Cheryl St.John - The Mistaken Widow

Gaylen Carlisle, without intentions of marriage or fidelity, had seduced her, then abruptly left for the Continent when she’d voiced her fear of pregnancy.

Sarah had waited until she could no longer hide her condition before she confessed her transgression to her father. Outraged, he had immediately tossed her out of his home before she could cause him further embarrassment.

She’d found a room over a butcher’s shop until last week, when her funds ran frighteningly low. Due to her father’s intervention, no one in Boston had been willing to give her a job or take her in. She’d sold a necklace, one of the pieces of her mother’s jewelry that she’d inherited, and tried to make her way toward a new life. One thing after another had waylaid her, until this last, and worst, predicament.

The nagging pain in Sarah’s back snaked around to her abdomen, and she nearly groaned aloud. But the rhythmic rocking of the train as it chugged its way westward combined with the soothing warmth of the dry clothing and bedcovers as well as the contentment of having food in her stomach. Exhaustion overcame discomfort, and she drifted into a sound sleep.

A sudden jarring movement and the deafening sound of scraping metal woke her. Disoriented, Sarah had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but the compartment remained dark. A sense of vertigo overtook her, and the motion of the railcar was all wrong. She clamped her teeth together, and with a scream, she was flung from the bunk toward the opposite wall.

The last coherent thought that crossed her mind was fear for her baby.

Sarah’s leg throbbed with an intensity that overrode the pain in her back and told her she was still alive. The coppery smell of blood was strong, and overhead, incessant rain pounded against metal. Her pulse throbbed violently in her head and leg. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t. She wanted to pray, but she couldn’t Gratefully, she succumbed to the pain and blackness.

Sometime later the stringent smells of antiseptic and starch burned her nostrils. Her leg still hurt, but it wasn’t the same torment as before. Now she could feel her head, too, and it pounded with every beat of her heart. She cracked open an eye and peered at the painfully bright sunlight streaming through the small window into the drab green room. She opened her mouth, and a dry croak came out.

“Lie still, dear. You’ve taken a nasty bump. Doctor says you mustn’t move.”

“Whe-where am—”

“Shush now. Don’t fret yourself. Rest your eyes.”

Sarah closed her eyes as the woman instructed. A nurse. She was in a hospital. A crisp sheet covered her, cool fabric draped her skin. Her leg wouldn’t move. She tested her hands, opening and closing, and lifted one arm at a time, barely off the mattress.

She opened her eyes again, and her right hand moved instinctively, protectively, to her belly.

Her flat belly!

“Oh, my—.” Sarah tried to raise her head from the pillow.

“No, no, lie back,” the nurse soothed.

“My baby! Where’s my baby?” The motion and those words sucked all her energy and, dizzy, she collapsed back against the hard bed.

“Your baby’s just fine,” the woman said.

The woman’s face swam in a flesh-toned blur that blended into the ceiling. Fine? Her baby was fine?

“Whe-ere?” she managed.

“We’re taking good care of him until you feel better. Rest now, so you’ll heal and can take care of him yourself.”

Sarah closed her eyes against the acute pain throbbing in her head. He? She had a baby boy? A single tear slipped from beneath her lashes and trickled across her temple.

The next time Sarah wakened, it took her a few minutes to remember where she was and what had happened. She’d been on a train. Something awful had happened, and now she lay in the hospital. She had a son.

She struggled to a sitting position, and pulled the covers away to reveal her swollen and bandaged left leg. Grimacing, she ran her fingertips over the bandage on her head.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t be sitting up!” The admonishment came from the doorway, and a uniformed nurse rushed in to press her back against the pillows.

“I want to see my baby,” she demanded.

“I’ll get the doctor.” She shook her finger under Sarah’s nose, punctuating her next words. “Don’t you move again.”

A few minutes later, a short, wiry doctor appeared, two starched nurses flanking him. One held a tiny bundle of flannel.

“Oh!” Sarah pressed her palm to her chest and waited as the woman carried the baby forward. “Can I hold him?”

The nurse looked to the doctor who nodded his permission, then placed the infant in Sarah’s arms.

The red-faced baby blinked at his surroundings, much as she had upon awakening. He had fair hair and a ruddy complexion. The eyes he tried to focus were a deep, deep blue, with a look of wisdom more fitting an old man than a baby. He frowned and when he did, he looked just like Sarah’s father.

“He’s a handsome one,” the nurse said. “He’s the biggest, sturdiest boy we’ve had in a long time.”

Sarah sighed her relief. Her baby really was fine. Better than fine. Big and sturdy.

“We’d better take him back to the nursery now, so you can rest, Mrs. Halliday.”

Reluctant to let him go, the woman’s words didn’t register for a moment. When they did, she blinked at the nurse. “What?”

The doctor came forward then, and the nurse took the baby from her arms. “I’m afraid we have some disturbing news for you.”

Sarah blinked. Wasn’t all this disturbing enough?

“Your husband was killed in the accident.”

Sarah tried to sit forward again.

The doctor urged her back.

“But, I—” Sarah began.

“You’ve taken quite a blow to the head, Mrs. Halliday. You shouldn’t move around any more than necessary for a few more days.” The other nurse had moved up beside Sarah with a glass of water.

Sarah drank obediently and lay back. She needed to straighten something out with these people. The room tilted crazily and she lost consciousness.

This time she would get some answers. She ran her tongue over her teeth, grimaced at the horrible taste in her mouth, and struggled to remember. “ Your husband was killed in the accident…Mrs. Halliday. ” Sarah thought of the kind, red-haired woman and her handsome husband who had so generously taken her in and shared their room and brought her food.

They thought she was Claire Halliday.

How on earth could she explain what had happened? Every time she tried to talk to the doctor or nurses, they treated her as though she were feeble in the head and dosed her with laudanum.

They allowed her to sit up and eat some bland oatmeal and drink a cup of tea. Later, a nurse she hadn’t seen before brought the baby and instructed her to nurse him. Sarah did the best she could, naively, painfully, and watched in wonder as her tiny son instinctively knew what to do when she didn’t. She touched his downy soft head, his tiny fingers, and opened the flannel wrapping to look at his wrinkled pink skin and marvel at his toes.

He was so tiny…so helpless…and—tears welled in her throat and stung her eyes—so completely and totally dependent on her. Her! How on earth was she going to care for this child all by herself? She had no money, no place to live and no prospects. The realization terrified her. Never in all her life had anyone ever needed Sarah before. And now that someone did, she was unprepared for the responsibility. She couldn’t bear to let him down.

The nurse returned for the baby later, and Sarah napped briefly. When she woke, the doctor stood beside her bed.