Page 19 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

She set the table for the three of them, her muscles sore and her eyes burning from lack of sleep.

With one ear to her bedroom door and the other to the front door, she set a plate of fresh biscuits on the table.

Nicolette had agreed to go to sleep, only if she could prepare the meal in advance.

Eleanor was thankful for her forethought, since she had little experience cooking.

Nicolette had taught her a few basic skills since her arrival in the colony, but Eleanor had a long way to go if she wanted to be self-sufficient.

The front door creaked open, and Eleanor’s heart pounded a little harder, thinking it was Arran who would enter. But it was William who walked into the house.

He glanced up at Eleanor from under the brim of his hat, and when his eyes met hers, there was so much grief in them, she had to look away.

Her own grief mingled with the resentment she’d started to feel toward him.

She didn’t mind caring for Miriam—quite the opposite.

She could not imagine being anywhere else when the baby needed her most. But she had grown angry at his lack of interest or involvement where the child was concerned.

Too little sleep, and a great abundance of fear, boiled to overflowing at the sight of him. With a clenched jaw, she set the tin plate on the table with more force than necessary.

William flinched as he set down his Bible. Without speaking, he took off his hat and coat and set them on the hooks near the door.

Eleanor did not speak, either, afraid of what she might say. Tears threatened to spill, yet she didn’t want to cry. The time had come to confront William, and she needed her wits about herself to do it with grace.

For a moment, William simply stood on the other side of the table. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but then he closed it again.

Eleanor let out a long, low breath, hoping to steady her chaotic emotions. “Miriam has shown some improvement today.”

“Thank God for that.”

The fire popped, sending a spark of embers toward the chimney. Eleanor watched the flames for a moment, gathering her thoughts, and then looked back at William, the one question that had plagued her for months finding its way to her lips. “Why have you not held her?”

William was a strong man—a capable man. He was scholarly, but he was not frail. So, when he crumpled to the chair, dropping his face into his hands while he wept, Eleanor could do nothing but stare.

“I’m a coward. She’s all I have left of Anne, and I cannot bring myself to even touch her.”

All the resolve in Eleanor’s spine melted and she went to William, her heart aching for his. “You are not a coward.” She pulled a chair up beside him and put her hand on his arm.

He looked at her then, his blue eyes awash in tears. “After losing Anne, I thought I might also lose my mind. It was by sheer willpower and the divine grace of God that I did not.”

She did not speak but simply listened.

“Each time I start to feel again, I am plagued by guilt. How can I go on living when Anne could not? How can I love and laugh and be happy again when she is not here? How can I make memories and enjoy my daughter when those things were stolen from Anne?”

Eleanor did not try to answer him.

“But that is not the worst of it.” His voice broke and he shook his head.

“I’m petrified to love my daughter.” He pressed his fists to his mouth as he looked away from Eleanor.

It couldn’t be easy for this man to admit his weaknesses to her, and she admired him for doing it.

“If I let myself love her, and then I lose her,” he said, “or anyone else I love, I fear it will be the end of me.” He searched Eleanor’s face, panic emanating from his eyes.

“I know this makes me a coward, but I do not know how to fight this fear. I’m the minister.

I’m supposed to have all the answers, yet this thing has gripped me in chains.

It’s shaking the very foundation of my faith. ”

She took one of his hands in both of hers and pressed it gently.

“I wish I could offer you reassurance, but I cannot guarantee you will never lose someone you love again.” She had lost her mother and father, though neither had died, and she knew what it was to be adrift in fear and uncertainty.

“What I can promise is that God understands your pain. He made your emotions and feels them with you. You are not a coward. You are human, and, perhaps, you will use this experience to relate to others.” She took a deep breath.

“But if you do not make the sacrifice to love Miriam now and selflessly give of your heart, regardless of the cost, it will be to her great detriment. She is a gift that God has bestowed upon you, and it is not up to you whether you accept that gift.”

He nodded and wiped his cheeks. “I know what you speak is true, but when I try, the fear overwhelms me.”

“She could very well live to be an old lady,” Eleanor said a bit more gently. “And what greater love could she have than that of her father?”

The room was dark except for the faint light from the fireplace, and it offered a warm glow in William’s eyes as he studied Eleanor’s face.

“She is blessed to have you.” He placed his free hand over hers.

“ I am blessed to have you. I do not know what I would have done if you had not stepped in to care for Miriam.”

“There would have been someone—”

“No.” He shook his head. “No one like you.”

His praise gave her a small measure of energy she had not experienced in days. It felt good to be recognized and appreciated. “Thank you.”

William offered an embarrassed smile and removed his hands from Eleanor’s grasp. “I haven’t shed a tear in front of anyone else in years, let alone a lady.”

“You have no need to fear,” she said, rising to take the rubbaboo out of the heat. “It is good to cleanse your soul from time to time with tears. God would not have given them to us if we were not supposed to use them.”

He shook his head in amazement. “You are a diamond among women, Eleanor Brooke.”

She wasn’t sure she was ready for more praise than was due, so she went about her work without responding to his compliments.

