The Housekeeper's Daughter (11 page)

“I'm sure she aced it, but she was nervous. As usual.” He shared a smile of understanding with his father.

“Did you two talk about the future?”

“Some. I think we might be close to an agreement.”

“A settled life is good for a family. It can bring some of your happiest years.”

“Or some of the unhappiest,” Drake said, “if the marriage doesn't work.”

His father gazed at him, sorrow in his eyes. “Then it can be hell,” he agreed.

 

Patsy deposited the diamond earrings and slammed the lid on her jewelry console. Meredith's jewelry console.

She hated the life she led—Joe, the house far up the coast from the city and any excitement, the housekeeper with her all-seeing eyes. How had Meredith stood it?

Ha! Her goody-goody sister had probably loved it.

Sitting at her desk, Patsy glanced at the bills scornfully. She had more expenses than Joe could possibly know, what with hiring Silas Pike to get rid of Emily, a P.I. searching for the real Meredith and another investigator looking for her beloved daughter Jewel—
lost to her because Ellis Mayfair took the baby away while she slept and wouldn't tell her where he'd hidden the child, which was why she'd had to kill him.

That stupid Pike. He was costing her a bundle. Maybe she could get more money out of Graham. No, probably not. And the ransom money from Emily's supposed kidnapping was useless, marked so that she couldn't use it.

She tapped her nails on the leather pad, then exclaimed in disgust. She needed another trip to San Francisco. Her nails and hair looked terrible, and there was no one competent in Prosperino, no one at all.

If she could find Jewel, she'd take her and the boys to live in Los Angeles. As soon as she inherited Joe's fortune.

He hadn't changed his will. She was sure of that. He'd better not. She needed that money to care for the children.

Her babies. They loved her. Children always loved their mother. Even Meredith's brats loved her, as if she were their real mother.

She laughed in delight. She had them all fooled.

However, Joe was getting harder to handle. It had been a mistake to have Teddy. But how was she to know that Joe had become sterile due to mumps?

However, Teddy had given her a hold over Graham, so that hadn't been all bad. Everything would be fine. She only had to hold on a little longer.

If Pike would hurry up and take care of Emily, if Joe would hurry and meet his end, then all would be well. With a fortune and her adoring children around
her, she would be happy. She closed her eyes in ecstasy.

 

Drake walked aimlessly through the dark. The day had ended on an uneasy note. Dinner had been tense with neither of his parents speaking.

Maya hadn't eaten in the kitchen but had taken dinner for her and the boys to her room. Drake had left her alone, eating in the formal dining room, then leaving the house for a long walk after that. The restlessness was in him again.

He stopped beside the road as he recognized the outline of the country church he had once attended. Changing directions, he went around the church to the small cemetery at the back. Pushing the old wrought-iron gate open, he walked through and stopped.

His heart beat with a dull thud of dread as he contemplated life, a thing he seemed to be doing a lot of lately. Continuing on, he walked past headstones over a century old to the newer section close to the road.

He hadn't been here in years, not since he used to come with his mother to put flowers on the grave stone each Memorial Day. At a small granite marker in the Colton section, he stopped. It was a lonely site with its one child-sized grave.

Michael Colton. Beloved Son and Brother.

His mother had had the last added for him. “Because he knew you loved him,” she'd said.

Michael, watch out!

His call hadn't been fast enough to save his twin. His prayers hadn't been enough to breathe life back
into that broken, lifeless body lying in the dust. Not enough…

There were some things that could never be made right.

Sitting on a bench, cold with winter dew, Drake rested his forearms on his thighs. A large part of himself was buried here, with the twin he had never stopped missing.

“Michael,” he murmured, “there's a child.”

He didn't know why he said that or why it felt like a plea. But there was a need inside him that couldn't be denied. He had to find an answer. Or else he thought his soul would die. It had come to that point.

“If you knew Maya… She was only eight when you died. Do you remember her?”

Would Michael love her if he were alive today?

As
he
did?

The question burned down to his soul. “I love her,” he said, and that was another pain, one harsher than all the others. More than that, she loved him. And that was the greatest hurt. Because he didn't deserve it. He'd run out on that love, afraid to face what it might mean in his life.

Inez was right. It was his courage, not hers, that was at fault. Because to love was to risk the heart, and that was harder to face than risking his life.

What good did love do? that dark place questioned scornfully, riddling his conscience with the familiar guilt.

It couldn't keep a person from harm or protect them from careless drivers or the other twists that life threw
at them. Wouldn't it be better for Maya and the baby for him to stay out of their lives?

A cold, lonely wind swept in from the churning ocean, shaking the trees and moaning around the eaves and spire of the little church.

