Angel's Embrace Page 5

After they laid her along the leather seat, the Negro entered the carriage with the baby, whose squawking rang so sharply, Eve cringed.

  “Please! Take her! I don’t have the strength to—”

  “She wants what only her mama can give her, Miss Eve,” the Negro explained. He had to be as old as Moses, with all those wrinkles and springy hair that had gone white. “Our girl’s hungry, after that hard job of bein’ born. She’s awaitin’ for her dinner—and a name, too. Whatcha gonna call this pretty girl-child?”

  Eve gaped at him. She’d been so intent on ridding herself of this burden, she hadn’t considered a name for it.

  When Asa stepped down the carriage stairs, Mercy Malloy came in. With a glance at Billy, she knelt beside the carriage seat where Eve sprawled.

  “Turn a little. Hold the baby in the crook of your arm,” she instructed softy. “She can suckle that way, and you won’t have to sit up during this bumpy ride.”

  Eve’s gaze flickered to Billy, who showed no sign of leaving. Matter of fact, he shut the carriage door and sat down across from her, as though he were settling in for the show.

  Did he think she was going to expose a breast while he watched? Her cheeks tingled with embarrassment; this, coupled with her ignorance of how feeding worked, upset her so much, Eve feared no milk would come out, no matter how badly she wanted to stifle the baby’s cries.

  Mercy was unbuttoning her bodice, oblivious to her anguish. This total stranger had the audacity to fondle her breast and guide the baby’s mouth to it! As though she hadn’t suffered humiliation enough during the birth!

  Then Mercy draped the tablecloth over Eve’s shoulder. “If nature isn’t taking its course in a few moments, I’ll help you, dear,” she said. “I’ve fed two daughters, and they were as different as spring and fall.”

  Eve held herself stiffly, unsure of what to do about the wet mouth fitted over her nipple. Mother had told her nothing of these mysteries. How would she even know if she was doing it wrong—

  The baby sucked, feebly at first, but then with more determination. A new sensation surged through Eve: it was finally quiet in the carriage, because this baby, only minutes old, was drinking from her breast. Taking care of her own needs, even though Eve hadn’t known how to meet them.

  It was a humbling thought. How frightening, the way this alien, wiggling thing depended on her, when she had no idea what to do with it. Eve remained absolutely still so she wouldn’t disturb the unnerving process.

  How often would she have to feed it? What if she were busy, or out of the room, when the baby got hungry again?

  Would it starve if she left it?

  Eve felt the weight of Billy’s gaze from across the carriage, but she couldn’t look at him. She owed him her thanks—an apology for interrupting his wedding. But she kept her eyes closed and concentrated on the pull of milk between little lips she didn’t want to look at, either. No sense in getting attached.

  “Can’t tell you how my heart started poundin’ when you said Wesley was still alive,” Billy said in a husky voice. “No matter what the situation is between you and him, I can’t thank you enough for makin’ the trip here, Eve.”

  Her eyes flew open. Billy’s gaze was blazing with that blue fire again, and startling emotions danced over his lean, masculine face. Gratitude. Surprise. Curiosity—lots of that—sharpened by questions he was biting back so the baby wouldn’t cry again.

  Why didn’t he seem upset? His bride had stomped off, and he was certainly going to pay for the way he’d spoiled Emma’s big day. Had she been the jilted, set-aside bride, Billy wouldn’t be able to walk right now.

  Yet he sat relaxed, slightly slouched, with his legs extended toward her. This was the kid who’d been turned out of his home by her father’s conniving, yet Billy Bristol had set aside his anger—had sent his mother away!—when she’d collapsed in the sanctuary. He’d shown no signs of impatience or anger or disbelief when she’d said the baby was his twin’s.

  Billy—and the Malloys who’d taken him in—seemed too good to be true. Best to beware their ulterior motives—

  Eve slowly lowered her eyelids so she could watch him through the filmy haze of her exhaustion without engaging in conversation. If she said too much, she’d break the spell he’d woven. His awed expression was truly a sight, even if it wasn’t aimed at her.

