Beyond This Moment (56 page)

"I planned on telling you everything ... the night of the sleigh ride. But aft-" Her voice broke as tears renewed. "But after I told you about the baby that night, I was too afraid that you would-" She shook her head. "That you would look at me ... like you're looking at me now."

He tried, but he couldn't turn away. It felt as if someone had just told him that up was down, and down was up. He simply couldn't get what she'd said to make sense in his head. At the same time, every doubt he'd had about her returned. He'd known something wasn't right. He'd sensed it. But he'd put those doubts aside because he loved Molly Whitcomb with everything in him.

But right now, he felt as though he were looking at a stranger.

She squeezed his hand, and only then did he realize that his grip on hers had gone slack.

She slowly drew her hand away. "I came to be with child outside of wedlock, and I deserve to pay for that mistake. I have, and will, again. But you ... you didn't do anything wrong, James. And yet my mistake-my sin-is costing you dearly. And I'm so, so very sorry:'

James felt a wetness on his cheeks and wiped it away.

"Please;' she whispered. "Say something:"

He swallowed, doubting he could speak past the knot in his throat. He heard a creaking behind him and turned.

LuEllen Spivey stood in the doorway. Her gaze locked on Molly before slowly moving to him. "I've come to help, Sheriff. In any way I can."

Molly looked into LuEllen Spivey's eyes and felt the blood drain from her own face.

James rose and walked to the door. "Mrs. Spivey, I'd be obliged if you'd wait in the front area:" He closed the door before the woman could respond, then held on to the metal latch. When he turned back, Molly couldn't bring herself to look directly at him.

He sat down beside her again, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands. "'I'm her,"' he whispered, his voice muffled. "'I'm that woman: That's what you meant earlier:'

"Yes"

He looked up at her, and his blue eyes were vacant and hollow. "I thought it was the pain talking:'

Oh, how she wished ...

She tried to think of something else to say that would make a difference, but there was nothing. She'd known that all along. That was why she'd put off her confession for as long as she had. Her body felt as if she'd been running for days and days without stopping, and she only wanted to sleep. But the low, steady drum of pain was returning, and she cringed, knowing she didn't have the strength to do this.

She tried to keep her voice steady. "Is Rachel coming?"

"Yes;' he whispered, his own voice sounding weak and broken. "She should be on her way."

"Thank you, James" She summoned every ounce of courage. "You don't have to stay, if-"

Pain unlike anything she'd imagined ripped through her body and twisted her insides until she couldn't hold back the scream any longer. How could something so tiny inside her cause so much pain? She was sucked down into a dark hole, and no matter what she did, she couldn't claw her way out. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak. Her head pounded with every beat of her heart, and she begged for the pain to stop.

After an eternity, the wave that dragged her down thrust her back to the surface again, and the pain she thought unbearable only grew more so. She tried to open her eyes but couldn't. She heard voices, then felt a sharp prick in her arm.

"I have no choice, Sheriff. I can't stop her labor. Her body is trying to deliver the child. At the same time, it's refusing to allow the child to come.

"What are the chances that this will work?"

James...

"I'm sorry, James," she tried to say aloud, not knowing if her voice could be heard or if it was only in her head. "Please forgive me...."

Warmth spread through her arms and legs, and her body began to relax. The voices became fluid, drifting close, then moving away again. A spasm tightened her belly, reminding her that pain crouched nearby, waiting.

"Dr. Brookston-she's pushing!"

At the split instant Molly recognized Rachel's voice, she also realized that what Rachel had said was true. She was obeying her body's directive to bear down hard and deliver her child.

"Molly, if you can hear me, don't push!"

She heard Dr. Brookston's voice but couldn't make her body stop. She bore down harder, tasting a copper tinge in her mouth.

A flurry of voices and noises. Someone took hold of her hand and pressed close against her on the bed.

"Molly, you must listen to me. I know what you're feeling right now. I know the sensation to push is overwhelming. You're hurting and you want the pain to stop. But if you keep pushing, your baby will die:"

Rachel's words acted like a knife, severing mind from body, and Molly reached deep inside her for the will to refuse her body's command. Oh ... it hurts....

"That's very good, Molly. You're doing well:"

Molly tried to speak, but the words caught in her parched throat. She swallowed and tried again. "Promise ... me:" She squeezed Rachel's hand and felt Rachel's response. "If I die ... and my baby-"

"Molly, nothing's going to happen to you. So don't-"

Molly shook her head. "Please .. " She felt a cloth come over her mouth and nose. But she pushed it away.

"Molly, I need to deliver your child:" Brookston's voice was insistent. "We don't have much time:"

Ic Rachel;' Molly pleaded, fighting to maintain hold on the invisible tether that kept her from slipping back under.

"Yes;" Rachel whispered into her ear. "I will, Molly. I promise. I will:'

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ne more suture should do it:'

Molly felt a sting on her tummy, followed by a sharp tug, but it was nothing compared to the pain from before-which was blissfully gone. She told her eyes to open, and they did. Partially. She blinked against the unaccustomed light.

"Molly ... are you back with us?" Rachel appeared above, looking more like an angel than a rancher.

Molly nodded slowly, able to see Dr. Brookston in her peripheral view. She licked her parched lips, still experiencing a little of the floating sensation.

"Here-" Rachel reached for something. "You can have some water to drink now."

"Only in small increments, please, Mrs. Boyd:"

"Thank you, Dr. Brookston. I'm aware of that:"

Rachel lifted Molly's head and held the cup as Molly drank in tiny sips. Molly didn't think she imagined the subtle shake of Rachel's head.

