Page 5 of Beyond Time’s Embrace

C harlie slid from Libby’s lap while Brad climbed out of the buggy. “C’mon, you little whippersnapper.” Brad called to Charlie as he reached out to help him down.

He scowled. “My name isn’t whippersnuffer. It’s Charlie.”

Brad chuckled. “I called you a whippersnapper, not whippersnuffer. But if you wish, I’ll call you Charlie. Now, Charlie, let’s help your mother down.”

Brad stuck his head into the buggy. Libby was still sitting on the seat, her head bowed down, her hands in her lap. She glanced up when Brad called to her. Tears were streaming down her face.

“Is Ben really dead?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m afraid so.” When she didn’t say anything or move, Brad thought she hadn’t heard. “C’mon, Ma’am. Miss Libby. We’ll discuss this later. Right now, we need to get you out of this damn buggy.” He paused. “Uh. Sorry for cussing, Ma’am. Bad habit.”

Libby wiped away her tears and levered herself up from the seat. Brad reached into the buggy and grabbed her hands as she swayed.

“You’re doing good, Miss Libby. Now, come toward me. Charlie and I will get you down.” When she got to the door, he stood to one side. “Put your hand on my shoulder and step down. I’ll keep you from falling. Charlie, be ready to take your mother’s hand.”

Libby stood in the doorway and looked down. The ground seemed a mile away. The man with the hood was calmly telling her to step down. Charlie was stretching back his little neck, watching. Her eyes grew wide. She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Ma’am? Miss Libby? Two steps, Ma’am. You only have to take two steps down. I won’t let you fall. Charlie and I will help you.”

His calm, soothing voice seemed to finally register with her. She placed her hand on his left shoulder. He reached out for her with his right hand. Libby closed her eyes and stepped down.

“Good. One more,” Brad urged.

“You did it.” Charlie squealed as he ran over to grab her hand from Brad.

Libby gave Charlie a weak smile. “You did a good job helping, Charlie. Now let’s get to wherever we’re going.”

Good. She seems to be doing all right. They passed between the large white columns, under a balcony, and through a tall doorway. As they entered the foyer, she stopped and gasped.

“Ma’am?”

“Let me rest a minute. I’ll be okay.” She clenched her teeth.

Brad held Libby up with his arm around her back, holding her hand. The grip on his hand was strong enough to cut off the circulation . No baby! Oh, God, don’t let her have this baby now! Wait until Cora comes! After what seemed like an eternity, Libby straightened up, gave him a nod and they continued toward the stairs.

“Charlie, let your mother use the railing. You can...” Hell, he didn’t know what Charlie could do. He wanted the boy to help, but how was the pertinent question.

“Charlie,” Libby said. “Walk one step higher than me and let me rest my arm on your shoulders. That would help a lot.”

Charlie grinned, obviously pleased to be helping again. He jumped up one step and reached for his mother’s arm. Libby grabbed the railing. Even standing one step above them, Libby’s arm never touched Charlie’s shoulders. But the pride on his face as he held onto her arm and calmly urged her up the stairs, made Brad realized what a good mother this woman was. Would Lucinda have been as good? He couldn’t wonder for long, though. He was too concerned about getting Libby into bed. Halfway up the stairs another pain came. They stopped again until it passed.

Brad swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Aren’t these pains coming awfully fast?”

“I’m sure it’s simply false labor. As soon as I can lie down, I’ll be fine.”

Since she’d already had one child, he could only assume she knew what she was talking about. The last thing he wanted to do after this evening’s events was deliver a baby. One chance had been enough. Brad breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the second floor without having to stop again.

“We’ll go down this hallway and turn to the right.” They entered Libby’s room. “Can you get yourself undressed, Ma’am?” She’d better be able to. There was no way he’d help a strange woman change. “There is a nightgown and robe on the bed. I’ll take Charlie into the next room and get him into some dry clothes. Is that all right?”

“Mommy, I want to stay with you.” Charlie held onto her legs.

Libby looked at Brad then down at her son. “It’s okay, Charlie. I’ll be right here. As soon as you’re done, you can come back here. Go with...” Huh. “What is your name?”

“Brad. Bradley Kemble. You’re at Whispering Pines, my farm.”

****

“C harlie, you go with Mr. Kemble. I need to change, too.” For some reason, Brad leading Charlie through a door at the end of the room didn’t bother her. The rooms must be connected. On the same wall as the door, a fire burned brightly in a large fireplace, giving off shadows in the nearly dark room. She leaned against a post of the four-poster bed as another contraction came and went. At least this one was shorter and farther apart than the other ones. Hopefully, with rest, they would stop completely.