  “Don’t worry about explaining right now,” he said softly. “Plenty of time for that when you’ve rested. We’re almost home.”

  Home? The confident way he said that, as though he hadn’t left his bride in the lurch, made her wonder again what this redheaded sweet-talker was made of. He’d lost his home after the war, same as she’d lost hers last month. Even though his mother had returned from her galavanting and law-breaking days in the West, Billy still considered himself part of the Malloy family.

  This was beyond her right now. Eve let herself drift, because the baby had finally nodded off. The bumpy road kept her from sleeping, yet the deep sense of devotion she felt in this carriage made her believe she could share in this wonderful sense of family.

  She hadn’t felt that way since long before Daddy killed himself.

  The carriage stopped. Outside, dogs were barking a welcome and the scents of freshly cut grass, livestock, and heat came in when the door opened. Once again Asa entered, smiling as he scooped the baby into his arms. Once again she swayed on the tablecloths Michael and Billy carried her on, past a sandy-haired boy about Billy’s size last time she’d seen him, with features like Mike Malloy’s.

  Into a white frame house they went, and Eve drank in the impressions of light, airy rooms filled with homey furniture. Aromas of ham and apple pie teased at her. They passed a young Negro woman, who greeted her with another of those kind, accepting smiles. They passed through a parlor, where that blond songbird in pink grinned at her from beside a younger, dark-haired girl who had an arm slung around a third child.

  Lord, how many children did these Malloys have? And what about that young black woman? Did they still keep slaves in these parts? Or was she related to that crinkly-eyed old man who’d taken the baby?

  So many things to find out. So many people she’d have to keep track of, when she was ready to break away. But Eve kept her mouth shut about that, of course.

  Mercy and the young Negro woman—who had the oddest name of Temple Gates—gave her a sponge bath and a fresh nightgown, which felt heavenly soft against her skin. She gazed around the pretty bedroom, painted a soft yellow that soothed her like morning sunshine. When she sank into the bed—a real feather mattress!—Eve thought she’d died and somehow slipped past St. Peter’s inquisitions, into Heaven.

  “Here’s Asa’s tea!” a perky voice cut through her exhaustion. “Drink it all down, and don’t worry a thing about your baby, Miss Eve. We’re going to spoil her to pieces while you get your rest.”

  Surely an angel had said that! Eve recognized the young girl in pink who’d been singing “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” smiling prettily as she offered a steaming cup.

  Eve gulped it, eager for the release it promised. The liquid left a path of warmth down her throat and into her uneasy stomach, and she felt her entire body relax for the first time in weeks.

  Moments later, she was deeply asleep.

  Chapter Five

  Piano music woke her, drifting through her window from the parlor below. Eve kept herself in that comforting place between dreaming and reality.

  Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,

  Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave.

  Weep o’er the erring one, lift up the fallen

  Tell them of Jesus, the mighty to save!

  Eve let her mind float with the familiar hymn’s rhythm. Whoever played that piano had a wonderful touch: The song flowed like rippling silk with flourishes only an accomplished musician could add to the bare-bones notes in the hymnal.

  And the voices! Why, it must be an angel choir singing that four-part harmony so clearly! The choi
r back home had sung skillfully, but these people—why, maybe she had died and ascended to the Pearly Gates!

  Down in the human heart, Crushed by the tempter,

  Feelings lie buried that grace can restore:

  Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness

  Chords that are broken will vibrate once more!

  She frowned, her mind rising toward wakefulness. That wasn’t the heavenly band singing—it was the Malloy family! They sang with fervor and delight, those lines about sinners and the power of grace to save—

  Which meant she’d been taken in by a bunch of do-gooders who sang not for the joy of the music, but to sway her toward their own purposes. They were girding their spiritual loins to battle Satan, who dwelled within her!

