Tracie Peterson - [Heirs of Montana 04] (33 page)

“God, my heart hurts so much for her—for Dianne.” He looked down at the blanket. She would ask him about the child. He knew that much. If she survived this ordeal, she would want to know everything.

He went into the barn and hung the lantern from a nearby hook. Drawing a deep breath, he lifted the blanket and looked down at the face of the infant. The tiny face was perfectly formed. The eyes were closed as if in sleep. The boy reminded George of the way Lia looked when she was born. A thought came to mind. George gently placed the baby on a stack of horse blankets and pulled out his knife. With tender care, he cut a lock of hair from the baby’s head. “I can’t give you your child,” he whispered, “but perhaps this will help.”

He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat as if to clear away the sorrow. Looking around for his tools and appropriate pieces of wood, George went to work on the casket.

“But what happened to the baby?” Luke asked Koko at breakfast the next morning.

“He wasn’t strong enough to live, Luke. He might have been sick; we just can’t say for sure.”

The children were all very somber, including Jamie and Susannah, who were quite grieved at the thought of such tragedy. Koko knew the family was going to endure this pain for a long time to come.

“Is Mama going to die too?” Lia asked, her lower lip quivering.

“I don’t think she will,” Koko replied. “I won’t lie to you children, though. Your mama is very sick. She will be needing our prayers, and you will need to be extra good so that I can spend my time tending her. Do you suppose you can work with Susannah on your schooling and not argue?”

“We can be real good,” Luke said as the head of the family while Lia crawled up onto Koko’s lap and began to cry.

“It’s a strong man who makes a stand in times of adversity,” George said. “You can be a great help to your brothers and sister.”

Luke shrugged. “We really need Papa.”

“He’s right, you know,” Koko said, looking to George. “We need to get word to Cole, in case …” Her words trailed off. She couldn’t worry the children unduly, but Dianne was desperately weak. She couldn’t honestly say if Dianne would survive.

“I’ll go send a wire to Cole in Kansas. You have the address, don’t you?”

“I do, but how in the world will you ever make it through to town? That’s a long ways, and the snows have buried everything around here.”

“Around here—but there’s no telling what it’s done five miles away or ten,” George said as he got to his feet. “It’s got to be done, and it’s my job to do it.”

Koko swallowed hard. She knew how much George loved Dianne. But he loved Cole as well. He would never have risked his life otherwise. “I’ll pack provisions for you. Will you take a horse?”

“No. I’ll take snowshoes and walk. I used to do this all the time when I was Jamie’s age. I could run for miles and miles.”

“But you aren’t Jamie’s age anymore.”

“I could go with him,” Jamie chimed in. “I’m strong and together we can help each other.”

Koko didn’t want to let her son endanger his life, but it did seem reasonable that two together would be better than one alone. However, before she could speak, George took the decision from her.

“You’ll need to be the man of the ranch,” he told Jamie. “Your mother and sister and the children will need you. You’ll have to tend to all the outside chores on your own and make sure they have enough wood to keep warm.”

Jamie seemed to understand the truth of George’s words. Koko nodded as well. “How long do you suppose it will take you?”

“If I’m not back in a week …” His voice trailed off. If he wasn’t back in a week there would be little they could do for him.

“Can you bring the doctor for my mama?” John asked.

“I’ll do what I can, John,” he promised.

Koko turned from the table. “You’ll need to hurry. I’ll get your things.”

Ardith looked at herself in the mirror. The reflected woman there was a stranger. Dressed in a pink silk evening gown, complete with long train and bustle, Ardith couldn’t help but feel out of place. The gown, the room, the life—none of it was hers.

Oh, her money was paying for it, of course, but it didn’t feel like it belonged to her. She touched her gloved hand to her fashionably styled hair. The hairdresser had spent nearly an hour on the arrangement, weaving curls and ornaments into a highly impressive fashion.

“Madame Sperry, Mr. Stromgren requests your company in the receiving room,” Olga announced. The girl had been assigned to Ardith as her personal maid, and it was no wonder. There was no possible way a woman could dress in all the frippery and layers by herself.

“Tell him I’m coming,” Ardith replied, turning just in time to see Olga curtsy.

The last thing she wanted to do was spend her last hour before performing listening to Christopher try to impress her. He constantly felt it important that she know how much money things cost and how difficult it was to associate with certain people. He wanted to stress to her how fortunate she was to be invited into certain circles, but Ardith didn’t feel lucky. She just felt tired and lonely. Maybe even more lonely than when she’d been at home. How was that possible? How could one be more lonely in a crowd of hundreds of adoring fans than in the solitude of her room in Virginia City?

She walked from her bedroom into her sitting room, where Olga stood ready with Ardith’s cloak and bag. “Thank you, Olga.”

Ardith made her way downstairs. Christopher stood to the side, speaking with a rather stocky man. He looked familiar—perhaps someone she’d met after one of the concerts.

“Ardith, my dear, come meet Mr. Roosevelt.”

She nodded and extended her hand as she’d been taught. Roosevelt took it and bent over it ever so slightly. “If I remember correctly, you are the sister of Morgan Chadwick.”

“I am,” she admitted. “Ardith Chadwick Sperry.”

“And you are also the divine angel that my sister heard play piano last night.”

She smiled. “Most likely.”

