Strong and Stubborn (28 page)

Braden held back a snort. The man had probably been considering the change for years, judging it too drastic to attempt.

“What do you think, Miss Thompson?” Corning shifted slightly to better face Cora, who occupied the seat beside him on the settee.

Wait
. Braden's eyes narrowed.
Why is he sitting beside her? He doesn't need to be that close. And why ask Cora's opinion, as though it matters more than Lacey's or any other woman's in the room?

“I'd say now is a good time to test it out, while you're away from home.” Cora's smile held a shade too much warmth for a new acquaintance. “If you dislike it, shave before you return. If you do like it, you can surprise everyone with it when you get back.”

“Well reasoned.” Corning's smile matched hers. “I'll do it!”

“I'm surprised to see you.” Braden managed to break into the conversation while everyone was busy agreeing with Cora's summation. “If we'd known of your imminent arrival, we would have prepared something for you.”
Like some skillfully designed questions to ascertain why you ventured so far from your well-ordered life
.

Because the more Braden thought about it, the more suspicious Corning's sudden adventure seemed. As far as he knew, the man rarely left town and never journeyed beyond state borders.
Until now
.

“Did you not see my telegram?” Corning's brows tented upward.

“We lost our telegraph operator a couple weeks ago.” Dunstan stepped in to smooth things over—and closely eye Corning's reaction to this vague revelation about Draxley. Would Corning take the bait?

“Sorry to hear that.” Corning looked genuinely disturbed as he looked around the room. “I never intended to inconvenience you. I should have waited until I received confirmation from you, Braden.”

“It's fine,” Braden lied, still digesting the fact Corning hadn't asked after Draxley. Of course, an innocent man wouldn't know the telegraph operator's name, much less inquire further. But a canny saboteur would know better than to display interest as well. Who knew whether or not Corning actually sent a telegram?
Maybe he wanted to swoop into Hope Falls and catch us completely off guard
.

If so, the tactic worked far better than Braden cared to admit. He'd pushed himself hard throughout the morning and early afternoon, and by suppertime he'd tired himself sufficiently to be grateful for the bed that had been his prison for so many months before. Right now his wits weren't nearly as sharp as he needed them to be.

“Even so,” Braden prodded a bit further, “I must say I'm surprised that you took me up on the invitation. I expected a few to come, but it didn't strike me as something you'd be interested in.”

“My interests might be more varied than you think.” Was it Braden's imagination, or did Corning slide a glance at Cora before continuing? “A few of the men who'd asked for my input regarding the Hope Falls mine came asking me about this new sawmill you proposed.”

“Oh, did they?” Lacey sounded sweet as syrup while she glared daggers at Braden. “Perhaps you should tell us who
we
invited.”

“Businessmen.” Braden gave an indolent shrug, as though the telegrams weren't highly specific. “No one you'd know, really.”

His sister gritted her teeth. “I didn't think Hope Falls was ready to begin inviting businessmen and seeking new investors.”

“We needed to.” Granger threw the weight of his experience behind Braden's decision, knowing that the women would assume he meant the sawmill needed start-up capital. As things stood, they wouldn't have been able to begin paying wages if Granger himself hadn't bought into the business. They'd all agreed that the women didn't need to know the reason behind this particular group of investors—if they knew, the girls would give the game away.

Evie gave her future husband a meaningful look and observed—in a thoroughly pleasant voice, “So you knew about this decision.”

“The sawmill benefits from investors.” Braden somehow summoned the energy to give a credible performance. “It seemed only right that the men who speculated in the mine should be presented with the opportunity to recoup their losses. So we contacted them first.”

“Indeed.” Corning gave a repugnant little snuffle, digging around in his waistcoat for a handkerchief. “Should the mill be as promising as described, the mine investors should be among the first to benefit. It's why they came for my opinion and why I came here. Given the last fiasco, I need to review things firsthand, you see.”

Fiasco?
The word hung in the air like a foul stench, reminding Braden that his business venture had failed so spectacularly it jeopardized even the reputation of Cautious Clyde. He tried to swallow his rage, knowing that the time would come when the safety of his mines would be vindicated and the saboteur exposed. But that day loomed long into the future, and for now Braden found it incredibly difficult to drum up the appropriate response for Clyde.

“I owe you my thanks.” He almost choked on the words, the truth of them weighted like bricks. “After the failure of the mines, you would have been within your rights to denounce Hope Falls entirely.”

“No, I won't denounce you.” A martial glint appeared in Corning's gaze. “The mines did not fail. You promised silver, and the mine produced silver until the unfortunate,
unforeseeable
collapse.”

Dunstan and Granger's eyes widened at the stress Corning placed on the word
unforeseeable
, and Braden knew they wondered the same thing he did. Was Corning consoling a friend or trying to emphasize the “accidental” nature of the collapse for another, darker reason?

Perhaps I was too hasty in writing off Corning as a suspect
. Braden leaned back. Clearly the man merited a close watch.

I
t's time!” Arla's voice wafted downstairs on a gasp of breath.

Naomi jumped up from the armed chair she'd just claimed, thinking to settle in and get as comfortable as possible for what was sure to be another long, awkward argument with Braden Lyman. They'd scrubbed a mining cabin and scrounged up a bed for Mr. Corning while the men ate supper. Afterward, Cora caught Braden by the back of his chair, refusing to let him return to the doctor's house until the owners of Hope Falls conducted an urgent meeting.

A meeting that wasn't nearly as urgent as Arla's cry.

“Fetch the doctor,” Naomi shouted over her shoulder at the men, who'd clustered together like schoolboys awaiting punishment. “Evie, you'd best get some water boiling! Lacey, bring the cloths we washed and set aside. Cora, fetch Mrs. McCreedy—Arla will want her.”