  Rescue the perishing, Duty demands it

  Strength for thy labor the Lord will provide.

  Back to the narrow way patiently win them,

  Tell the poor wandr’er a Savior has died!

  Eve sat up, fighting the dizzy spin of her head. Of all the uplifting songs they could have chosen, the Malloy family instead sang a rousing, righteous chorus before reclaiming her lost soul! Well, she would have none of it.

  She sat up to dangle her legs over the edge of the bed. The bassinet was empty, which made her escape a lot easier.

  And now, the family was having a devotional session. Had she slept an entire day? Or was it still the Saturday she’d come to Abilene? Her head felt fuzzy from that tea; confused from waking up in a strange place.

  “For our Scripture this evening, we’ll read from the teachings of Jesus as recorded in Matthew’s twenty-fifth chapter,” a sonorous male voice began. “We’re near the end of Jesus’s life and ministry, when He was imparting all the spiritual knowledge He could to His disciples, for He knew He was soon to die. Listen to His words, which seem particularly meaningful today.

  “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the holy angels with Him, He’ll sit on His throne, and before Him shall be gathered all the nations. He’ll separate them, like a shepherd divides his sheep from the goats, and He’ll put the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on the left.”

  Eve noticed how Michael Malloy delivered the Scripture in a down-to-earth way, simplifying the King James version’s archaic language. After years of enduring Reverend Searcy’s stilted readings, this was a pleasant change. It made the Bible feel more personal; more meaningful even to the young children she pictured in that sunny room downstairs.

  “And the King shall say to those at His right, ‘Come ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you fed me, thirsty and you gave me a drink; I was a stranger and you took me in; naked and you clothed me. I was sick and in prison, and you visited me.’

  “Then the righteous shall answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty and gave you food and drink? When did we see you a stranger and take you in, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you sick and in prison, and visit you?’

  “And the King shall answer, ‘I say to you that if you’ve done it to one of the least of these my brethren, you’ve done it to me.’”

  Eve’s feet twitched with the need to escape. It was no accident that Malloy had chosen this passage—and was reading it near the open window, for her benefit. They were patting themselves on the back for taking her in. They were so proud of themselves for rescuing her from her sinful situation, and would now prod her back onto the straight and narrow!

  But how could she believe in this religious claptrap now? Her mother, a pillar of the church, had cast her out with only the clothes she could carry, when she’d needed help the most.

  She had to be on her way, before they brought their Bible thumping and soul saving up to this room.

  “And then He’ll say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels: For I was hungry and thirsty, naked and a stranger, sick and in prison, and you didn’t help me. You ignored me!’” Malloy continued below her.

  “Then they shall also answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty, or a stranger or naked, or sick and in prison and didn’t help you?’

  “Then He shall answer them, ‘Since you did not help one of the least of these, you didn’t help me.’ And these shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

  Scooting to the edge of the bed, Eve glowered. Now he’d warn his family not to follow the path she had taken—not to become the naked stranger, but to do their duty and care for her and her ill-begotten baby. To lead her back to the Upward Way for her sake and theirs, too.

  No more of this. She would slip down the stairs and out the back hall, while they remained in the parlor with their songs and Scripture. She hadn’t come here for sermons about her wayward inclinations. Nor would she accept help that came with such a humiliating price tag.

  Eve scooted forward until her feet found the cool wooden floor. Steadying herself against the bed, she saw her dress draped over a chair. It had a dark stain in the back and was badly wrinkled, but it would have to do. Taking a clean one from the armoire would make her even more beholden to these people.

  Stepping toward the dress, she teetered. Her head did a lazy spin and her knees shook like jelly. Eve gulped air, forcing herself to remain upright.

  With the next step, she wobbled. And with the third, she fell to the floor with a sharp cry.

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she curled into a pitiful ball. She felt so helpless—how she hated that!—and her knees throbbed from landing on the floor. Her stomach lurched, and she feared she might retch on the pretty rag rug Mercy Malloy had probably made.

