Saturday's Child (20 page)

❧

Katie watched the wagon disappear over a slight rise and bit her lip against the urge to call it back. Tears burned behind her eyes but she blinked them back. She wasn't going to cry just because Louise was going home to her own family. She was nearly back on her feet again and there was certainly no reason to keep the other woman here.

"It's time you went back inside." The sound of Quentin's voice behind her intensified the urge to cry. She squeezed her eyes shut, drawing in a deep breath of icy air. Her fingers tightened on the peeled wooden pole that supported the porch roof.

"It feels good to be outside," she offered softly, opening her eyes to take in the yard. "It looks like a penny postcard, don't you think. AH white and pretty."

"It's cold. I don't want you getting a chill."

Katie searched his tone for something more than impersonal concern but could find nothing. He might have been talking to someone he'd just met. There was certainly nothing to indicate that she was his wife, that she'd just borne him a son.

"Just a minute more," she said, blinking rapidly. One tear escaped to slide down her cold cheek, but she didn't move to wipe it away. It didn't matter. Even if she'd been facing him, he wouldn't have noticed. He hadn't looked at her in days.

She was beginning to feel that she didn't exist for him anymore. Oh, he was polite. He spoke to her, he inquired after her health. He watched to make sure she didn't overdo. He couldn't have been kinder or more polite. But there was something impersonal in it, as if she were a guest in his home, someone duty required him to care for. What if he was like this for the rest of their lives?

"I think you've been out long enough," Quentin said, mistaking her shiver for one of chill. She turned, but he picked her up before she could take a step.

"I can walk," she protested, linking her arms about his neck for balance.

"You've been up quite a while. I don't want you to tire yourself."

How could he hold her in his arms like this and still manage to make her feel as if they barely knew each other?

He set her down beside the bed and then helped her out of the bulky coat, one of his, since he'd decided her own coat wasn't warm enough.

"Louise made some soup before she left. Would you like some?"

"Not right now," Katie said, wanting nothing more than to lie down and have a good cry. A complaining cry from the cradle slowed Quentin's departure. Katie sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he leaned over the cradle to lift his son up.

When he looked at his son, the mask slipped away, exposing the man she'd grown to love. She bit her lip. The baby looked so tiny in his father's hands. Seeing them together never failed to bring back those terrifying moments when Quentin had struggled to breathe life into the baby's lungs.

"If you hadn't been here, he'd not be with us this day," Katie said quietly. Quentin glanced at her and she thought she saw a trace of emotion in his eyes, maybe even warmth.

"Don't think about it. It's over and done with and he's a fine healthy babe."

"We haven't talked about what to name him." It was something she'd thought of before, but this was the first time Quentin had seemed approachable enough to bring the subject up.

"That's true." The baby sucked on his knuckle, growing fussy when it failed to provide him with the nourishment he sought. "I do believe he's hungry," he said, handing the child to her without thinking.

It was only when Katie reached for the buttons at the neck of her nightgown that he realized what feeding an infant entailed. He told himself that he should leave, that he didn't want to stay. Katie didn't look at him, but he saw the flush come up in her cheek as she pulled the gown aside, baring her breast, heavier now with the milk she carried.

The baby turned his head, seeking, his face red and cranky. She lifted her breast slightly, jumping when he found the nipple and latched onto it as if starving.

Quentin lingered, fascinated by the sight of her nursing his child. The ribbon that was supposed to hold her hair had slipped loose so that her hair lay over her shoulders like a fiery cloak. One of the baby's flailing hands discovered the bounty, winding into a fist around several curls. Quentin saw her wince and leaned forward to disentangle his son's tiny hand, letting the boy grasp his finger instead.

"Thank you." Katie looked up at him, smiling shyly. "Have you given much thought to a name?"

"What? Oh, for the baby?" He released his finger, stepping back and drawing a deep breath. "No. No, I haven't. As long as he isn't given my name. I've never cared for the idea of naming a child after their parents. Makes life too confusing."

"I'd thought of Geoffrey Tobias, after my father and your grandfather. Unless you'd prefer to put your grandfather's name first," she suggested, looking up at him questioningly.

