LITMIR.BIZ

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he had the power to calm his mother. It seemed to work for the baby, too.

      On his return, Billy offered Vivian tea.

      “Thanks.” Maybe it would soothe her nerves, growing tighter with each passing moment. In fact, if she listened carefully, she could hear them humming like frost-tight wires. She wanted only to get to Quinten. She hadn’t been back since being whisked away to the orphanage seven years ago. She could hardly wait to start over as an adult, a mother and according to her plan, the wife of an upstanding citizen.

      A cat rubbed against her leg, startling her. She gasped.

      Billy studied her. “You scared of cats?”

      “No. I just never had one rub against me while I sat at a table.”

      “You never had a pet cat?”

      “No.” Mother had considered cats dirty. The orphanage didn’t allow pets. And the Weimers had cats only in the mill—wild, mangy things you couldn’t get close to. Or want to.

      “Then I guess you might find it unusual to have so many.”

      “How many are there?” She’d tried to count.

      “Eight in the house. More in the barn.”

      “I’m guessing you don’t have trouble with mice.”

      He chuckled. “Would have to be the bravest mouse in the world to hang around here.”

      His easy humor caught her off guard but before she had time to analyze her response, the baby lifted his voice in a demanding wail. She had no idea what he wanted this time. Who knew a baby could be so challenging? She had to figure out what to do with him. Billy already expressed suspicion because of her lack of knowledge in caring for an infant. She wished she could assure him there would be no lawmen after her, but despite the paper in her pocket and Marie’s assurances…

      She balanced the baby in one arm, retrieved the abandoned bottle from near the fireplace and prepared it as she’d seen Billy do. She persuaded Joshua to take the bottle. He sucked eagerly. She burped him when it seemed appropriate, and changed his nappy realizing she would soon have to wash the soiled ones or risk running out of clean ones.

      Billy stayed at the window looking into the emptiness or alternately watching Joshua. Then he caught her gaze.

      She blinked before the compassion in his look, wondering at its source.

      “I heard about your ma and pa. I’m sorry.”

      “What did you hear?”

      “Them dying and leaving you alone. How you got sent to an orphanage. Must have been real tough.”

      Sympathy from this unlikely source unlocked a hidden store of pain that escaped in a rush of words. “You can’t begin to imagine. I lost everything. My family, my home and security. I went from being a loved and cherished only child to being nobody.” She struggled to contain her emotions. She’d felt lost and alone, not just on that dreadful day, but every day following. She knew if she ever let the full force of her feelings escape they would turn into a flood of furious proportions. She sucked in air, pushing down the words, the feelings, the anger and pain.

      She’d learned to deny her feelings and accept her fate. Perhaps too well.

      Until Joshua.

      His birth seemed to have planted a strength in her. Granted, it took almost two months for it to grow enough for her to act, but she was here now—evidence it had reached its potential.

      “You are valued and loved by God. Your circumstances don’t change that.”

      She met his steady blue gaze, let her thoughts follow his words. “I know that.” Her faith was part of who she was, part of what her parents left her, though people would have cause to wonder considering her present circumstance—a baby but no husband.

      “You can trust God when you can’t trust anyone else.”

      She couldn’t break away from his look, guessed his words conveyed far more than she knew. “It’s been tough for you, too.” As soon as the whispered words were out, she wished she could pull them back. She didn’t want to remind him of the cruelty of people; didn’t know how he’d react.

      Billy’s expression went blank, almost stupid. “If you mean how people treat us, it don’t matter to me. Ma and I don’t need anyone else.” He pushed to his feet. “I’m gonna clean up.”

      “I’ll help.” One thing she’d learned, you better make yourself useful or no one would bother with you. And despite her wishes to be somewhere else, she needed to stay here until the storm ended.

      Joshua sucked his bottom lip as she laid him on his side in the stuffed chair. She touched his silky cheek. So beautiful. So sweet. So much responsibility but she would soon have help in raising him. As soon as she reached Quinten and contacted Wayne. One look at this beautiful child they had created together and marriage would be the first thing he’d want so they could give Joshua a loving home, and the benefit of Wayne’s name.

      She turned to help clean the table. Mrs. Black came to the doorway of the pantry, saw Vivian, covered her face and moaned.

      Vivian halted. She didn’t want to upset this woman any further. Slowly, she backed away. Mrs. Black did the same until she was out of sight.

      “Just leave her be,” Billy said, his tone mild, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking it carried no warning.

      She wanted to protest. She’d done nothing to bother the woman except reluctantly find shelter under her roof, but that was obviously more than enough. She grabbed a drying towel from behind the stove. Billy had already washed several dishes and she dried them. They worked in silence.

      One thought consumed her.

      Would she have to stay here for the night? If so, she faced long hours of forcing her eyes to remain open. Mrs. Black’s threatening looks made her afraid of what would happen if she slept.

      “Looks like you’re stuck here.”

      Billy’s words confirmed her worst fears, gave them body and strength.

      From the pantry, his ma screeched.

      The sound gave Vivian’s fears flesh and blood.

      She polished a plate. She needed to count her blessings as Mother had taught her. She was in out of the storm where she would have surely frozen to death. The baby was safe and, best of all, they were together.

      “I think it’s dry.”

      Billy’s slow words made Vivian realize how long she’d been wiping the plate and she handed it to him to put away.

      “You’ll be safe here. As safe as in your own home.”

      Vivian had learned the hard way you weren’t safe even in your own home. Yet his words—or perhaps his tone—eased some of her tension.

      They finished the dishes without further conversation.

      “Ma,” Billy called. “Come out now. You can sit by the fire and card wool.”

      “Noooooo.”

      The sound sent shivers up Vivian’s spine and she again promised herself she would stay awake all night. Perhaps with a poker at her side.

      “You’ll be getting cold.”

      “Bring me my coat.”

      “No, Ma. You can’t stay there.” He went to the pantry. Ignoring a moaning protest, he slowly pulled his mother from the room, his big hands enclosing her smaller ones.

      Vivian hung back, half hidden beside the warm kitchen stove.

      Billy edged his ma toward the wooden rocker and waited until she bent her knees and dropped to its seat. He aimed his bulk toward the stuffed chair, saw the baby at the same time as Vivian cried out. Her heart rattled against her chest

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