Libby turned toward the bed and gasped. Attached to the posters was a ruffled canopy with curtains swagged back and tied to the posts. A white quilt covered the bed, with several large, white ruffled pillows tossed at the head. It looked like a bed from one of her books.

She picked up a frilly, pink nightgown. The long sleeves had lacy cuffs. Three layers of more frilly lace curved from the high neckline to the breast line. “There’s enough material in this thing to cover three pregnant women. Why would a gay guy have something like this?” She pulled off her tennis shoes, socks, sweatpants, and top. She let out a sigh of relief when she dropped her bra onto the bed. Since she was small on top, she usually didn’t wear one, but while pregnant her breasts were bigger and heavier. Since she would be nursing, it would be a long time before she could go without one again.

Libby slipped the nightgown over her head. It slid over her bulging stomach leaving the hem ending at the middle of her shins. Whomever this once belonged to must have been short. A yawn made her eyes water. Exhaustion overcame her. It was an effort to keep her eyes open. It was as if someone had tied anchors to her arms and legs.

“I’ll crawl into bed and Charlie can join me when he’s ready.” She pulled back the blankets, crawled between the cool sheets, and fell instantly asleep.

****

I n the next room Brad was losing a battle of a thousand questions—and with a three-year-old no less. Every time he turned around Charlie fired another question at him. After each answer he gave, Charlie added “Why?” To add to his frustration most of the boy’s questions didn’t make any sense.

“Hey, mister, why don’t you turn on the lights? Where’s your TV? Can you turn up the heat? I’m cold. Do you have any ice cream? I’m hungry.”

Brad eluded his confusing questions by mumbling something incoherent as he moved about the room looking for something for Charlie to wear. All the clothes in the dresser were for an infant. His son never had a chance to get as big as Charlie. As their child would have grown, his wife, Lucinda, would have lovingly stitched new clothes, which didn’t help him now.

“Hey, mister, why do you wear that thing on your face? I want to see what you look like. Are you a monster?”

Brad walked to the bed where Charlie sat on the edge and squatted on his heels before the boy. “I had an accident and got a large cut on my face. The scar scares people so I wear the mask. Any more questions?”

Charlie tilted his head and squinted his eyes. “Where’re your kids? Where’s the baby for the cradle? My mom has a baby in her tummy. It’s going to pop out soon.”

He had to ask, didn’t he. Should he ignore the boy’s question about the cradle? Instead, he chuckled at Charlie’s rendition of the baby popping out. “I know your mom’s going to have a baby.” He paused, trying to figure out what to tell Charlie next. If he avoided the question about the cradle, the boy would only ask again and again. Best to get it over with. “I had a son, but he died when he was a baby. I don’t have any other children.”

Brad’s answer actually seemed to stop Charlie’s questions—for a few seconds at least.

“Where’s your wife?”

“My wife died, too.”

Charlie’s bottom lip quivered. “Will my Mommy and her baby die?”

A lump formed in Brad’s throat. He pulled Charlie into his arms. Like the boy’s small arms around his neck, fear wrapped around him. What would happen to him if his mother died in childbirth? The idea nearly knocked him to the floor. Charlie laid his head on Brad’s shoulder. He rubbed the boy’s small back in circular motions.

“Your mama isn’t going to die, Charlie. Neither is her baby. I promise.”

After comforting Charlie for a few minutes, the boy was back to his questioning self, breaking the spell of protectiveness.

“Hey, mister, you have anything to eat? I’m hungry. Can I see my Mommy? Can I watch TV before I go to sleep? Is this bed mine?”

Brad finally let loose and laughed. “Well, young man, let’s get your clothes changed, we’ll go see your mama, then get something to eat. Then you can climb into the bed. How’s that sound?”

Charlie leaned back in Brad’s arms and giggled. “Goody! But where’re my clothes?”

“They are still in the buggy, but I’ll find you something else to put on. Come with me and we’ll look together.” Brad set Charlie on the floor and stood. As if he trusted him, Charlie took Brad’s hand, and they walked across the hall to Brad’s room.

“Wow, this bed is humungous! Why do you have curtains around your bed? How do you get up on it?”

Here we go again. Brad sighed and searched through his wardrobe for something to put on the boy. He finally pulled out one of his white shirts.

