An Unexpected Love (45 page)

Where was her faith? Mr. and Mrs. Atwell loved Michael, yet they appeared content to place his safety in God’s hands. Why couldn’t she do the same? Even Sophie seemed willing to trust in God’s provision for her future. Was she the only one who lived with panic squeezing her heart?

After uttering a soft amen to her prayer, Mrs. Atwell squeezed Fanny’s hand. “I have a lovely supper prepared downstairs. It will take me only a few minutes to dish up your meal.”

Sophie shifted to her side and beckoned Mrs. Atwell to wait a moment longer. “I have been abiding by the doctor’s orders and doing much better, don’t you agree?”

“Indeed, I do believe God is hearing our prayers for strength and health,” the older woman said.

The instant Mrs. Atwell neared the bedside, Sophie clutched the woman’s hand. “I am so
very
weary of lying abed for all these weeks. Do you think I could sit in the chair just long enough to eat my supper? My body aches from constantly being stretched upon this bed.”

Sophie’s soulful look didn’t escape Fanny’s notice. Given the opportunity, her cousin could charm the rattlers out of a rattlesnake. Now she was using her wiles to win Mrs. Atwell’s agreement to get out of bed. Well, she would put a stop to that plan. “The doctor ordered bed rest.” Fanny’s ominous tone matched the fear roiling in her stomach. “We can’t be too careful.”

“Now, now, Fanny. Sophie is correct. Lying abed is wearisome, and she hasn’t suffered so much as a twinge for weeks. I don’t believe the doctor would object if she sat in the chair for her evening meal.” Mrs. Atwell picked up her Bible and tucked it under her arm. “But back to bed once you’ve finished your supper. Promise?”

Sophie giggled and nodded her head. “I promise. Thank you, Mrs. Atwell.”

Fanny followed the older woman into the hall. “I’m still not certain—”

“Have a little faith, my dear. All will be well.”

When Mrs. Atwell arrived with their supper tray, Fanny and the older woman helped Sophie up from the bed. Then the three of them slowly made their way across the short expanse to the chair.

Once seated, Sophie beamed at them. “Hard to believe something so simple as sitting in a chair could feel so wonderful.”

“Ring that bell if she has the slightest twinge, Fanny. Otherwise, the two of you enjoy your meal. I’ll be back up to help you get her back to bed.”

Perhaps it was Sophie’s excitement over her short time being up, but their meal proved extremely pleasurable. In fact, Sophie didn’t even argue to remain in the chair when Fanny and Mrs. Atwell escorted her back to bed. Her only complaint came when Fanny removed the curtain fabric from her sewing basket.

“Not those curtains. Please, Fanny, I don’t want to work on those. I’ve ripped mine until the fabric is frayed.”

“I think you do that on purpose so that I’ll be forced to complete them. I’ve packed these away long enough. If we don’t finish them, you’ll be arriving at your new home with no curtains to hang in the kitchen.” She dropped a piece of the material onto the bed. “That one is yours. I’ve pinned it so that you won’t stitch the right sides together again,” Fanny said with a grin.

Sophie removed a needle from the pincushion, threaded the eye, and tied a knot. “I do believe Amanda took great pleasure in sending this fabric. Do you notice how she’s asked about
my
sewing progress in each of her letters?”

Fanny stabbed her needle into the fabric and readily agreed. There was little doubt Amanda thought it high time Sophie became skilled with a needle and thread. Fanny remained unconvinced Sophie would ever be considered accomplished in the art of handiwork, but at least she was making an attempt.

With one hand resting on her stomach, Sophie beckoned Fanny closer. “Come and feel. The baby is moving.”

Fanny lightly touched her palm to Sophie’s bulging middle and felt a tiny thump beneath her hand. “He seems quite strong, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but I don’t think the baby is a boy. I believe I’m carrying a spirited little girl.”

Fanny laughed. “Just like her mother!” She knotted her row of stitches and broke the piece of thread. “Have you and Paul talked about names for the baby?”