The yearning churned in him. He understood it now. “I need her,” he told the mournful wind. “Living without her is hell.”

He tried to be objective, to put longing aside and think of her. Marriage might not be fair. Maybe he was being selfish, thinking of himself instead of her and the child, but the ache grew worse as he thought of leaving them again.

Perhaps if he'd never known her passion or shared those sweet moments in her arms…

But those memories were inside him, too, pushing at those from the distant past, making a place of their own.

He suddenly felt sure, if he missed this chance, there would be no others. The loneliness of his life would be absolute and forever.

He fought the despair, both of the past and that arising from the future. Restless, unable to resolve the many conflicts that raged inside him, he started back to the house.

Inez was in the kitchen when he bounded inside as if running from the proverbial hounds from hell. Or his thoughts, which were the same thing.

“Would you like some warm milk?” she asked. “I'm making a cup for Maya. Her light is on, and I think she sometimes has trouble sleeping. Marco does, too, and milk helps.”

The gardener was one of the most patient, peaceful men Drake had ever known. “What bothers his soul? He's the most innocent person I've ever known. One of them,” he amended, thinking of Maya.

The housekeeper gave him a fond glance, then poured a cup of milk and set it on the counter next to him. “‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,'” she quoted softly. “We all have our weaknesses. Sometimes we must learn to forgive ourselves. It is perhaps the hardest thing to do. That, and to let the past go.”

She smoothed the hair across his forehead much as her daughter had done with Joe earlier. Drake swallowed a lump in his throat along with a sip of warm milk. “What if it's the past that won't let go?”

Inez's long braid, the dark hair mixed liberally with gray, undulated along her back as she shook her head. “We make choices,” she advised. “From moment to moment, we decide. Choose your life wisely.”

Her smile filled with tenderness, she poured another cup of milk and set it near him, then washed out the pan. “You will take this to Maya when you go to bed?”

Drake nodded, humbled by this woman's kindness and her wisdom…and by her trust. She accepted him as part of Maya's life, knowing that he had been instrumental in the conception of the child, and yet, neither she nor Marco had uttered a word of recrimination when he'd explained his will and the provisions he'd made for their daughter and the coming baby.

Trust was its own burden, he'd discovered long
ago. Michael had followed him across the road, trusting that everything would be fine. Maya had given herself to him, accepting his word that he would take care of her, and look where it had gotten her.

Choices.

He picked up the steaming cup of milk. He knew what he needed to do. Could he convince Maya it was for the best?

M
aya bent forward with a groan. Her back hurt, and the baby was trying some new trick that caused peculiar pains to ripple into her spine. Her due date was the tenth of March, but tonight she wasn't sure she was going to make it.

“Ohh,” she gasped as a giant fist pushed against her back from the inside. She placed her hands in the small of her back and tried to equalize the pressure.

Nothing helped.

Knock. Knock.

She grimaced, knowing who was at the door at this hour, which was just short of midnight. Her favorite time of day. She couldn't spare a smile, not even a sardonic one, as the pain eased and she straightened.

“Maya?”

“Come in,” she said in resignation. Maybe
Drake's soothing fingers could massage out the ache in her back, although she wasn't sure she could take the strong smell of horse liniment at this moment.

“Your mom sent warm milk,” Drake said upon entering. He held the mug out to her.

Maya took it and settled in the rocking chair. Her hand had a slight tremor. “Thanks.”

He pulled the desk chair around, sat and crossed his arms over the back, his eyes never leaving her. She found she couldn't smile or put up a false front tonight. The effort was beyond her.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head and took a sip of the warm milk, her mother's answer to sleeplessness and other problems. Before she'd hardly had time to swallow, another of the strange gripping sensations started inside.

Setting the cup aside, Maya bent forward as the pressure increased to pain. A low moan forced its way from between her clenched teeth. She held her breath, stopping the sound.

“Maya?” Drake said, his tone sharpening in concern. He rose and clasped her shoulder. “What is it?”

“Don't,” she whispered, barely holding on while the pressure grew and grew until it became close to unbearable.

“Is it the baby?” he demanded, letting go and dropping to his haunches before her. “It's the baby, isn't it?”

“Too early,” she managed, then inhaled deeply as the pain suddenly let go, as if a belt being twisted around her had broken. She breathed quickly, catch
ing her breath as the strange episode passed. “It's too early. I have twenty-four days to go.”

His smile was disarming. “I've heard babies don't pay much attention to schedules and things like that.”

“I've had this before. Something like it,” she corrected. Nothing had been this severe. “False labor.”

“Oh.” He returned to the straight-back chair. “Is there anything I can do? You want a rubdown?”

“Not tonight.”

She ignored the restlessness, the nervy agitation that made her want to pace, and took several big drinks of milk. That had always soothed her in the past.

