Janet Dean - Wanted - A Family

“I talked to Doc Wellman. He’ll let me make payments on his fee. Get him to help Elise when it’s her time.” She dug into the pocket of her apron, then thrust a stack of bills at Callie. “This is for diapers, a dress.”

Callie put the money in her purse. “This will mean the world to Elise. After our doctor’s appointments tomorrow afternoon, we’ll go shopping for the baby.”

“I know that girl can eat.” Sarah gave a shaky smile. “Wish I could help more, but…”

Obviously, Elise’s father wouldn’t let go of a dime to help his daughter. “I have shelves of canned food in the cellar and soon we’ll have produce from the garden. We’ll manage fine.”

Eyes filling with misery, Sarah stared off into the distance. “We had such plans for Elise. You know, for schooling, a good marriage.” Her voice faltered. “Now that’s gone.”

Callie laid a hand on Sarah’s sleeve. “Elise can still have those things, Sarah. Maybe not right away, but her life isn’t over. God will bring something good from this.”

A spark of hope lit Sarah’s eyes. “You’re right. God will work it out. I know it. I do.”

“You and Mr. Langley are in my prayers.”

“God bless you, Callie. I don’t understand why you’re doing this for my girl, but I thank you.”

But Callie knew. And if Sarah weren’t wrapped up in her own worries, she’d know, too.

With a hug goodbye, Callie walked up Serenity Avenue, her eyes on the uneven brick, her mind filling with the image of Nell. Callie swallowed around a lump in her throat. Redheaded Nell—upturned nose with a dusting of freckles, blue eyes sparkling with innocence. They were only sixteen, sheltered from the facts of life. Nell had trusted a man, fallen hard. A lesson Callie ought to remember.

At the corner, she turned left on Liberty. Jacob Smith lounged against a tree. At his thoughtfulness something inside her twisted. “You waited.” But then she remembered how fooled Nell had been by a man.

“I’m in no rush,” he said as they continued up Liberty. “Life must be more complicated with Miss Langley in your house.”

“Elise is a help and I enjoy her company.”

“I know you don’t like me saying so but no man should leave a woman in her circumstances.”

“Perhaps he did Elise a favor.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Marriage to some men would be intolerable.”

“Why would a woman involve herself with such a man?”

No one could be that naive. “What’s hidden can’t be seen, Mr. Smith.”

He studied her, his eyes filling with compassion, as if he suspected that she referred to her late husband. Well, he could keep his ill-placed sympathy to himself. She’d never met anyone more secretive.

Up ahead, the street bustled with activity by Peaceful standards. Carriages and wagons clattered over the brick. Shoppers stopped to chat on the walk. The one family in town with a newfangled automobile rounded the corner, honking its horn, frightening horses and young children.

“What do you know? Someone in Peaceful owns a Waverley Runabout.”

“That’s Mr. Burch, president of the bank.”

“I visited the Waverley factory in Indianapolis,” Jake said. “Can’t think battery-powered carriages will come to anything. Now those gasoline motor automobiles Haynes- Apperson is turning out in Kokomo interest me.”

“Really? You’d want one? My mare is a lot more reliable.”

“If they can get the kinks ironed out and a way to lower the cost, it wouldn’t surprise me if one day the streets were teeming with automobiles.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Danger is a sign of progress, I reckon.”

An odd thought. One she’d examine later.

Callie greeted passersby as they strolled by the variety of shops dotting the main street: Langley’s Barber Shop, Lily’s Millinery and Gloves, Harrington’s Grocery, Cunningham’s Pharmacy. Up ahead the Mitchell Mercantile. A dog sniffed his way along the walk beside her, and then trotted across the street, successfully dodging horses’ hooves and buggy wheels.

Outside the post office, Jacob turned toward her. “I think I’ll look into getting a haircut.”

“Your hair is a bit shaggy,” she said with a smile.

He doffed his hat and plowed his fingers through his ebony hair. “We mutts aren’t groomed as often as those fancy lapdogs.”

“Nothing about you suggests mutt, Mr. Smith.”

His lips tilted up into a soft smile that climbed into his eyes and settled on her with such intensity that her mouth went dry as dust. She glanced away. “The barber is Elise’s father.”

“Thanks for the warning.” He plopped his hat on his head, flashed his dimple, then strode off, turning more than one woman’s head in his direction.

Jacob Smith was all male, more cowboy than any man she’d met. Unable to take her eyes off his lanky figure, she watched until he entered the barbershop. Chiding herself for such foolishness, she pivoted toward the post office and stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior.

Marlene Thompson, the postmistress, looked up from sorting the mail and punched her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose with her index finger. “Afternoon, Callie. How are you feeling?”

“The fatigue and nausea are long gone.” She smiled. “I just felt the baby move.” So much for telling only her friends such personal news, but she couldn’t seem to keep it to herself.

“What do you want? Boy? Or girl?”

“I want whatever I’m having.”

“With that attitude, you won’t be disappointed. Mr. Thompson was determined to have a girl. Five boys later, he decided I was girl enough for him.” She chuckled. “I could’ve told him that a whole lot sooner.”

Callie giggled. “Do I have any mail?”

“Nothing today. Nothing that is, except a question.” She motioned her closer. “I heard Elise Langley’s staying with you.”

“She is.”

“Good.” Mrs. Thompson’s brown eyes warmed with interest. “My nephew Albert and his wife, Sally, would love to have that baby if Elise is looking for a good home for it.”

“I believe Elise plans to keep her baby.”

Marlene’s shoulders sagged. “Well, if she changes her mind, ask her to talk to Sally.”

“I will.”

Callie knew the Thompsons and their desperate desire for a child. They would make wonderful parents. Callie doubted that Elise would consider such an arrangement. Yet her heart ached for the Thompsons. Why did some women long to have a child, yet remained barren, while others conceived babies with no interest in or means of caring for them?

What circumstances had led Jacob Smith’s mother to put her son in an orphanage? Or perhaps she had been forced to give up her child, as Elise’s father was trying to do.

If Callie had questions, she could only imagine Mr. Smith’s desire for answers. Could that be the reason he’d come to Peaceful? She sighed. Why was she getting involved with this man’s life? He’d only bring her grief.

A block down, Callie entered Mitchell’s Mercantile. The cavernous room held every utensil, tool, canned good, fresh-baked good and ready-made article of clothing imaginable. She dreaded running into her father-in-law. Yet, if she shopped elsewhere, the news would get back to him. She glanced around. No Commodore. No customers. Callie breathed a sigh of relief.

Since Martin’s death, her father-in-law had badgered her to move in with him and Dorothy, and Callie suspected he wanted her and her baby to fill the void in their lives after losing Martin. She understood that, but the vehemence of his insistence unnerved her. Did something beside grief motivate him?

At a table piled with an assortment of tiny garments and fabric for making blankets and diapers, Callie plucked a white gown from the stack. Silky ribbons closed the neckline, cuffs and hemline, every detail precious. She couldn’t imagine caring for an infant small enough to wear this. But in four months, she would. Would she even know how to be a good mother? What if the baby got sick? Or—