“If it’s a boy, we’ve decided to name him Hamilton Paul Medford after grandfather and Paul; if it’s a girl, her name will be Elizabeth Jane, after you, Amanda, and Paul’s grandmother. As it turns out, Paul’s grandmother’s name, Elizabeth, is the same as Amanda’s middle name, so I have coupled it with your middle name, Jane. What do you think?”

“If you have a little girl, I will be honored to have her share my middle name. Thank you, Sophie.”

Later that night, Fanny pulled the bedcovers beneath her chin and whispered a prayer that sleep would come without any chilling thoughts or nightmares. She reminded herself that Sophie was doing fine and everything was going along as planned.

“I’m being silly,” she said with a sigh.

Four days later, on Thanksgiving, winter arrived with a fury. The temperature took a downward turn and refused to budge. Mr. and Mrs. Atwell joined Fanny in Sophie’s room, where they enjoyed a fine meal of roasted chicken and all the trimmings. It was far from the usual Broadmoor affair, with all the noise and more food than could fit the table, but it was good nevertheless. Fanny wished that Michael could have joined them but knew that wishing wouldn’t make it so.

By the next morning Fanny could barely see beyond the rooftop. Snow tumbled from the heavens in an unrelenting cascade of pellets and flakes that blanketed the lawn in a pure white carpet. It made her think all the more of her beloved. Were the houses buried in snow up in Dawson? Did Michael awaken each day to sights such as this?

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Watching from her bed, Sophie held the curtain away from the window and peered at the unfolding scene.

“Yes, but you need to drop the drapery back in place. It helps keep the cold out of the room. I can feel the draft crossing your bed. I don’t want you taking a chill and catching cold.”

Sophie grasped her cousin’s hand. “Who could ever ask for a better friend than you, Fanny? Michael is fortunate he’s going to marry such a fine woman. And the moment he returns, I’m going to tell him so.”

While Fanny brushed Sophie’s hair and helped her into a fresh gown, Mrs. Atwell arrived with a pile of clean linens. Her Bible rested atop the pile. “We’ll change your bed after lunch,” she said. “I’ve a nice pot of stew cooking, and it looks like this is a perfect day for a hearty meal to keep us warm.” She pointed to her Bible. “I thought we might have our devotions this morning. I’ll begin my ironing this afternoon.”

Neither of the girls objected as the older woman sat down in the chair and settled the open Bible on her lap. She had placed tiny pieces of paper between certain pages to mark the Bible passages she planned to read. There were several from Proverbs, but her final reading was from the book of Isaiah. She cleared her throat and placed her index finger beneath the words. “Isaiah 12:2,” she began. “ ‘Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid: for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; he also is become my salvation.’ ” She closed the Bible and joined hands with Fanny and Sophie. “Let’s thank God for our many blessings and that His Word tells us He is our protector.”

Each of them prayed, although Fanny sometimes wondered if God truly wanted to hear from her. While Mrs. Atwell’s prayers were words of joy and thanksgiving, Fanny’s were filled with fear and misgiving. However, Mrs. Atwell encouraged her, saying God wanted to hear His children’s burdens. Once Sophie’s baby was born and Michael returned home, then Fanny would be able to utter prayers of thanksgiving—at least that’s what she told herself. Surely there could be nothing else in her future that would cause her such fear and distress.

Mrs. Atwell gathered her Bible and, with a promise to prepare their tray, headed toward the door.

“I’ll come downstairs and fetch the tray in a few minutes,” Fanny said.

“If you’re certain you don’t mind,” the older woman said. “I’ll thicken the stew, and the biscuits should be ready in twenty minutes or so.”

Once Mrs. Atwell disappeared down the hallway, Fanny dusted the furniture and tidied the room. With the winter days growing shorter, it seemed Mrs. Atwell had less and less time to complete all her duties before nightfall. And the time passed more quickly for Fanny when she busied herself with work.

“Do you think I could sit in the chair for my lunch today?”

Fanny glanced up from her dusting. On almost any other day, she would have immediately refused Sophie’s request. But the weather seemed to have created a restlessness in all of them. This was Sophie’s first request since she’d been permitted to sit in the chair five days ago, and she’d suffered no ill effects from that episode.

“I think it should be permissible, so long as you don’t expect to sit in the chair every day.”