By the time supper was on the table, Arran had not returned, so Eleanor and William ate a quiet meal. She shared with him the doctor’s report and he told her about the baptisms he’d performed that afternoon.

When they were done eating, Arran was still not home. Eleanor kept the stew on the trivet, close enough to the fire to keep it warm for him.

“If you do not need me for anything more this evening,” William said to her, “I will say good night. I must prepare my sermon notes for tomorrow.”

“Go ahead.” He had helped her clean their scant dishes and there was nothing left to do. “I will check on Miriam again.”

“You must try to sleep,” he told her with concern in his voice. “We do not want you to become ill, as well.”

She would rest when Miriam was breathing easily again, and not a minute sooner.

He bid her good night and then climbed the ladder into the sleeping quarters above.

Eleanor went to her room and listened to Miriam breathing for a few moments. Nicolette snored softly from her mat on the floor. Eleanor knew if she sat on her bed, she would fall asleep, so she quietly removed her writing desk from the room and went to the table near the fireplace to write instead.

Concern for Arran had started to mount while they had eaten and had only grown stronger the longer he was away. It wasn’t like him to be gone for so long, and she wondered what could possibly be keeping him. She prayed it wasn’t serious and forced herself to turn her thoughts to her journal.

Like always, she did not spare the truth from the blank pages.

She shared her fear for Miriam’s health, and her concern for the other colonists.

When she was finished writing about the illness, she also shared her thoughts and feelings about the dance and how she had felt when she had been welcomed by the others.

She hadn’t reopened her school since that night because of Miriam’s illness, but she hoped that when she did, the children would come.

Her eyes were heavy, and her head kept nodding forward, but she forced herself to continue writing.

Suddenly, her body felt warm and weightless.

Eleanor could not force her eyes open, but there was no need.

She was safe and protected, pressed close to the solid muscles of the one who held her in his arms. Her instinct was to snuggle close and wrap her arms around his neck.

He smelled of woodsmoke and bergamot, and his heart beat steadily beneath her ear.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as he simply held her, but then he carried her to her room and laid her on her bed. She knew she needed to wake up, to listen for Miriam, but she could not force herself to leave the comfort of her dream.

Slowly, Eleanor’s eyes opened, and she stared at the wooden ceiling over her head, wondering vaguely how she had found her way to her bed.

It was dark outside the window, but the wind had settled, and everything was still.

For a moment, she just rested, her thoughts fuzzy, her body warm and comfortable under her quilt.

Nicolette’s soft snores floated on the cool air, but Miriam’s labored breathing was no more.

With sudden clarity, Eleanor sat up in bed. Panic clawed at her chest as she pushed aside the heavy quilt and stumbled across the floor to look into Miriam’s cradle.

The baby was gone.

Terror filled Eleanor’s heart as she pulled open the bedroom door and ran into the common room.

Arran sat near the fireplace, smiling down at Miriam, who was cradled in his arms. He spoke gently to the little girl as she stared up at him with her wide, blue eyes. He was so big and strong, and she was so small and delicate.

Eleanor sagged against the doorframe, her muscles weak with relief. The terror in her heart melted away and was quickly replaced with something far sweeter. It warmed her through, bringing fresh tears.

Arran looked up at Eleanor, a light in his brown eyes. He slowly rose from his chair and walked over to her, holding the baby as if she was the most precious and fragile thing he’d ever touched. “We hoped you would keep sleeping.”

“How is she?” It was hard for Eleanor to find her voice. She was still breathless from the fright she’d just endured.

Arran smiled down at the baby, who continued to stare at him. “She is doing much better, though I dinna ken much about these things.” He spoke in a soothing voice, clearly for Miriam’s sake.

The first hint of a smile lifted the baby’s cheeks and Eleanor’s heart soared. Miriam had not smiled since becoming ill.

A grin turned up Arran’s lips as he looked down at the babe. “She’s a bonnie wee bairn. I dinna think my heart will be the same after holding her.” He met Eleanor’s gaze. “Now I ken why you love her so.”

Everything within her wanted to reach out and embrace them both, but she refrained and instead shared a quiet smile with Arran, loving that he understood this part of her.

“I dinna want to let her go, but I can see you’re needing to hold her and see for yourself that she’s safe and well.” He gently placed Miriam in her arms.

The baby was soft and sweet, and her chest was no longer tight with the croup. “Thank God,” Eleanor breathed as she closed her eyes and placed her cheek next to Miriam’s.

Arran did not speak, and when Eleanor opened her eyes again, she found him watching her.

“Did you bring me to my bed?” she asked quietly.

He nodded.

Eleanor swallowed the rush of emotions clogging her throat. She was still properly dressed—even her shoes were still on her feet—but the thought of him holding her in his arms, and lying her in her bed, brought heat to her cheeks and a strange, yet wonderful, sensation to her stomach.

It had been a long time since someone had taken care of her.

“You need your sleep, lass. I dinna want you to become ill.”

Now that Miriam was growing stronger, Eleanor would be able to sleep better. “Thank you for your help.” It was all she could manage to say, though she wanted to say so much more.