“Here you go, Charlie. You can put this on.” Brad handed the shirt to Charlie.

“A dress?” Charlie squealed then put his hands over his mouth. “I’m not a girl!”

What? “This isn’t a dress. It’s my shirt!”

“Then how come there’s girl things on the ends?”

“Girl things?” Brad frowned and fingered the crisply starched ruffles. “These aren’t girl things. All men wear ruffles on their shirts.”

Charlie giggled. “My daddy doesn’t.”

At the thought of Charlie’s father, his enjoyment of the boy wavered. Who was going to raise this delightful child? Who was going to be there to put him on a horse for the first time, or teach him to hunt? Or read? Should he tell Charlie about his father? Maybe he was a coward, but it would be better coming from his mother.

“It doesn’t matter. You can wear this tonight as your nightshirt. I’ll roll up the ruffles so you can’t see them.”

Charlie’s eyes got big. “It’s gonna be my ‘jamas?”

“‘Jamas?” The boy used so many strange words, but it would be better to go along with his strange vocabulary than to set him off on another round of questions. “Yes, you’re going to sleep in this. Now let’s get your other clothes off and you into my shirt.” Brad picked Charlie up and set him on the bed. He started to pull off those odd shoes, but Charlie had other ideas.

“I can do it myself!” Charlie puffed out his small chest. “I’ve been undressing myself since I was a little kid.”

Brad tried not to laugh as Charlie grabbed one of his shoes and tugged, falling backward onto the bed. The shoe went flying over Charlie’s head onto the floor on the other side of the bed. In rapid order, the other shoe followed the first. Sounds of grunts filled the air as Charlie tugged, pulled, and rolled around the bed to remove each article of clothing.

Ignoring each piece of strange clothing as it was tossed to the floor was difficult. Finally, Charlie stood up in the middle of the bed, naked except for an unusual garment he wore over his private parts and displayed his bony knees and skinny little legs. The garment was white with some men wearing blue tights, red shorts, blue shirts, and a red flowing cape attached to their shoulders.

With his hands on his narrow hips, he grinned. “I’m ready for the dress!”

Brad came out of his musings about the clothes. “So you are young man. You did a great job, too. Come here and let me get this shirt on you.”

After a few minutes of struggling with Charlie’s short arms and the long arms of his shirt, Brad finally had the squirming boy buttoned up. He grabbed Charlie under his arms and swung him onto the floor.

“It’s too big,” Charlie whined. “I can’t walk!”

Brad laughed, something so unusual in the past years, it shocked him. But he couldn’t help it, which made Charlie’s lip quiver. The sleeves of the shirt lay on the floor, the ruffled cuffs dragging behind him like a bedraggled puppy. Every time he took a step, he tripped on the garment and propelled himself forward.

“Fix this.”

Brad raised an eyebrow at Charlie’s demanding tone.

“Please?”

“Come here. I’ll help you.” It took a few minutes for him to roll the sleeves high enough so Charlie’s hands were sticking out. “Now what?”

“Can you stick the shirt into my underpants?” Charlie asked.

Underpants? What the heck were those? Charlie stretched out the material at the waistband. Oh. Underpants must be what he was wearing over his privates. “Sure, I can tuck them into your underpants.” After a few tries, Brad came to the conclusion there was way too much shirt for the boy’s pants.

“How about if I carry you so you won’t trip?”

Charlie scowled and opened his mouth. “I’m a big boy. I don’t need to be carried.”

“So you are, but it would help me a lot if you would let me carry you. I never get to carry children, especially ones as big as you. Besides, I don’t want you falling and knocking me over.”

“Okay.” Charlie sighed. “But I’m not a baby!”

Brad made a show of struggling to pick up the boy. “You are a big one, aren’t you?” Charlie rewarded Brad’s cleverness by flexing his muscles. “Strong, too.”

“Can I see my mommy now?”

“All right. I’m sure she’s anxious to see you, too.” They left his room and entered Libby’s.

The fire had died down making it difficult to see. Brad went to the side of the bed. Charlie flexed his knees as he were ready to leap from his arms onto the bed. Brad put a finger to Charlie’s lips.

“Shh. She’s asleep.”

Charlie slumped in Brad’s arms. “But I want my mommy.”

“She’s tired, Charlie. Let’s go find something to eat, and when we come back, maybe she’ll be awake. All right?”

After nodding, Charlie laid his head on Brad’s shoulder. “How about my daddy? Can I see my daddy?”