Sophie clapped her hands. “Thank you, Fanny. I promise I won’t ask again for at least five days.”

“I’ll assist you to the chair, and then I’ll go downstairs and fetch our lunch.” She helped Sophie turn sideways on the bed and, holding her around the waist, supported her until she sat down in the chair. She tucked a blanket around Sophie’s legs before pointing toward the door. “I’ll be back with our lunch before you have time to miss me. And don’t you get out of that chair while I’m gone.”

“I promise,” Sophie said, her palm facing outward as though taking a pledge.

Fanny hurried down the rear stairs. She hoped Mrs. Atwell wouldn’t think her decision regarding Sophie presumptuous. She probably should have obtained the older woman’s permission before moving Sophie, but she doubted Mrs. Atwell would have offered an objection.

“It smells wonderful down here.” Fanny lifted her nose into the air and inhaled the hearty aromas. Mrs. Atwell had filled two generous bowls with stew and placed them on a tray beside a bread basket covered with a linen napkin.

Fanny lifted the tray but hesitated long enough to tell the older woman of her decision.

“That’s fine. We’ll get Sophie back to bed when you’ve finished lunch. Don’t linger down here in the kitchen. I don’t want either of you eating a cold lunch.” Mrs. Atwell shooed her toward the stairs. “Ring the bell when you’ve finished eating, and I’ll come up to help you. We can change the bed while Sophie is still in the chair.”

A sigh of relief escaped Fanny’s lips as she carefully wielded the tray up the stairs and down the hallway. “I hope you’re hungry, because—” The tray fell from her hands.
“Sophie!
” A shrill scream escaped Fanny’s lips. Grabbing the bell from Sophie’s bedside table, she dropped to her knees beside Sophie’s supine body and clanged the instrument over and over. Her gaze traveled the length of Sophie’s body, and an unrelenting sob caught in her throat when she spied the blood soaking her cousin’s gown. She rocked back and sat on her heels, unaware of anything but the blood-stained nightgown and Sophie’s pale complexion.

“Give me that, child.” Mrs. Atwell pried the bell from Fanny’s hand. “You’re going to wake the dead if you don’t quit ringing that thing.”

Fanny stared up at the woman, and her husband, who was right behind her. “Is she going to die? This is my fault. I shouldn’t have given her permission to get out of bed.”

The older woman ignored Fanny’s utterances and motioned her husband forward to lift Sophie into the bed. Moments later Sophie screamed in pain and clutched the air, holding Fanny’s hand in a death grip. “Something is wrong! The pain is unbearable.” Wild-eyed, she searched the room until her eyes locked on Mrs. Atwell. “I can’t stand this pain. Please! Do something.”

“Give me a minute, Sophie. I’m going to check you and see what’s happening.” She motioned Mr. Atwell out of the room. “Wait in the hall until I see if it’s her time, Frank.”

“But the baby isn’t due until next month,” Fanny said.

“Babies don’t always come when they’re expected,” Mrs. Atwell said as she pushed aside Sophie’s gown. Moments later she gave an affirmative nod. “The baby’s coming. Tell my husband to go and fetch the doctor, Fanny.”

Fanny wrenched her hand from Sophie’s viselike grip. “I’ll be right back,” she promised, backing toward the hall. She opened the door and located Mr. Atwell sitting at the top of the stairway. “Mrs. Atwell says we need the doctor.”

He offered a mock salute. “I’ll see what I can do, but tell her that with this weather, I’m not certain a doctor is in the offing.”

“But she has to have—”

He shook his head and pointed a thumb toward the outer wall. “If there’s any way to get to Clayton, I’ll go, Miss Fanny, but I can’t change the weather conditions. There’s no need to fret. Maggie’s delivered many a babe—just put your trust in the Lord.”

There was that
trust
word again. She wondered if her own mother had trusted in the Lord before she died. What good was trusting in God if people still suffered and died? She hurried back to the bedroom. At least Sophie had stopped screaming. Perhaps the baby wouldn’t be born, after all.

“Mr. Atwell says the weather may be a factor.” Fanny didn’t want to alarm Sophie. “Is everything going as expected?”