But not this time.

Again a gasp escaped her as the squeezing started again, harder this time…lower…faster, as if the thing pushing at her was impatient….

Drake dropped to his knees in front of her and took her hands. “Hold on,” he said, his eyes dark in the lamplight.

She nodded, unable to do anything else at the moment. “Uhh,” she moaned, then caught her breath as the fist closed hard and pulled her down…down…down…

Closing her eyes, she held on to Drake's hands as the world clamped down to this one place, this moment.

“Ah,” she said as the pain stopped abruptly, leaving only the ping, ping, ping of familiar pain in her lower back. She panted and laid her head against the chair cushion. A sheen of sweat broke out all over her. “So odd,” she murmured.

“Wait.”

She heard Drake rise. He removed his hands from hers and walked away. In a moment she heard the faucet running in the bathroom, then he was back, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead and wiping her face.

Taking the washcloth, she ran it along her throat and around the back of her neck.

“How long does this false labor usually last?” he asked, pulling the desk chair forward so that he could sit directly in front of her, her knees tucked between his.

“I don't know.” She wiped her hands on the cloth, then held it while she rested, an odd alertness in her body, as if she waited…

Minutes ticked off. Five, four, three, two…

The next contraction started. She leaned forward, clutching the damp terry-cloth with both hands. Drake's hands closed over hers.

“Easy,” he murmured, “easy now, darling.”

“Can't,” she said. “Too late.”

Together, they waited out the gripping pressure that rode roughshod over her will, wresting control from her so that she gasped aloud, then panted and rocked back and forth, wanting it to be done, to release her.

“Drake?”

“Yes?”

“Would you…get my mother? Please.”

“In a minute, when it eases.”

While she struggled with the pain, Drake mopped her brow, then his own with the washcloth. “You
think it's time?” he asked quietly when she finally relaxed and inhaled deeply.

She looked pale and exhausted. Alarm beat through him. This was beyond his training and expertise. He was afraid to leave her, afraid to stay. She needed help.

“Perhaps I should call for an ambulance—”

“Get my mother,
please.
” She cast him a pleading glance. “Ohh,” she moaned and clutched her knees, bending forward as the labor, false or not, continued.

He dashed out of the room, down the hall and out of the house. Halfway to the housekeeper's neat house set back from the driveway, he realized he should have called.

Cursing, he sprinted faster. At the house, he pounded on the locked door and yelled for the housekeeper at the top of his lungs. A light snapped on inside. Both Inez and Marco appeared at the door, Marco with a shotgun in hand. Drake didn't blame him. He'd have done the same if some madman came shouting in the middle of the night.

“Is it Maya?” Inez asked at once.

Drake nodded. “She's in pain, but she says it's false labor. She wants you.”

“Let me get some shoes.”

The housekeeper disappeared. Marco returned the gun to its rack over the fireplace.

“I didn't think that gun worked,” Drake said inanely.

“It doesn't. I grabbed the first thing that came to hand,” the older man explained with a sheepish smile. “I didn't know what was happening.”

“Yeah, well…sorry about waking you and all,” Drake finished, feeling foolish. “I was worried.”

“Go back to her. Mama and I will be along in a moment.”

Drake nodded and dashed back toward the main house. Other than spotlights along the walkway and artfully placed among the shrubbery, plus the night light in the kitchen, only one light shone in the house. He headed for the north wing and the woman he'd left there.

He saw she was having another contraction when he entered. He went to her and took her hands. She grabbed on to him, her grip surprisingly strong while she emitted another of the almost soundless groans that shuddered all the way through him.

Maya was in pain; he was the cause.

That knowledge grated through his conscience as pain also racked through him. He felt helpless and frustrated at the fact. “How can I help?” he asked.

“Let me…hold on,” she managed.

He heard the sound of a vehicle, then Inez's voice in the hall. Relief shot through him. The contraction eased, and along with it, Maya's grip. Drake moved aside when her mother entered the room.

“La niña?”
Inez said.

“Sí,”
Maya answered. She no longer denied the possibility that this was the real thing. Early or not, the baby seemed intent on coming tonight!

“We need to get you to the hospital,” her mother said.

“No time. It's coming.”

“Now?” Drake asked, his worry increasing.

“
Sí.
Yes,” she said, realizing she was talking to Drake rather than her mom. She looked at her mother. “I'm sorry.”

“No need to be,” her mother said briskly. “Women have been having babies for centuries. Drake, please call for the ambulance. Marco, you will find an iron in the kitchen closet,” she said to her husband, who lingered anxiously at the door. “Please bring it—the heat will sterilize the sheets.”

Drake made the call. “Now what?” he asked Inez.

