Cheryl St.John - The Mistaken Widow

Sarah’s heart beat so swiftly, he must have felt it through their layers of clothing. Against her breast his chest was broad and hard, as hard as the arms banding her back and secured behind her knees. She could smell the starch in his shirt, and the faint smell of shaving soap that lingered about his chin and jaw, masculine features that were close enough to scrape her cheek should she be foolish enough to turn her head.

Her son’s plaintive wails had released a tingling in her breasts, accompanied by a seeping wetness she feared would soak through her clothing to Nicholas’s.

He carried her into the room and paused. Her heart raced as his driver maneuvered her chair through the doorway. The man placed her hat on the seat of a rocker and excused himself.

Gently, Nicholas lowered her into the chair. “May I help you with your jacket?” he asked above the baby’s cries.

“No!” She glanced down, relieved to see her jacket still dry and covering her. “I mean, no thank you. I can see to myself now.”

He straightened and cast a helpless look at the basket “Can I send a servant to help you?”

She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

He backed up a step, then turned and left, pulling the door shut. Sarah struggled with the jacket, an awkward situation because of the chair arms, but she finally removed it and unbuttoned her blouse.

The baby rooted for a there second before latching on to her breast and suckling noisily. She had to laugh softly. “You don’t care where we are or what’s happening, do you?”

He’d finished eating by the time a young girl with a dark coronet of braids wrapped around her head brought water and towels. “The gentleman paid me handsomely to help you with the baby, ma’am. I have five brothers and sisters, and I’ve taken care of all of them. Can I bathe him for you? Rock him maybe, so you can rest?”

Nicholas’s thoughtfulness touched Sarah. Gratefully, she allowed the girl, who told her her name was Minna, to change and wash the baby while she raised her throbbing leg on a pillow and leaned back into the mattress.

“He’s a pretty one, Miz Halliday. What’s his name?”

Sarah had been dozing, her thoughts drifting from the stern-faced Nicholas to their mysterious destination, and she opened her eyes, an odd feeling of shame curling in her chest. How could she have overlooked something as basic as giving her baby a name? “Why, I—I haven’t thought of a name for him yet.”

Minna looked at her curiously, but turned back to her task.

“I was in an accident and just came around a few days ago,” she said, by way of explaining her lack of thought.

“Oh. That’s what happened to your leg?”

Sarah nodded.

“Your husband takes fine care of you. I’m sure you’ll be better in no time.”

“Mr. Halliday is not my husband.”

The girl didn’t turn around, but Sarah knew what she must be thinking, and cursed herself for opening her mouth on the subject. “He’s—my brother-in-law,” she said, using the first and easiest explanation that had come to mind. She cringed inwardly and waited for a lightning bolt or the rumble of an earthquake, but the only sound was the gentle lapping of water as Minna rinsed the baby.

A knock sounded at the door. Minna glanced toward it, but her hands were occupied.

“Who’s there?” Sarah called.

“Nicholas.”

“Come in.”

He appeared in the doorway, wearing a fresh shirt beneath his dark jacket. He glanced from Sarah to the girl and back. “Would you care to join me downstairs for dinner, or shall I have something sent up?”

“I’ll stay here with the baby,” Minna offered immediately.

Sarah imagined him carrying her down those stairs and back up again, and thought it would be a whole lot safer to eat in her room. “My head hurts terribly,” she said in excuse. “May I just stay here?”

“Of course. I’ll see that you get a powder for your headache.”

“You’re very kind.”

He gave her a brief nod and closed the door.

“Is Mr. Halliday married?” Minna asked.

Sarah stared at the door, a speculative question forming in her own mind now that the girl had brought it up. She knew nothing of this man or his family. “I don’t know.”

Minna placed the towel-wrapped infant on the bed and dried his flailing arms and legs.

Sarah captured her son’s tiny hand in hers, and watched as the girl skillfully diapered and dressed him. Her own attempts at changing him had been slow and clumsy. Surely she would gain more confidence soon. Thank goodness Nicholas had provided help immediately.

I will learn, little one, she intoned silently. I will be the best mother a little boy ever had.

“He’s a nice man,” the girl went on. “Handsome, too.”

Nicholas Halliday did seem like an admirable man. A man who deserved better than deceit. She hadn’t asked for luxuries, however, hadn’t expected the man to provide elegant new clothing and servants to help her. She looked at the new luggage beside the door, at all the items it took to care for the baby, even at the clothes she wore, and knew at this rate it would take a long while to repay him.

She had no more means to make it on her own today than she had the day her father had turned her out. By leaving with Nicholas, she’d made a decision. Now she had to be Claire Halliday until they reached their destination.

The morning dawned as clear and crisp as winter, though it was early April. The scent of spring floated on the air: freshly turned earth and garden flowers. Nicholas admonished himself to enjoy the scenery and not to regret the working hours he’d lost by not taking the train. He could count on Milos Switzer to handle anything that came up in his absence. The work would be there when he returned.

Relief surged through him that Claire looked a little better today, her face not as pale or as drawn. The long stopover the night before must have done her good. She wore a freshly pressed blouse beneath her traveling suit. And her hat—he noticed when a stiff breeze caught them as they’d stopped for the noon meal—had been safely secured.

He’d paid the proprietor of the eatery to allow Claire to use their private quarters to see to her and the baby’s needs.

They would need to stop one more night before they reached Mahoning Valley. The stamina of the horses was no concern, and Gruver had driven nonstop day and night many a time. No, Claire was the one giving him concern. She was far more delicate than he’d imagined, more refined, and obviously not accustomed to long travel or hardship. She said nothing, neither in complaint nor observation, and he wished he had access to the thoughts in her curly blond head.

“Stephen said you met last fall,” he said at last.

Sarah’s heart leaped, and her mind raced, searching for a way to avoid any questions she would be forced to answer with lies.

“Where is Stephen’s body?” she asked.

His expression became even more grim. “I had it sent ahead. He’s buried in the family cemetery. We will have a memorial service when you’re well enough.”

What about his beloved Claire? she wanted to ask. They would have wanted to be together. If there had been a way to tell him…an opportunity…she would have. Certainly, she would have. She studied him warily. If he was as strict and unyielding as her father, he would cast her to the side of the road. She couldn’t take that chance; she’d have to wait.

He stretched his long legs to the side, one knee cracking. Claire wondered how old he was. More than thirty probably. She wanted to ask him the question that Minna had lodged in her mind the night before. She studied the landscape for a few minutes, her thoughts streaking forward with uncertainty.