"No." He cleared his throat, looking away from her. "Geoffrey is a fine name and my grandfather will be pleased to share his name."

"Then Geoffrey it shall be." She stroked her finger over the soft down that covered the baby's head.

"I have things I should be doing," Quentin said abruptly, and when she glanced up, she saw that the mask was back in place. But it had shifted for a moment, she told herself as she watched him leave. Maybe, given time, it would disappear altogether.

❧

March 1906

Dear Katie,

Colin and I were so relieved to hear that you and your baby are both well. You said only that it was a difficult birth, but gave no details. I hope you have fully recovered by now.

You will be pleased to hear that we have purchased a small house. My father provided us with a reference and much of the initial monies. Though Colin did not care for the idea of accepting help from his in-laws, 1 persuaded him that it was for the best. After all, my father considers it a good investment, saying that the value of real estate is sure to go up.

It is a tiny house, sold as an artist's cottage and really no more than that. It is south of Market Street, so we are not on Nob Hill yet. Just five rooms and a bath but the basement is finished. It cost every penny of three thousand dollars. I know you gasp at such a price, dear Katie, but it really is quite a bargain.

Our only fear is that of fire for nearly everything south of Market is built of wood. However, with Dennis Sullivan as Fire Chief, we are safe as can be. He has been talking to those at City Hall about the need for improved precautions in case of fire.

Though my father feels that Mayor Schmitz is hardly better than a thief, surely he will release the funds Mr. Sullivan is asking for. Or so we must hope.

Colin is enjoying his work at the Grand Opera House. In April, Enrico Caruso himself will be performing here. They do say he is the finest tenor in all the world.

Which brings me to my real purpose in writing this letter. Katie dear, do come and see us. Colin is anxious to meet his new nephew, as am I. Our home is small, but it is large enough to supply you with all the comforts you need.

And I am convinced that the cold weather in Wyoming can not be the best thing for either you or the baby. You have told me that spring is a busy time on a ranch, so I know better than to suggest that Mr. Sterling join you. But surely he could spare you for just a few weeks.

There's no need to do more than send us a wire from the train station. We do not stand on formality with family. Just let us know when to pick you up at the station.

I'll say farewell for now, but I hope that soon I will be saying hello.

Your fond sister,

Edith

❧

Katie let the hand holding the letter fall to her lap. Outside, the sun shone with unreasonable brightness.

The snow lingered in the shadowed places next to buildings but most of the yard was a sea of mud.

She'd listened to the talk around the supper table and knew that more snow was likely, although there was the hope that winter's back was broken. Spring calving was just around the corner and a heavy snow-fail could be disastrous once calving was begun.

She could see that Quentin was concerned, though he didn't say anything. But then, lately, he didn't say much to her beyond what was necessary.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the rocker, looking down at Geoff, who was lying on a thick quilt at her feet. He was gurgling contentedly to himself, seemingly amused by the movement of his own hands in front of his face.

Quentin's withdrawal could be dated to Geoff's birth, but she hadn't been able to find a cause for it. She'd gone over it a hundred times in her mind and there was nothing that could explain his sudden change in attitude.

She was getting more than a little exasperated. He was a good father, spending more time with the baby than she could imagine most men wanting to spend. It was only when it came to his son's mother that he seemed to have nothing to say.

She'd even been driven to asking him if he was upset with her for some reason. He'd seemed genuinely surprised and assured her that there was nothing wrong.

"But there is something wrong," she told the baby. "We had drawn closer. I know that wasn't my imagination. I'd begun to think that he was coming to love me. And suddenly, he changed." She lifted her hands, letting them fall to her lap. "I don't know what happened but I do know that he changed.

"Is it possible he was just being kind to me because I was carrying you?"

Geoff gurgled, waved at a dust mote that floated on a sunbeam above him.

"But that doesn't seem right. He's so reserved. It's as if he doesn't even like me. But I haven't done anything," she protested, more than a little angry.

She picked up Edith's letter, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Maybe I should accept Edith's invitation. Maybe some time apart will be the best thing."

Maybe he'll ask me to stay.