“You must help her to bed. Take off your shoes and get on the bed, too.”

Maya was shocked by this order. “Mama,” she said.

“You will need the support,” Inez explained. She directed Maya to the bed and Drake to get on his knees behind her while she placed a square of plastic and several towels into position. “Let her hold your hands.”

Drake wrapped his arms around Maya and let her take his hands. He was startled, then shocked, as he felt something like a wave pass through her abdomen, making it hard…harder…

“Pant,” Inez advised. “Scream if you want. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Bringing babies into the world is very hard work.”

“I'm okay,” Maya said, breathing hard.

Behind her, she felt Drake panting, too. His body was solid against hers, his arms strong as he held her in a half-sitting position.

“You are doing well,” Inez assured her. “Ah, the water. Not long now.”

Maya could only go along with events as nature took over completely. She panted. Sometimes she ground her teeth together. She moaned. Unable to stop, she pushed whenever her body demanded it.

Behind her, Drake helped her through each contraction as they grew harder and the time between them shorter and shorter until there was nothing but progressive waves of effort…effort such as he'd never seen.

“It's coming,” Inez said softly. “Just a little more,” she encouraged.

Drake panted with Maya. He held his breath when she did. His own muscles contracted each time he felt her bear down. The worry subsided as he worked with Maya to bring the new life into the world.

“Now, a hard push,” Inez said.

And, with an indignant howl, their daughter slipped into her grandmother's waiting hands. Capable hands, thank heavens. Drake let out a great breath of relief.

“We did it,” he said softly to Maya, kissing her damp temple as she rested against him.

Her smile was both weary and triumphant.

“Now then, little one,” Inez said, giving the baby a vigorous rubdown with a towel. Finished, she held the baby out to Drake. “Say hello to your daddy.”

Drake, realizing he was supposed to take the little bundle, sat on the side of the bed. He crooked his arms and Inez laid Marissa into the cradle thus formed. He stared down into the baby's blue eyes.

Her cries stopped. She stared back at him.

“Once more,” Inez said to Maya. “Then you can
sleep. Why don't you rock the wee one?” she suggested to him.

Drake moved to the rocking chair while the birthing process was completed. Inez removed the used towels and the square of plastic from the room, then helped Maya wash and change to a fresh gown. Finally she brushed her daughter's hair and clipped it back at the temples.

“Drake, bring your daughter over to meet her mother,” Inez suggested. “You might want to stay and care for the baby while Maya sleeps.”

He nodded and took a seat on the bed. Laying the baby in Maya's arms, he felt a squeezing sensation in his chest.

The child had a crown of black hair that stuck up on her head in an endearing but comical manner. He knew, when she grew older, it would be exactly like her mother's.

Marissa would undoubtedly have brown eyes. Would there also be gold flecks in them like his, or would she have the deeply brown eyes of her mother?

The squeezing sensation became painful as he gazed at his daughter. She was so tiny, so trusting.

Trust. It was a scary thing. So many things could go wrong. For a second, he wanted to run, to get out of the room and away from these women and their belief in life, that it would be fair, that it would work out, that it was okay to bring a new life into the world because tomorrow the world would still be there.

But there was no place to run to, he realized. For ten years he'd traveled all over the world. The past always went with him.

Choices? What choices did he have? The past wouldn't leave him alone. He couldn't change it, atone for it.

Inez finished straightening the bedroom and left. In the hall, he heard her speak to her husband who reported he couldn't find the iron. She told him it was no longer needed and that he had a granddaughter, whom he could see tomorrow. Their voices faded as they walked down the hall.

Maya uncovered the infant and checked her over. “Would you bring a diaper? They're in the last drawer of the chest.” She sighed. “Isn't she beautiful?”

“Yes,” he said, shaking the pain, feeling humble and somehow proud, as if he and Maya had accomplished a miracle.

He watched Maya diaper the baby, then he put a gown with a drawstring bottom on her while Maya directed, his hands awkward at the task. The baby didn't seem to mind.

“Our daughter,” he said with a catch in his voice, looking into Maya's eyes.

He saw her take a deep breath, then she nodded. “Yes, ours,” she murmured, acknowledging him as the father.

A funny feeling came from deep inside him, bubbling up to the surface like a fresh water spring pushing its way out of the earth.
Ours.
It was a word that spun visions of the future into his head, like cotton candy growing on its paper cone. He wanted that sweet promise.

“The bassinet is in the closet,” Maya informed him. “It's ready for her. I think she's asleep.”

He found the little bed and wheeled it over. Maya put the baby down and covered her with a pink and white blanket, then she tucked a rose-embroidered comforter over that. Drake had never seen anything so perfect as their tiny daughter sleeping in her tiny bed.