Becca's Baby

Janice leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. “Tell us what you’ve been doing!” she said. “Maybe there’s something we can help you with.”

Smiling at her sister, Becca shook her head. “It’s all the usual stuff. I’ve just got more meetings, with the council thing being a paid position now, instead of volunteer committee work.”

Janice would do anything for anyone; unfortunately she also wanted to climb right into your skin.

A couple of minutes later Sari joined them. “Where’ve you been?” Becca asked softly beneath Rose’s chatter. Their mother was reaching a crescendo as she expounded her views about Mark Baxter’s choice of wives. Mark was a widower, an old friend of their father’s, and he’d chosen poorly in Rose’s opinion.

“With Bob—he came home for something and we got…carried away,” Sari whispered, her eyes glowing. Becca’s stomach gave a happy little flip. Sari was looking better every day. Dressed in overalls, belted at the waist, and a figure-hugging black top, she didn’t seem much older than the daughter she’d lost.

They ordered lunch, salads for everyone, before Betty pulled out her notebook. “Okay, Sari, you’re up.”

Rose glanced at her youngest daughter. “You look very nice today, sweetie.”

So the change in Sari wasn’t just Becca’s wishful thinking. Even her mother had noticed.

“You do look good,” Betty confirmed. Janice nodded agreement.

Sari blushed at all the attention, obviously ready to slide under the table.

“Before Sari starts, I just want to say that I’ve tried every avenue I can think of, but I still can’t find any recent word on Sam Montford. The man sure travels a lot,” Becca said, rescuing her.

“I heard he was in the Peace Corps,” Janice said.

“Yeah, but that was a few years ago,” Betty added.

“Has anyone heard from his parents?” Janice asked. “Their mansion is close to your place, Becca. Any sign of life there?”

Becca shook her head. “Except for the cleaning lady and groundskeeper, no one’s been there since they went to Europe. Sam hasn’t been there once in the ten years since he left. All I can say is, the man sure doesn’t want to be found,”

she muttered. “I guess we may have to do this thing without him.” She turned to Sari. “So, what’ve you got for us?”

Sari took out her notes, her eyes intent on the page, and started to read. At some point, while Becca hadn’t been paying attention, her younger sister had developed almost as passionate an interest in Samuel Montford as Becca had. Sari had filled her in on the previous report.

“After his wife and son were killed in Boston,” she began now, “with his affairs tied up so that his family would be comfortable but unable to obtain the balance of the Montford fortune, Samuel packed up the few belongings that mattered to him.” Sari paused. Swallowed hard. “A scarf Clara had given him, the baby’s blanket she’d knitted—and then he left Boston.”

“Did he have relatives someplace he was going to stay with?” Betty asked.

Sari shook her head, looking around at them. “He joined a wagon train heading west,” she said, “apparently preferring to face the dangers of the wild than live in a society that put skin color above human kindness and goodness and love.”

“He must have been petrified, a man from his social class joining ranks with the poor and desperate people traveling west,” Rose said. “Most of the people on those wagon trains had nothing more to their names than they could carry, you know.”

Yeah, they all knew. But no one bothered to tell Rose that.

“In one of the journals I read, written by someone traveling with him, it said that danger didn’t scare Sam—that’s what they called him, though in Boston he’d always been Samuel,” Sari continued. “He said his life was worth nothing, so losing it would mean nothing. Apparently, whenever there was a dangerous mission or job to do along the way, Samuel Montford always volunteered.”

Janice squeezed more lemon juice into her glass of tea. “It’s scary what tragedy can do to a person….”

Remembering their own family’s loss just a couple of years before, the women fell silent. Even Rose. To Becca’s relief, the waitress appeared then, one of the many college students who found work at the diner. She carried a big tray full of salads of every variety— grilled chicken, Caesar, chef, fried chicken—and for Rose, a sampler with egg salad, tuna salad and a small scoop of fruit salad on a single piece of romaine lettuce. With no garnishes. Rose couldn’t see the point of having something on her plate she couldn’t eat.

“So Sam obviously made it west,” Betty said when they were all enjoying their selections.

“Yeah.” Sari forked a chunk of fried chicken and lettuce into her mouth, referring to her notes as she chewed. A moment later she began again. “With the help of several Southwest Indian tribes, Samuel slowly healed. Over the next few years, he traveled from tribe to tribe in the New Mexico and Arizona territories…”

“The Indian tribes all have their own cultures,” Rose interrupted, a smudge of egg salad on the corner of her lip.

Sari nodded, chewed and swallowed quickly. “Yes, but many of the Arizona tribes borrowed from one another’s religions, incorporated one another’s ceremonies. Dances, songs, even certain rituals were shared among them. And Samuel learned from each one. But he contributed, too. He told them stories, entertained them. And if nothing else, he was a reliable pair of strong arms whenever anyone was in need.”

Just like Will, Becca caught herself thinking. She’d never realized how totally consumed she was by the man she’d married. All her thoughts invariably returned to him.