  There was a pause before the pianist struck up another familiar tune, then quick footsteps on the stairs.

  Eve looked up and cringed. Billy had come to check on her . . . to rescue the perishing. He’d slung the baby in the crook of his arm, as though he handled such foreign creatures all the time.

  She flushed, humiliated. What could she do but accept the arm that guided her up from the floor? He’d caught her trying to leave. What could she possibly say?

  And indeed, when Billy Bristol steadied her against his sturdy body, Eve forgot to chide him for becoming a two-faced Christian sheep determined to save her—a goat—so he’d look good to God. She could only blink away her tears and lean on him.

  “You got up too soon,” he said gently. He was smiling. Looking at her stringy hair and pale face as though she were a debutante at a ball they might’ve attended, had his family stayed in Richmond. “Let’s get you back to bed. When you’ve caught your breath, you’ll want to hold this little doll baby. Mama says she looks just like Wesley and me when we were born.”

  His mother was downstairs? Joining in with all that religion? Eve could hardly believe it, considering the articles she’d seen about Virgilia Bristol’s spectacular life of crime—while living with a man she hadn’t married.

  She glanced at the baby, who was nuzzling at Billy’s twill shirt. The down on her head shone a carroty red in the light from the window, and for a fleeting moment she imagined this man was the baby’s father—so different from his twin. Billy was gentle and strong and kind; not likely to belittle or taunt her, the way Wes had. Wesley Bristol would have dropped this baby and run the minute she showed it to him.

  And as the baby curled a tiny hand around Billy’s strong, bronzed finger, Eve’s heart ached for what she’d so foolishly given away—and for what she could never have.

  A good man like Billy Bristol was more than she had a right to hope for.

  Emma Clark wrapped her arms around the white porch post and sobbed. Would she ever live in this pretty little house that smelled of new lumber and fresh paint? Was she a fool to believe Billy Bristol was still her man?

  The sunrise blazed across the eastern sky, painting the horizon with shades of flame and deep pink: the colors of her
anger when she thought about how Billy had humiliated her—and how her father said she was getting paid back for the way she’d manipulated this wedding.

  But what did he know? Heartless and cruel her daddy was, not caring that Billy’s rejection had torn her in two. She’d gotten so mad she’d flung herself on her mare and ridden here straightaway, to spend the night alone—to convince herself she still belonged here, and that Billy would come back to her and make everything right again.

  You saw the way he looked at that girl. He still likes her, even if her father foreclosed on his family. He’s a fool to listen to her lies!

  But why was she surprised? The Billy she knew had always stood by the less fortunate and stood up for those who’d been taken advantage of.

  But the Billy I love delivered Eve’s baby. On my wedding day. Instead of marrying me.

  With another sad sigh, Emma sank against the wooden pillar. Her border collie, Boots, nuzzled her hand, whimpering in sympathy. But it wasn’t enough.

  No sense in spending all day here; it would only be harder to face her father—and her fiancé—if she wallowed in her misery. Better to return to her room in that dreary log house, where her wedding dress hung beside her only photograph of Mama.

  Lost. Everything she’d ever loved and hoped for was gone.

  Boots pricked up his ears and strained forward. Were those hoofbeats coming their way?

  Emma peered around her pillar. Surely Daddy hadn’t come after her—but if he had, it was to scold her for leaving him without a decent meal since yesterday. She wiped her eyes, ready to return his glare.

  When she saw the glint of Gabriel’s eyeglasses, however—and Hattie, the black-and-white dog who never left his side—she relaxed. He slowed his painted pony as he neared the house, and Emma realized how much taller he’d grown lately, and how—even if he was her cousin—Gabe Getty had become a fine-looking young man. At seventeen, he’d graduated from school long ago and then worked for Roger Beecham, a lawyer who’d made his name during Abilene’s cattle drives.