Anya lay awake a long time thinking after Joe went to the barn and the kids slept, the baby snuggled up warm and sweet in the curve of her body. In his rope bed near the fire, the boy cried out for his mama in his sleep and whimpered without waking. Anya went to him, smoothed his hair and rubbed his back till he went back to sleep. His warm little hand sought hers and she felt stirrings of pity for him, even though she tried not to. She’d already lost the battle of staying detached from the little girl, and was beginning to wonder if she could take the poor motherless thing when she left though she saw the folly in that. She had no friends, nowhere to go and no way to care for the child. Not only that, she might have killed the peddler. The law was hard on a woman. They might be looking to hang her right now. She needed to get far enough away to disappear in a sizable town. The baby would just hold her back. A woman alone would have a hard enough time providing for herself, even if she had nothing to hide. She had to get as far away as possible and seek work as a housekeeper or cook, since that was all she knew. Having barely been to school, she couldn’t be a schoolmarm. She’d had enough of men to know she’d never marry. She needed to get to town where folks had enough money and house to need help. Her prospects were poor, but maybe when she got to Meadow Creek Church she’d meet up with somebody who could help get her on the road to something else. It would break her heart, but there’s no way she could take the tiny girl.
Out in the barn, Joe was thinking his own gloomy thoughts. He didn’t want Anya to go. He started to hope she might stay and they could be a family. Even though Anya hadn’t warmed to him, he’d gotten a little taste of family watching her doing for the baby and doing about the house. It had been such a pleasure to come in last night and find supper laid out. No one had done that for him since Ma died. When Anya left, he and the boy manage, but who would do for the baby? She was far too young to go around with him while he worked.
Upon Emma’s reference to pregnancy, Anya was so shocked she knocked her coffee over. It ran off the table onto little Sally’s blonde curls. Sally howled and both women jumped to see to her. She wailed, but fortunately her face wasn’t even pink. The next few minutes were full of mopping her up and changing her clothes. By the time they’d finished, Rufus had stepped to the door and called Emma to go. Anya composed herself enough to make her goodbyes, promising to ride over with Joe in a few days.
He checked on the woman and children several times always finding them asleep. The children’s breathing was regular and less shallow. The pink of their cheeks faded as the fever dropped. Twice more he fed and diapered them and assisted the woman to the pot. The next two days were much the same, more feeding, more dosing with Dr. Marvel, more changing, and always, more washing. The little boy rallied first, trailing Joe. From time to time, he called for Mama, but overall seemed contented. Joe looked forward to the woman regaining her strength and assuming her responsibilities. She was attentive to the baby girl who still lay abed with her. Thankfully, the baby finally got hungry enough to accept the bottle after a few tries. It made it easier to get the Dr. Marvel’s in her, anyway. The woman could barely stay awake long enough to feed the baby but kept it at her side. On the fourth day, the woman began to eat regular food, though she mashed it first. One day, she coughed and spit a cracked molar into her palm, increasing Joe’s guilt about burying her alive, though he still didn’t remember hitting her with the shovel. Joe had hopes when she’d learn some English soon, since he didn’t understand a word she said when she did speak to the baby or cry out in pain upon moving. She had picked up on coffee, milk, baby, hurt, boy, pot, and a few other words, but there was no conversation yet. She never called him “Joe.”
Nutsrok 