Mail Order Bride: Winter (Bride For All Seasons 4)

“Childbirth is a woman’s business. You’ll find, Letty, that, in most cases, it’s best to just to leave her to it, b’cause her instincts take over. But we’re gettin’ more sophisticated now; we try to relieve the pain and the stress, if we can, so as not to let the poor gal be torn apart in the process.

But, after my own experience with Marcella...”

A shadow crossed over his unshaven face, fallen into weary folds like that of a basset hound, and bleakness entered his eyes. Would he ever, Letitia wondered, watching sympathetically, see another delivery in the same way, after that family’s devastation, with its myriad repercussions?

“I’ll try to talk with her in another couplea days, Letty. Ben can drive her over here to see me, can’t he?”

“I’m sure he can. And will.”

“All right, then, Put your mind at ease on all counts, honey. You’ve done a fine job while I’ve been gone, and I’m proud of you. Once I get all my senses back, you can tell me—what else you handled—’round here...” Relaxing, he yawned. “But, actually, I was wonderin’ about your other sister’s welfare.”

“My other—oh, you mean Hannah. Huh. Well.”

His gaze sharpened just a little. “What? Some problem?”

She shifted position, patently uncomfortable. “Gabe, don’t even consider asking me to betray a confidence.”

“Huh. She still moonin’ over that mail order character—Ualraig such and such?”

Letty’s jaw dropped. “You know about him?”

“Yep. Saw the letter she was startin’ to write, and I got her to confess what she was up to.”

Minutes had been ticking busily away; now, almost unheard because completely unnoticed, the kitchen clock suddenly struck a muted note for the half-hour. A kettle of water recently placed on the stove had begun to gurgle with impatience; it was meant for tea, and needed to be removed before the liquid boiled away.

With the tip of her shoe, Letty straightened the rag rug beside the bed. “I haven’t really had a chance to talk with her. Between your care, and my husband’s, I’ve simply been too busy.”

A negligent wave of the hand. Sure. Understandable.

She leaned forward just a little, although the room was empty of outsiders who might possibly be eavesdropping. “I suspect she’s quite upset. After all, the man was supposed to be here by now.”

“He gave her a definite date when he’d be arrivin’? Huh. Must put more faith in his travel arrangements than I ever could. Ain’t nothin’ certain but death and taxes.”

“Well, no, it was tentative, naturally. He suggested Wednesday, the fifteenth. And here it is, Sunday, the nineteenth, and not one word from this so-called suitor.” Her voice rang with irritation. “If he says he’ll be here, shouldn’t he live up to his promise?”

“One would think,” said Gabe noncommittally. Yawning again, he began to slump down against his pillows. “Well, I reckon she’ll have to deal with the problem, won’t she?”

As any good trained medico, Letitia noticed his grimace of pain and the lines of utter weariness that stamped his face. “Want your coffee now, Gabe, or would you rather sleep?”

“Huh. We talked through me gettin’ coffee, hon. Lemme—just lemme rest—a little while first.”

Rest, thought Letty with a grin, as she replaced the blanket he had pushed aside and watched his eyes drift shut. Innocent as a baby. If you equated the quality of rest with the noise of his snoring, then he would be full of vim and vinegar in a short while. She pitied his future wife, whoever that might be.

When he opened his eyes, some two hours later, she was sitting primly on the visitor’s chair, thumbing quietly through last week’s Gazette. He spluttered a little, coughed, groaned, and made a few more unusual noises all pertinent to a man recovering from grave injury as well as being taken by surprise.

“Hello, Gabe,” said Hannah, looking sedately at him with those clear blue eyes. “How are you feeling? I was so worried about you. And I’m so glad that you are going to be okay.”

“I’m too stubborn to die.”

“I think I will have to agree with you. How’s your mother?”

“Uh. What?”

She carefully folded the newspaper into its original sections and laid it aside, in case he might want to read the contents later. “Is your mother okay?”

“She’s good. Thank you for asking about her.” With a grunt, he attempted, with the one free arm, to shift himself upright. “Where’s—Letty—?”

“I told her I’d watch over you for a while, this being Sunday and all, and me having nothing better to do. That way she could go home and tend to her husband. Who, apparently, unlike some husbands, actually misses having his wife around.”