And even if Arla didn't particularly want the company of the sole married woman in town, Naomi needed her calming influence. Martha McCreedy could stare down a roomful of loggers, keep up with Evie in the kitchen, and calm a heated conversation with a grace born through years of experience. Naomi could only hope the older woman would be able to help usher a babe into the world as easily.

“Oooooh,” Arla panted from the bed, where she huddled on her side with her arms around her stomach. She rolled over when Naomi nudged her shoulder, staring with wide, slightly unfocused eyes.

“It's all right.” Naomi reached up and pulled off the frilly nightcap Arla favored, already damp around the rim. It wasn't warm in the room, so the layer of perspiration dotting her forehead meant Arla had been struggling for some time before she called for help.

Naomi kept her expression schooled in an encouraging smile, refusing to frown at a woman in labor. “When did the pains start?”

“What kind of pains?” Arla shifted around, obviously unable to get comfortable. “The dull, achy ones started, but I drowsed through them. My back always hurts these days, and I didn't realize that these were—” She broke off, breath stolen by another contraction.

Too close
. Naomi's mind raced as she remembered everything she'd read on childbirth. She and Lacey had dug through their extensive collections of books once Arla arrived in town, determined to read up on the subject and prepare themselves for the ordeal ahead. From what she could recall, the pains shouldn't be coming this close together until the baby was practically ready to slide out!

Naomi reached for Arla's hand, trying not to wince at the force of the woman's grip. She eased back the sheet, unsurprised to find blood staining Arla's nightgown and the bed beneath her legs.
It's normal
. She reminded herself that this had been expected, but somehow the knowledge hadn't prepared her for the horror of reality.

“Don't fret.” Martha McCreedy swept into the room, closely followed by Lacey with her arms full and Cora, who wedged herself between Naomi and the wall to bathe Arla's face with a damp towel.

“Her contractions are coming close,” Naomi told them as they eyed the bloodied bed in horror. “Every few minutes already.”

Mrs. McCreedy clucked her tongue. “Arla, my dear, you've tricked us into leaving you alone while you did all the work.” She rolled up her sleeves and moved to the edge of the bed. There she softly nudged Arla's knees until her legs were tented then rolled back the nightgown and started tucking towels all over the bed.

Naomi edged to the far corner beside Lacey, trying to give Arla more room to breathe. “How can I help, Martha? What do you need?”

“To have this room cleared.” Doc burst into view, looking in disapproval at the cramped quarters. “Everyone can leave, now.”

“Noooo!” Arla's refusal ended in a scream as she gripped Cora's hand and shook her head. After the pain subsided, she panted out, “Cora … Martha … stay.” She leaned back against the pillows, drained.

“That's it, dear.” Mrs. McCreedy scooted over to give Doc his rightful place. She gestured for Lacey and Naomi to leave. “Save your strength for the next one. We'll tell you when to bear down.”

Not wanting to abandon Arla, but not wanting to get in the way, Naomi skirted around the washstand and out the door. Lacey followed her, and they both stood in the hallway, not certain what to do.

“We might as well see if Evie needs help,” Lacey suggested. They trooped down the stairs, spurred by another one of Arla's heartrending shrieks. As they made their way to the kitchen, they passed a panicked Mr. Lawson. Or rather, they tried to pass him.

“My sister … is she all right?” He blinked behind his spectacles, looking like an incredibly worried owl. When Arla screamed again, he held his breath until she stopped, letting it loose in a long, shaky exhalation. “Does everything seem normal?”

“It shouldn't be long.” Naomi gave him an encouraging nod, hoping he didn't notice the way she avoided answering whether things seemed normal. She didn't know much about the normal way of things, but she did know things were progressing at an unusually rapid pace.

“Come and have a seat, Lawson.” The familiar bass of Michael's voice washed over her. “Let the ladies get on with their work.”

“Right.” Lawson scurried away as though he'd been endangering his sister by blocking their way. “Thank you for coming, Strode.”

His heartfelt gratitude rang in Naomi's ears as she entered the kitchen. Wasn't it just like Michael to stand by a friend under circumstances when other men fled the scene? She noticed that Dunstan, Granger, and Braden cleared out quick as could be, not stopping to think that poor Mr. Lawson would be on pins and needles.

They all were. Naomi, Lacey, and Evie found themselves pacing the perimeter of the kitchen, loathe to let the men see their anxiety. Aside from bringing water and fresh towels and carrying soiled ones away—carefully concealed from the men, of course—the three of them didn't have much to do except wait. And worry.

So Naomi did what she always did when fear nipped at her heels. She prayed. This time she prayed while she paced, sending an unceasing flow of thoughts and requests with each and every step.

Lord, thank You for speeding this delivery. I know most women labor much longer, and in Your wisdom You spared Arla that trial. Maybe it was to spare all of our nerves because You knew what a state we'd be in. Whatever the reason, I'm grateful. Please let Cora and Martha and Doc be the comfort and assistance she needs. Please let her be all right. Please let the babe be healthy. Please, Lord… 
.

She prayed and paced until Cora burst through the room, grinning from ear to ear and announcing, “It's a girl. A teeny, tiny, perfect little shriveled raisin of a beautiful baby girl!”

Then she went back to the parlor to tell Mr. Lawson how beautifully his sister handled the delivery, that Arla was already holding her new daughter, and that Doc would be down to answer questions shortly. And then there was only one thing left to say.

The women gathered in the kitchen, clasping hands to form the prayer ring, and thanked God for the tiny miracle snoozing upstairs.