Then she noticed it-the absence. The void. Her womb was empty.

Her pulse raced. She looked to the side. "My baby. Where's my baby?"

"Shhhh ..." Rachel smiled. "If you're not careful, you'll wake her:"

Her? Molly gave a soft gasp. "I had a girl?"

"A very little girl" Dr. Brookston moved closer as Rachel turned away. "But she's healthy, for being so early."

"So ... there's nothing wrong with her? She's going to be all right?" Molly whispered.

Dr. Brookston cradled the side of her head as her father used to. "I'm going to do my best to make sure of that. But she's going to need special care for a good while, and so are you. Along with a lot of rest. Since your baby came so early, your body wasn't prepared to deliver the child. I made an incision on your abdomen and removed the baby from your womb. Your sutures will be tender for quite a while but should heal well:"

Rachel moved back into view, and as soon as Molly saw the tiny bundle in her arms, she felt the tears coming again.

Rachel leaned close. "I'm a little jealous;" she said, smiling as she placed the baby in Molly's arms. "I always wanted a little girl:'

Molly cradled her daughter close and edged back the blanket, not sure what to expect. Though smaller than any baby Molly had ever seen, her daughter was more beautiful than she'd imagined. "She's perfect;' she whispered.

"Isn't she?" Rachel pointed. "Ten fingers and ten toes. We've already counted. Twice! Have you chosen a name yet?"

"Yes;' Molly said. "Josephine, a character from my favorite book:"

Rachel's eyes lit. "Will you call her Jo, for short? Like in the story?"

Molly smiled. "Perhaps" She touched her daughter's delicate fist. "She's so tiny. And a little wrinkled:"

They all laughed, and in the quiet that followed, the events that had led up to the birth caught up with the present. Molly looked at Rachel. "Do you know?"

Rachel held her smile, to her credit. But her eyes dimmed. "Yes. James told me:"

One look at Dr. Brookston said he knew too.

"I know my apology makes entirely no difference now, and comes far too late. But please know how sorry I am that I made the choice to lie ... to all of you:' Molly looked into her daughter's precious face and saw, instead, the face of a newborn son. And James's noticeable absence became even more so.

"I won't presume to know what your plans are, Molly," Dr. Brookston said gently. "But it will be at least six weeks, maybe a little longer, before I'd advise travel of any kind for you or your daughter:"

Molly understood what he was saying, and a while later, as she lay in bed, holding her sleeping daughter, she watched the daylight fade to evening and take with it any hope of leaving Timber Ridge before people discovered the truth. She could almost feel the rumor spreading across town even now. LuEllen Spivey was seeing to that, no doubt.

Molly shifted in the bed, careful of the sutures. Dr. Brookston had brought dinner from Miss Clara's for himself, her, and Angelo, who had somehow survived the earlier excitement in the clinic and who was already asleep in the other room. Molly could hear Dr. Brookston's quiet movements down the hall and saw the pale yellow light of his oil lamp. Rachel had left to pick up her boys from Ben and Lyda's and was likely home by now. With James. Who hadn't stopped by at all. Not that she'd expected him to. But she had hoped.

She had foolishly hoped.

Late afternoon the following day, Molly stirred from her sleep when she heard the telling creak of the clinic door. The doctor was out visiting other patients.

"Dr. Brookston isn't in right now," she called, keeping her voice soft so as not to awaken Angelo or Josephine.

Soft boot steps sounded on the wood plank floor and James walked around the corner, a hesitant look on his face. "Are you up for a visitor?" he asked softly.

She was so pleased, and surprised. "Yes, of course. Come in:" Only then did she think about how she must look, and she leaned on her side and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make an improvement. Then finally gave up. "Please, have a seat" She pointed to the chair in the corner.

He chose to remain standing. He had a wrapped package in one hand, and her reticule and the sack Lori Beth had given her in the other. "I started to come by last night, but ..'

The awkwardness of the moment stretched on.

"That's all right, James. You don't need to offer an explanation:"

He stared at her, and she saw the pain in his eyes, the disappointment, and felt a fresh wave of regret. He looked around the room, and she realized what-or whom-he was looking for.

"Would you like to see her?"

"Very much:" He stepped closer and held out the package. "This is a little something for her"

"Thank you:" Molly took the gift and laid it by her side on the bed.

He deposited her reticule and the sack on a table by the door. Molly painfully leaned down to the makeshift cradle-a shallow drawer from Dr. Brookston's chifforobe, lined with a blanket-and pulled back the cover to show him her sleeping daughter.

James took a step closer, a slow smile turning his mouth. "Oh ... she's beautiful, Molly. Just beautiful:" He looked up. "Can I touch her?"

She nodded, trying not to cry. "Of course:"

He knelt down and stroked her daughter's cheek, his large hand making the baby seem even smaller. "Rachel said you named her Josephine:"

"That's right:"

"That's a real pretty name:" A shy smile crept over his face. "I read the book;' he said softly, his voice tender with admission.

It took Molly a second to make sense of that. "You read Little Women?"

He nodded. "But don't tell anybody" The gentle lines around his mouth and eyes crinkled when he smiled. "I saw it on your desk that first day. Then later Billy told me it was your favorite:' He gave a slight shrug, looking more like a boy himself than a man. "It just seemed right to read it:" The tip of his index finger dwarfed her baby's hand. "I liked Josephine March. She reminded me of you:'