Paul’s face when he held his son. Would he have felt like that if he’d been able to hold his own child minutes after its birth? The question was so painful he forced it from his mind. That chance had been gone years ago. It was pointless to revisit it.

He was relieved when Naomi went quiet again, and he returned his attention to the stone. It wasn’t very large, but it was sharp. Unsure of where to put it so it wouldn’t cause injury, he carried it to the river and tossed it in. He was halfway back when he heard the first scream.

Colby reached the wagon and was tearing at the flap before Ben came awake. When he climbed inside the wagon, Naomi threw herself at him.

“I know what happened,” she sobbed. “I saw it.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “What did you see?”

“I saw the man I killed.”

Colby didn’t believe Naomi had killed anybody, but there had to be an explanation for this dream. Something she’d seen, something she’d heard, maybe even something she’d imagined. “You didn’t kill anybody,” he said, hoping to soothe her fears. “You just think you did.”

“I did. I know I did because I saw it.”

Ben stuck his head in the wagon. “Is she having her nightmares again?” He was so sleepy it was hard to understand his words.

“It seems so.”

“I wish she’d stop having ’em. She scared me half out of my wits.” Ben looked too sleepy to feel anything beyond fatigue.

“Get your father. If anybody else asks what happened, just tell them she had a bad dream.”

“Everybody already knows,” Ben complained. “She’s been having them forever. The first time she woke practically everybody in Spencer’s Clearing.”

“I don’t want to be arrested,” Naomi pleaded.

“You won’t be arrested. It was only a dream.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was real. I know it.” She was insistent, frantic.

“It won’t be as frightening if you tell me about it.”

Naomi shuddered. “I’m not sure I can. It’s too horrible.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning, before anything happened?”

Naomi sat up, pushed her hair out of her eyes. “All the women were at a quilting bee. It was coming winter, and people can always use an extra quilt.”

“Where were you quilting?” He hoped if he asked questions, she’d start to relax.

“We were at Norman’s. His was the biggest house.”

“Where were the men?”

“They’d gone hunting. Pearl couldn’t quilt because she was making apple butter. She said the younger children could stay with her if Polly would help look after them.”

“Why did you leave the quilting?” she asked.

“How did you know I left?”

“Nobody else has these dreams so you must have been somewhere else when it happened.”

Naomi held her head in both hands. “The ladies decided one of the quilts should be for Papa. I had some scraps from a dress my mother used to wear that I wanted to put in the quilt. I thought he would like that.”

“Where did you go?”

“I was going to our house, but I had to walk past Grandpa’s house to get there. He had wanted to go hunting, but he had a cold in his chest, so Papa made him stay home. I heard a noise when I was walking past. It sounded like a grunt or a cough. Then I heard a crash and another grunt. I knew Grandpa kept a shotgun by the back door, so I ran around the back, went inside, took down the shotgun, and tiptoed to the front room.”

When she didn’t continue, Colby asked, “What did you see?”

A sob shook Naomi’s body, and Colby realized she hadn’t continued because she was weeping. He held her a little tighter.

“Grandpa was lying on the floor covered with blood. A man stood over him clubbing him with the stock of his rifle. Grandpa didn’t move, but the man kept hitting him with his rifle and muttering awful oaths.”

“What did you do?”

“I must have made some noise, a gasp, a groan, something. The man turned and saw me. He said a horrible blasphemy and pointed his rifle at me. I must have shot him because the next thing I knew he was lying on the floor.” She shuddered. “There was blood all over him.”

“What did you do then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything until I woke up in my bed at home. Papa said I’d had a fever for three days and had been delirious. He said Grandpa had died the night I found him. He said the fever must have been the result of shock, that the fever must have caused me to dream the rest.”

It didn’t sound to Colby like something that would happen to a strong-minded woman like Naomi, but shock could do terrible things to the mind. He’d seen soldiers go berserk who saw their comrades shot or blown to pieces. Some even turned their guns on themselves.

“It was a few days before I was well enough to see people. At first I thought everybody was the same. Then I realize they were upset. I figured it was because of Grandpa. Everybody liked him. But after I got better, I noticed they weren’t acting like themselves.”

