Bethany Campbell - The Baby Gift

“How do I get them dry?” Leo asked with a helpless air.

“Use the hair dryer,” Briana said. “It’s under the sink.”

“I’ll get scorched,” Leo complained.

“Take off your pants and then dry them,” Briana said.

“Oh. Well. I would have thought of that. Of course.” He took the club soda and went into the bathroom.

Larry leaned against the closed door and looked at Briana. He waggled his brows. “I bet Harve Oldman would love it if you told him to take off his pants. He’d probably pass out with happiness.”

Briana said nothing. Harve Oldman was a neighboring farmer, a bachelor and a would-be suitor. She had cut off all contact with him as soon as she knew Nealie was sick.

“Where is good old Harve, anyhow?” Larry asked. “He hasn’t been around lately.”

Briana still said nothing. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out the box of soda crackers. As she arranged half a dozen on a plate, Larry gave her a friendly leer. “I mean Harve’s well off. And he’s got the hots for you.”

“Please,” Briana said. “The cat is nauseated, your wife is nauseated. Don’t make it three of us.”

Larry shrugged. “Easy to love a rich man as a poor man.”

She didn’t answer. She carried the crackers to Glenda, who forced herself into a sitting position and began to nibble.

Briana put her hands on her hips and surveyed the living room. “Where’s the cat?”

“Hiding from Neville,” Rupert said. “Neville dragged Zorro out from behind the washer and held him upside down and shook him.”

Glenda gave an apologetic smile over the cracker. “I told him not to.”

“Boys will be boys.” Larry shrugged. Then he squinted at Briana. “Who you talking to for so long on the phone?” he asked. “The whole family’s here.”

“It was personal,” said Briana, getting disinfectant and cleaning cloths from the pantry.

Larry shrugged again and said, “Poppa figured it was Josh. He said he knows that look you get on your face when the phone rings and it’s Josh.”

“I said it was personal.” Briana set about cleaning up the mess the cat had made. The boys were chasing each other around the dining room table.

“You boys be quiet,” Glenda said from the couch.

“Ah, let ’em alone,” Larry told her.

The boys chased on.

“Don’t those sons of guns got energy?” Larry said with a proud laugh.

I can last until they’ve all gone home, Briana told herself. It became her mantra for surviving the rest of the night. Till they’ve all gone home.

AT LAST, the little house was empty of its guests. Her father returned to the main farmhouse, where he had lived all his life. Her brother and his family went home to the neighboring house Larry had built when he’d married.

Briana lived in the house that years ago had belonged to Uncle Collin, her father’s bachelor brother. It was far smaller than the others, only two bedrooms, but it was set nicely apart from the main house, and its simplicity suited her.

Now it was quiet, blessedly so. She washed the last of the dishes and put them away. Still restless, she got out the ladder and took down all the balloons and the crepe-paper streamers.

There. It was her normal, peaceful little house again. She made herself a cup of hot chocolate and sat down on the couch to savor the hush that had at last settled.

Zorro came padding soundlessly from behind the washer. He leaped to the couch and settled heavily into her lap, thrumming with his almost silent purr.

“Poor Zorro,” Briana whispered. “Neville got you, hmm? Poor kitty.” She scratched him between his black ears.

Briana loved her family, but she was glad they were gone.

She could not tell them of Nealie’s illness. She could not. She knew some of this was simple, cowardly denial. Every person who knew Nealie was sick made her sickness seem more real.

Nobody would treat Nealie the same, or Briana, either. The boys would not understand, and they might say wounding things to Nealie. Glenda would be too sympathetic, and Larry wouldn’t want to talk about it at all. He wouldn’t know how to deal with it.

And her father—her father’s heart would break. He was a sentimental man, especially when it came to his family, and he worried incessantly over his loved ones. Larry was big and strong and a hard worker but, unlike Briana, he’d never done well in school. Neither was he skilled with people. He talked too loudly, made inappropriate jokes, and he could be chauvinistic.

Glenda, his wife, was sweet and docile. This was her fourth pregnancy in six years, and she was always exhausted. Leo Hanlon wanted his son to hire a woman to come in and help Glenda, but Larry said it was her job, she should do it.

And although Leo was proud of his big, sturdy, handsome grandsons, he fretted about their rowdiness. He could by God control them. So could Briana. Why wouldn’t their parents? Leo fumed and grumbled at Larry, but nothing changed.

Leo’s favorite grandchild was Nealie. Larry couldn’t understand this. After all, Nealie wasn’t big, strong or good-looking. Worse than that, she was only a girl.

But Leo had never been able to resist his granddaughter’s spirit or smile. He fondly nicknamed her Funnyface. He was proud of her intelligence and imagination—he adored her. To know how ill she was would destroy him.

No, Briana wouldn’t tell them. How could she? She wouldn’t say anything until another child was clearly on the way.

For two months her daughter’s sickness had been her secret. Soon Josh would be here. She would no longer be alone with it.

She lifted Zorro from her lap and set him on the floor. She shut off the lights and went upstairs to bed, Zorro waddling silently behind her.

She opened the door to Nealie’s room and peered inside. The child stirred and rose on her elbow. “Mama?”

“Hi, sweetie. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“My clothes woke me up,” Nealie said. “I want my jammies.”

Briana switched on the bedside lamp.

“How come I still have my clothes on?” Nealie squinted at the sudden brightness. Her big glasses lay beside the lamp.

“You fell asleep on the couch,” Briana said, going to the dresser. “I brought you up to bed. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Nealie rose on both elbows, frowning. “I remember. Rupert gave me a nosebleed.”

“Yes, well, he likes to roughhouse. I scolded him for it.”

“Ha!” crowed Nealie. She knew how Rupert hated Briana’s scolding.

Briana rummaged in the drawer for pajamas. “Do you want the ones with cows or the ones with flowers?”

“Cows,” said Nealie with a yawn. Then she fell back against the pillow. “Why do I have so many nosebleeds?”

Briana’s hand tightened convulsively around the flannel. “Your allergies, I guess,” she lied.

“Rupert woke me up, too,” Nealie said in a sulky voice. “I heard him kicking on a door and yelling.”

“Those are rude things to do,” Briana said. “I don’t want you ever to do them. Here, sit up, let me get that shirt off you.”

She got the child into her pajamas and then made her settle back against the pillow. Briana pulled the quilt to Nealie’s chin and bent to kiss her.

Nealie blinked, as if truly awake for the first time. “Daddy—did he call tonight? He always tries to call on the first of the month. Did he?”

Briana hesitated. If she told Nealie the truth, it would take at least half an hour to get her back to sleep.

But she had told the child lie after lie, and this time the truth would make her happy. She kissed the soft cheek. “He called. He says he’s coming home soon.”

Nealie sat up with a start, hazel eyes widening. “Really? Honest?”