Brad hated lying to the boy. “Not right now. He’s busy.” Before going down the stairs, Brad lit a candle sitting on a table in the hallway and carefully started down the stairs.

“How come you don’t turn on the lights?”

“This is my light.”

Charlie shook his head. “No, I mean real lights.”

Since he had no idea what Charlie was talking about, Brad quickly changed the subject. “A big boy like you must be hungry enough to eat a bear. What would you like to eat?” Cora had left some cold meat and potatoes in the pantry for him.

“Pizza! Can I have pizza?” Charlie bounced in his arms.

“Pizza? I’m fresh out of pizza today.” They entered the kitchen. There the boy went again. Talking in riddles. “How about some meat and potatoes? They make a man strong!” He set Charlie on a chair by the long wooden table standing in the middle of the room and flexed his muscles.

Wooden counters and cupboards surrounded two sides of the room while a cast-iron stove sat next to the pantry door. A large fireplace with bread ovens built into the side graced the last wall. The room was rather small but had plenty of windows to allow the summer breezes to cool it off. Brad lit the two lanterns hanging above the table.

“Do you gots any hot dogs?”

Brad shook his head.

“How ‘bout pasgettios? They’re my fav’rit after pizza. I have them every day at the babysitter’s.”

When would this child ever make sense? What kind of food did he eat anyway? “I don’t have any of those things.”

“Don’t you gots any food in your house? Are you poor?”

Poor? Him? With all the meat hanging in the smokehouse, vegetables stored in the cellar, cows for milk, and chickens for eggs, he was a far cry from being poor.

Eggs. Milk. Why of course. “Eggs, I have eggs. Do you like eggs?”

Brad perked up and nodded until his sandy-colored hair fell into his face. “Scrambled eggs. I love those. Can you make toast, too?”

At this moment Brad was grateful his mother had made her sons learn more than the running of a farm. She insisted they learn to cook and so they would be more appreciative of their future wives if they knew how hard they worked. For once in his life Brad saw the usefulness of those tortuous cooking sessions. If only he could remember how to do it.

“Sure, I can make scrambled eggs. We can have bread instead of toast, though.” Cora made toast every morning for him, but how she did it...

“Okay. Can I help? I help my mommy all the time.”

Brad hesitated. What could a three-year-old know about cooking? If he were kept busy, maybe it would keep him from asking so many questions.

“All right, Charlie. You tell me how your mommy makes her scrambled eggs, and I’ll make them the same.”

As Charlie rattled off instructions about milk, eggs, salt, pepper, and butter, Brad threw wood in the still-warm stove. He added a few pieces of tinder and kindling and in no time had the stove hot for cooking. He searched for the ingredients Charlie said were necessary to make “prefect” scrambled eggs.

Making the eggs with a young boy was a lesson in mess, but still enjoyable. He didn’t remember having fun cooking as a child. This time if an eggshell got into the bowl, no one yelled. He and Charlie simply dug it out and Brad wiped them on his already filthy clothes.

After they had their fill of the slightly underdone eggs, bread, and milk, Charlie’s eyes began to droop. If he didn’t get the child up to bed, he would fall asleep at the table, probably with his face on his dirty plate.

“Come on, young man, let’s get you to bed.”

Brad chuckled at Charlie’s jaw-cracking yawn as he reached up his arms to be carried. No concerns about being a baby now. It was a struggle carrying both the boy, who seemed to get heavier by the minute, and the candle. Before they were half-way up the stairs, Charlie was asleep. Since his wife had died, he’d trudged up the stairs many times in the dark, so he blew out the candle, set it on a step, and went the rest of the way up the unlit stairs and hallway.

A dim glow from the fireplace in Charlie’s room helped guide Brad to the bed. Carefully, he laid him at the foot of the bed, pulled back the sheet and blanket, placed Charlie on the sheets, and covered him.

“’Night, Mommy and Daddy,” Charlie murmured as he stuck his thumb in his mouth and snuggled down in the blankets.

“’Night, Charlie,” Brad whispered back. He pulled the hair away from Charlie’s eyes. The desire to give him a kiss on his forehead was overwhelming. Before he could do something so personal, he turned away. This was not his son. Even though Charlie was fatherless, he couldn’t begin to think about taking over the job. They probably had other family somewhere to go home to. He wouldn’t let himself get attached to the boy.

After building up the fire and banking it for the night, Brad took one last look at the boy, checked on Libby, who was still sleeping, and left to take care of her husband.