“Well, we are delighted to have you gracing New York. You must come spend some time with my family. I’ve already commanded Christopher to bring you by. I’ve recently returned from my wedding trip, and I know that Mrs. Roosevelt would count me remiss if you were not to come for dinner.”

“I will look forward to it.”

Christopher laughed. “Perhaps it’s a good thing you didn’t win the mayoral race, Teddy. You’d be far too busy with city politics to enjoy wondrous new artists such as our Mrs. Sperry.”

“That is one way to consider it.”

Ardith could tell it was a difficult subject for Mr. Roosevelt. His expression made it clear that he was not at all happy with the result of his campaign—or even with Christopher’s bringing up the matter.

“So will you be with us long, Mrs. Sperry?”

She lowered her gaze to the intricately woven carpet and thoughtfully considered his question. “I’m uncertain. There are benefits here to be sure, but there are also sacrifices.”

“I know it well. Ah,” he said as he seemed to spy someone “But of course.” across the room, “if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with that gentleman.”

“but of course”

Christopher barely waited until Roosevelt had stepped away before he chided Ardith. “How can you be uncertain about staying? New York loves you, and you’re very comfortably situated, are you not? We’re both benefiting from this. Don’t be too quick to put it aside.”

She met his eyes, which seemed dark and brooding.

He leaned closer. “I need you here, Ardith.”

She felt a chill run up her spine. There was no reason to be afraid, but she felt fearful nevertheless. Perhaps Dianne was right. Perhaps Christopher Stromgren was more dangerous than she knew.

CHAPTER 22

S
NOW BURIED THE
K
ANSAS FARM IN A THICK, WET BLANKET
. There was little to be done but stay inside and wait it out. Cole was worried about his family in Montana. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were enduring the same fierce storms. He wondered if Dianne had gone to the ranch or if she’d been more cautious and remained in Virginia City.

“She’s probably gone to the ranch,” he murmured as he let the curtain fall back into place. He wondered if she was happy—if the children had adjusted to the changes.

“What was that?” his mother asked as she brought a steaming platter of food to the table. She didn’t even wait for his response before adding, “Dinner is ready.”

Cole took his seat and waited until his mother had dished up the baked chicken and noodles before speaking. “Smells good.”

“It should suffice,” she responded. They bowed their heads in prayer, but Cole couldn’t help but feel that for his mother, the prayer was only something done out of habit.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Cole could find no fault with the food. His mother, when she wanted to be, was an adequate cook. Her food couldn’t match Dianne’s, but then, he’d never had food that could. Dianne just had a way of seasoning and spicing food that set it above the cooking of others. He supposed it could be credited to her eclectic teaching—taking things she’d learned from Faith, Charity, and others in order to make food tasty.

“You aren’t even listening, are you?” his mother asked in that curt manner that always set his nerves on edge.

“I’m sorry. I have a great deal on my mind. What did you say?” Cole asked apologetically.

Mary pushed back from the table. “I’m going to get some more bread. Would you like anything else?”

Cole looked at the table. His mother had thoughtfully put out jam, pickled beets, and bread and butter, along with a bowl of hominy. “I can’t think of anything.”

She nodded and departed for the kitchen without another word. Cole knew she was upset about his plans for the farm. She wouldn’t hear him through on any of it, and when he’d come back from town last week with papers showing that the deed was done and that Ralph Brewster now owned the farm, she’d nearly thrown herself into a state of apoplexy.

Cole was about to take another bite of the noodles when he heard a heavy-handed knock on the front door. He was surprised that anyone would risk his well-being to travel in this weather. Getting up, Cole left his napkin at the table and went to answer the door.

“You Cole Selby?” the young man asked, his teeth chattering.

“Yes. Please come in and warm up.”

The boy, barely a man, stepped inside. “Thank you kindly. I have a telegram here for you, mister.” He thrust the paper into Cole’s hands. “Wouldn’t have come in this snow, but it was marked as an urgent matter.”

Cole reached into his pocket and fished out a couple of coins. He exchanged them for the paper, leaving the boy quite pleased with the generosity. “Fireplace is through here,” Cole directed.

Once the boy was warming up at the hearth, Cole opened the message. He felt the blood rush from his head at the words. George had sent the note, and its urgency was clear. Dianne had given birth to a stillborn son and was gravely ill. Possibly dying.

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“Pardon?” the boy asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Cole! Where are you?”

“Stay here and warm up. I’ll see to it that my mother feeds you, then we can make our way into town together. It’s bound to be easier that way,” Cole instructed.

“Yes, sir!”

“I’m here, Mother,” Cole announced as he came back into the dining room. “There’s a young man warming himself by the fire. I need you to give him some food. He’s half frozen, and it would do good to get his insides warmed up as well as his outsides.”

“Who is he?” she asked.

“Never mind. Just feed him.”

Cole left the room, racing up the back stairs as quickly as he could. He tried not to think about the message of the telegram and instead simply focused on packing his things. He wouldn’t let himself believe that she was dying. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even conceive of the idea.

He thought of the children—their children—sitting alone in worry. Wondering what was happening and why their mother was so sick.

“Why didn’t she tell me about the baby?” he muttered. Cole found it almost as impossible to imagine another child born to him—yet not born at all. A son. Another boy. A child he would never lay eyes on—never touch, never know.