❧

But he didn't ask her to stay. She brought the subject up after she'd put Geoff down for the night. Quentin was seated at the desk in the front room, his pen scratching as he made entries in the ranch books.

"I received a letter from Edith today," she told him.

"That's nice. How are she and Colin doing?"

Quentin didn't lift his head from the ledger and Katie had to consciously relax her fingers on the knitting needles she held, lest the stitches grow too tight.

"They've bought themselves a small house, south of Market Street."

"Good." He seemed to feel that was the end of their conversation.

"Edith has invited me and Geoff to come and stay with them," Katie said, her voice a little too loud.

Quentin's pen hesitated a moment before going on, and Katie found herself hoping that he'd put a blot on the page.

"Do you want to go?" he asked without inflection.

"Well, Geoff should meet his family. And Edith tells me that Caruso will be singing in just a few weeks. It would certainly be wonderful to see him. Geoff will be needing clothes before too long. I could purchase fabric while I was in the city. It's so much nicer than ordering by mail. When you can really see what you're getting, you can really... see what you're getting."

She trailed off, aware that she sounded like a fool. But he made her so nervous, the way he sat there calmly writing, as if the world wasn't crumbling around her. Didn't he see that something was wrong? What had happened to their talks about the future of the ranch, their future?

"Certainly, if you wish to go, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't."

It wasn't until she heard him say it that Katie realized how much she'd been hoping that he'd tell her he didn't want her to go. Against all logic, she'd thought that the idea of her leaving might make him realize how much he'd miss her.

"It would not be worth making the trip for less than several weeks' stay," she said, a hint of challenge in her voice.

"Of course not." He set down the pen, turning to give her a vaguely avuncular smile. "I think it will be a very good thing for you. I know you've missed Colin. Besides, you've been looking a little peaked since Geoff's birth. Some time in the city is probably just what you need."

Katie kept her eyes on her knitting so that he wouldn't see the tears that threatened. He sounded as if it didn't matter at all to him that she'd be gone. Or the baby for that matter.

"Yes, maybe some time in the city will be good for me," she said dully. She stood up, setting aside her wools. "I think I'll go to bed now."

"Fine. I've a few more things to do. When would you like to leave? If the weather holds, the roads should be passable by the day after tomorrow. If we start first thing in the morning and keep up a good pace, we should reach Laramie by nightfall. Not like traveling with snow on the roads, like we did last spring."

"I thought it was a lovely trip," she said, staring into the fire. She'd been so full of hope then, so full of dreams for the future.

"Well, this trip will be much quicker, though not much smoother, I'm afraid. You'll have to bundle Geoff up well."

"Yes, I'll do that." She started toward the bedroom, wanting only to bury her face in her pillow and have a good cry.

"Katie." Quentin's voice stopped her in the doorway and she turned, half hoping that he was going to say he'd changed his mind—he didn't want her to go.

"Don't worry about packing a great deal for yourself or the baby. I'll give you a letter of credit and you can draw on my account. Outfit yourself as well as Geoff."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The door closed behind her with deceptive quietness. Once in the room, she stood, fists clenched, slowly reciting the soliloquy from Hamlet to herself. Her father had always sworn that it was the best thing he knew for calming nerves, far better than any potion or compound a doctor could offer.

That done, she undressed for bed, slipping her nightgown over her head before moving over to the cradle to check on Geoff. The baby slept soundly, though she knew that might not last the night.

Quentin was sleeping in the room he'd built as a nursery last summer. When she'd gathered up the courage to ask why he hadn't returned to their bedroom, bis eyes had shifted away and he'd mumbled something about Geoff waking in the night and it was better that he stay where he was.

It hadn't made much sense, but she'd felt shy about questioning him further. After all, she didn't want to make it seem as if she were too anxious to have him back in her bed, though in truth, she missed the feeling of his lean body next to hers at night.

Crawling between the cold linens, Katie felt as if they were no colder than her heart tonight. She didn't know what had happened, how it had come about, but she had to face the fact that whatever affection Quen- -tin might have begun to feel for her had died.

Now what she had to decide was whether or not she could continue in such a sterile marriage.