“How?”

“Some acted confused, like they were waiting for something to happen but didn’t know what. Others were nervous and tended not to look me in the eye. Conversations were broken off when I approached.”

“Did you ask why they had changed?”

“They said it was just my imagination. Gradually everything returned to normal so I forgot about it. Until the first dream.”

“What was it like?”

“Just lots of blood. I didn’t see anybody and couldn’t tell where it was. Gradually the dreams got worse. I could see a room and then bodies. Papa said I must have gotten Grandpa’s death mixed up with my aunt and uncle. I tried to believe it, but the dreams got clearer until tonight when I realized it was Grandpa on the floor and the man had killed him.”

“Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“It was so clear I couldn’t be mistaken,” Naomi insisted. “I saw Grandpa and a soldier. I know he was a soldier because he was wearing a Union Army uniform.”

Now Colby understood. “Is that why you thought the army had sent me after you?”

Naomi nodded.

“Do you think you killed that soldier?”

“I had to. There was nobody else there.”

“What happened to the blood?”

“I cleaned it up.”

At the sound of her father’s voice, Naomi jumped and gave a small gasp. Her father stood at the open end of the wagon.

“How long have you been listening?” Colby asked.

“Long enough.”

“Tell us what really happened. I think you owe your daughter that much.”

Dr. Kessling lifted the flap and climbed into the wagon.

“Why did you try to convince Naomi it was a dream?” Colby asked.

“To spare her the knowledge that she’d killed a man. And then to keep her safe. If she didn’t remember, she wouldn’t have to lie to anyone later.”

“I knew it!” Naomi gasped. “I knew it.”

“Tell her what happened. I know Naomi well enough to know it wasn’t her fault.”

“It was a strange event for which we have no explanation,” the doctor began. “Apparently this soldier had deserted. I don’t know why he decided to rob people in Spencer’s Clearing. I can only guess that my father-in-law came upon the soldier after he’d broken into the house.”

The army had had its share of deserters during the first years of the war, but most of them had just wanted to go home. They hadn’t expected the war to last more than a few months. They had crops to tend and families to feed.

“When the man turned his rifle on Naomi, she shot him. The recoil must have thrown her against the wall. When we got there, she was unconscious and both men were dead.”

“Did you tell anyone in the army what had happened?”

“No,” Dr. Kessling said.

“Why?”

“There had been several bloody skirmishes in the area between the two armies, and neither side trusted us. After the trouble in Kansas, the Union Army watched everything we did. It was only our word that one of their soldiers was killed trying to rob an old man.”

“Did anyone look for him?”

“Yes, but by the time the troops arrived, all they found was a town in mourning for the death of a well-loved old man.”

“What happened to the soldier’s body?” Naomi asked.

“We buried him in the bottom of your grandfather’s grave.”

Colby thought they’d made a poor decision, but he couldn’t blame them. “What did you do with his horse?”

“One of the men, I don’t know who, released him a long way from Spencer’s Clearing. We heard later that they had found the horse even farther west.”

Colby didn’t like what he heard, but they were used to living in a town where there was no such thing as crime. “Is that why the whole town decided to move west?”

“Yes. He must have told someone he was coming through Spencer’s Clearing because they sent a colonel to question us a few months later. He said it was strange that they should find the horse but no sign of the soldier. Another soldier had deserted, one who had courted one of our young women, and the colonel suspected we knew something about his disappearance. He nosed around asking a lot of questions. We figured once the war was over, they would come back again. Only this time, they might do more than ask questions.”

“Like what?”

“I’m a doctor. I don’t know what you do to people when you try to force information out of them. We didn’t have any information we could give without incriminating ourselves, and we weren’t willing to see our wives and children frightened, so we decided it was best to leave.”

The story was plausible, but it still sounded weak. However, that wasn’t Colby’s problem. His job was to see that they got to La Junta.

“I wish you’d told me,” Naomi said to her father. “I could have stood the truth better than these nightmares and the doubt.”

