Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

But if he was married to the woman, the baby drooling on her bosom might be his. Clara felt a flash of annoyance, most of it with herself. She had already grown attached to the baby. She liked to lie in bed with him and watch him try to work his tiny hands. He would peer at her for long stretches, frowning, as if trying to figure life out. But when Clara laughed at him and gave him her finger to hold he would stop frowning and gurgle happily. Apart from the colic, he seemed to be a healthy baby. She knew the mother was probably still in Ogallala, and that she ought to take the child into town and see if the woman had had a change of heart and wanted her son, but she kept putting it off. It would be discouraging to have to give him up-she told herself if the mother didn't want him bad enough to come and get him, then the mother was too foolish to have him. She reminded herself it was time she got out of the habit of babies. She wouldn't be likely to get any more, and she knew she ought to figure out another way to keep herself amused. But she did like babies. Few things were as likely to cheer her up.

She had never seriously supposed a father would turn up, and yet only three weeks had passed and one had, standing in her kitchen, dirty, tired, and with a badly discolored leg.

Clara poked the fire a time or two more, trying to adjust to the surprise. Then she turned and looked at July.

"Mr. Johnson," she said, "are you looking for your wife, by any chance?"

July almost fell over from surprise. "Yes, her name is Ellie-Elmira," he said. "How'd you ever know?"

He began to tremble. Clara came over, took his arm and led him to a chair. The girls were standing in the doorway, watching every move.

"I been looking for Ellie all the way," July said. "I didn't even know she come this way. She's not a large woman, I was afraid she might have died. Have you seen her?"

"Yes," Clara said. "She stopped here for the night about three weeks ago in the company of two buffalo hunters."

To July it seemed too much of a miracle-that with the whole plains to cross he and Ellie would strike the same house. The woman, who was watching him intently, seemed to read his mind.

"We get a lot of travelers," she said, as though he hadn't spoken. "Situating this place right here was one of the smartest things my husband ever did. Anyone coming along the Platte who might need a horse isn't going to miss us. We're on the only road. If we hadn't located on this road, we'd have been starved out long ago."

"It seems…" July said, and he couldn't finish. It was all he had hoped for, to be able to find her someday. He had risked and lost three lives to do it, and though Ellie wasn't right there, surely she was in town. He began to tremble and then to cry-he couldn't help it. His hopes were to be answered after all.

Silently Clara handed him a rough dish towel. She scowled fiercely at the girls until they backed off. She followed them out the back door to give the man a moment to collect himself.

"Why's he crying?" Betsey asked.

"He's just unnerved-he's come along a long way and I imagine he had stopped expecting to make it," Clara said.

"But he's a man," Sally said. Their father had never cried, as far as she knew.

"Men have tears in them too, same as you," Clara said. "Go draw some water. I think we might offer him a bath."

She went back in. July had not quite gained control of himself. He was too shaken with relief. The baby, now in a good mood, was mouthing its own fingers and rolling its eyes up to her. Might as well tell the man, she thought. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

"Mr. Johnson, I guess I've got another piece of news for you," Clara said. She looked from the baby's face to his, seeking resemblances. It seemed to her the foreheads were the same, and though the child had little hair, the little was the same color as July's. He was not a badlooking man, just gaunt from his travels, and dirty. She had a notion to make him shave, when he had rested, so she could compare his face with the baby's. He could use Bob's razor. One week ago she had stropped it and shaved Bob.

July looked at her as she fiddled with the baby. The tears had left him feeling empty, but his gratitude to the woman just for being there and treating him kindly was so great that he felt he might cry again if he tried to speak. The woman seemed too beautiful and too kind to be true. It was clear she was older-she had fine wrinkles around her mouth-but her skin was still soft and her face, as she wiggled the baby's little hand with one finger, was very beautiful. The thought of more news troubled him a little, though-probably one of Elmira's companions had stolen something or made some mischief.

"If that woman was your wife, I guess this child is yours," Clara said. "She had it the night she was here. Then she left. She was very anxious to get to town. I don't believe she realized what a fine boy she had. We all took to him right away around this place."

July had not really looked at the baby. He had supposed it belonged to Clara-she had said her name was Clara. She was watching him closely with her kind gray eyes. But what she said seemed so unlikely that he couldn't really credit it. Elmira had said nothing to him about wanting a baby, or planning to have one, or anything. To him, so tired he could hardly sit straight, it just meant another mystery. Maybe it explained why Elmira ran away-though it didn't to him. As for the little boy, wiggling in Clara's lap, he didn't know what to think. The notion that he had a son was too big a notion. His mind wouldn't really approach it. The thought made him feel lost again, as he had felt out on the plains.

Clara saw that he was past dealing with it for the moment.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson," she said, immediately getting up. "I should be cooking instead of worrying you with things you're too tired to deal with. You eat and go rest. This boy will still be here-we can discuss it tomorrow."

July didn't answer, but he felt he was remiss. Not only was Clara going to a lot of trouble to feed him, she was taking care of a baby that might be his. He tried to think of things he might do or say, but nothing came to mind. Clara went cheerfully about the cooking, holding the baby in her arms most of the time but occasionally plunking him on the table for a minute if she needed both hands for the work.

"Just catch him if he starts to roll," she said. "That's all I ask."

She fed July beefsteak and potatoes and peas. July felt he would be too tired to eat, and yet at the smell of the food his appetite returned and he ate every bite.

"I made Bob build me a windbreak," she said. "I watched my gardens blow away for ten or twelve years and I finally got tired of it."

July looked at her questioningly.

"Bob's my husband," she said. "He's injured. We don't hold out too much hope for him."

She had strained and heated a little milk, and while July ate she fed the baby, using a big nipple she had fixed over a fruit jar.

"We use this nipple for the colts," she said. "Sometimes the mares don't have their milk at first. It's a good thing this boy's got a big mouth."

The child was sucking greedily on the nipple, which was quite large, it seemed to July.

"I've been calling him Martin," Clara said. "Since he's yours, you may want to change it. I think Martin is a nice name for a man. A man named Martin could be a judge, or maybe go into politics. My girls fancy the name too."

"I don't guess he's mine," July said. "Ellie never mentioned anything about it."

Clara laughed. It surprised him. "Had you been married long?" she asked.

"About six months," July said. "When she left."

"Oh, well, you were newlyweds then," Clara said. "She might have been put out with you and decided not to tell you."