“I wish I had, too, but we made the decision for the safety of the whole community. If you didn’t know anything, you couldn’t divulge anything by accident. Nor would you act guilty. It wasn’t just that. I knew how much you loved your grandfather. I thought you’d be happier if you didn’t know how he died. Nor did I want the weight of that soldier’s death on your conscience. I may not have made the right decisions—
we
may not have made the right decisions—but we did what we thought was best for everybody.”

Colby’s decisions had always been easy and clear-cut because he’d never had to make decisions for anyone but himself. He wondered how he’d react if he were forced to make the wrong decision for the right reasons. The doctor’s dilemma forced him to see how narrow his thinking had been. At some point, he’d opted to take the easy way out. He hadn’t thought of it that way at the time, but that’s what it looked like now.

Naomi turned to Colby. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re in the army. I killed a soldier.”

“I’m
not
in the army so I have no responsibility to it. In any case, I’d have done what you did. It doesn’t matter that he was wearing a uniform. He was a thief, deserter, and a murderer. If you hadn’t shot him, the army would have hanged him. You should have gone straight to the nearest army headquarters and reported what had happened. As it is, they’ve probably written him off as a deserter and forgotten about him. The army is much more concerned about Reconstruction in the South.”

“You don’t think anyone will come after me?”

“There’s no way to connect you with the disappearance of the soldier. Do you know his name?”

“Vernon may have discovered his name before they buried him,” the doctor said, “but the shotgun blast tore him up pretty badly. They buried him in the blanket they use to carry him out of Papa Brown’s house.”

“No one will come after you,” Colby told Naomi, “but it wouldn’t matter if they did because you were within your rights. Now I hope you don’t have this dream again.”

“Do you think you can rest now?” her father asked. “I need to get back to Wilma. I’m not happy with the way she’s doing.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Colby offered.

“Nobody needs to stay with me,” Naomi insisted. “I’m fine now.”

Colby wasn’t sure, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll be outside. All you have to do is call.”

“I know.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to do but leave.

“Keep an eye on her,” the doctor asked Colby when they were outside once again. “She may think she’s happier knowing what happened, but she adored her grandfather. To see him die like that must have been awful.”

“She’s a strong young woman,” Colby said. “It may take a little while, but she’ll handle it.”

“I know that, but she went through so much with her mother’s death I try to spare her whenever I can.”

“Is she going to scream again?” Ben asked when Colby slipped back into his bedroll.

“I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

Colby thought Ben had gone to sleep, but he spoke again moments later.

“I didn’t know about Grandpa.” He didn’t sound the least bit sleepy. “If I’d been the one to shoot that soldier, I wouldn’t be having any bad dreams.”

“Killing somebody is a hard thing, even when they need killing.”

“Have you killed anybody?”

This wasn’t a conversation Colby wanted to have, but it couldn’t be avoided. “Yes.”

“Was it hard for you?”

Was it hard? In the beginning he’d been so full of anger he looked for excuses for violence. Later it was forced on him in order to survive. During the war, he was told it was his patriotic duty to kill enemy soldiers. Had it been hard? No, but it had changed him.

“Sometimes we have to kill to protect those we love.”

“Like the Indians?”

“A lot of people are bad, not just Indians. But no matter who it is or why we do it, it should never be easy. You lose a little bit of your soul, and that ought to hurt.”

“I didn’t know a soul could hurt.”

“It can hurt worse than a bullet or an arrow.”

“I’m glad my soul doesn’t hurt.”

“I am, too. Now you’d better get some sleep. We’re behind schedule so I want to make a long drive tomorrow.”

“Can I ride Papa’s horse?”

“You’ll have to talk to Naomi.”

Ben groaned. “She won’t let me. She’s already told Papa he has to buy her a horse when we get to Santa Fe. I want one, too. Will you pick it out for me?”

“I’m not going to Santa Fe.” Ben didn’t need to know he’d been driven out of Santa Fe and told not to come back.

“Where are you going?”

How could he answer that when he didn’t know himself? “I don’t have an exact location, but I know where I want to start looking.”

“Can’t you look where we’re going? When we find a place, will you come see us?”

“A lot can change between now and then.”

“But you’ll come, won’t you?”

“Why do you want to see me? You hardly know me.”