Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“That’s a fine-looking son you have,” Virg Haskell said and glanced at the man and woman, trying to figure out why they had come.

“How’s Ruth?” Lilli asked.

“She and the little bucko are doing fine.” He smiled proudly.

From the bedroom, Ruth called out, “Who is it, Virgil?”

“It’s”—he half-turned his head to answer—“Miss Lilli and Webb . . . and their son.”

There were sounds of movement from the bedroom. “I’ll be right out.”

“Can I get you something?” Virgil offered uncertainly. Even though his wife had become very friendly with Lilli Calder, he doubted that this was a social call.

Dissatisfied with the sugar-tit, the baby in Webb’s arms began fussing and waving angry fists in the air. “You’d better give him to me.” Lilli reached for her son.

Webb gave him into her care before responding to Haskell’s inquiry. “No, nothing, thank you. Lilli and I are here to talk to you and your wife on another matter.”

The bedroom door opened and Ruth emerged. It was obvious she had made a hurried attempt to make herself look presentable. A ribbon secured her blond hair in a long ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she was wearing a loose-fitting dress. She was stiff and a little unsteady on her feet, holding on to the doorway before coming the rest of the way into the room.

“Lilli, you shouldn’t be up. You need to rest and get your strength back,” she murmured anxiously.

“That’s what I tried to tell her,” Webb responded dryly. “But she insisted on coming.”

“I’ve heard that Indian women have their babies and get right up and do their work,” Lilli said to dispute both of them, “I’m fine, really. Please, sit down, Ruth,” she urged. “Webb and I came because we have something to ask of you.”

“What is it?” Ruth gingerly sat on a chair close to Lilli’s and gazed at the baby boy wrapped in the blanket quilt in Lilli’s arms. “He’s a beautiful baby.” There was a trace of envy in her voice.

“He’s a very hungry baby.” Mixed in with the love in her expression, there was regret and a hint of guilt. She hesitantly looked at Ruth. “I don’t have enough milk for him. Simon fixed some special milk for him, but it didn’t agree with him. He said the best solution would be to find another woman willing to wet-nurse. Webb and I thought”—she paused to glance at her husband, standing beside her chair—“we’d ask you.”

Ruth didn’t need time to consider the request, accepting it immediately. “Of course I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” Lilli bent her head to hide her trembling chin and blinked back the tears. Chase began crying again. She tenderly kissed his forehead, then handed him to Ruth, “It would probably be best if he stayed here at night.” It was the hardest thing Lilli had ever had to say. “I’ll have Webb bring his cradle and . . . everything.” Her voice broke.

“Don’t worry, Lilli.” Ruth cuddled Webb’s son close to her breast and laid a reassuring hand on her friend’s arm. “I’ll take very good care of him, just as if he were my son.” It was the easiest promise in the world for her to make.

Some kind of maternal alarm clock woke Ruth in the middle of the night for the two o’clock feeding. She picked up her noisy and impatient son and carried him into the living room to sit in the rocking chair. His blond hair was downy soft and curly, his blue eyes showing signs of remaining that color. His given name was Timothy Ely Haskell, but her husband had started referring to him as “my bucko” from the first day. It had seemed to fit him, so that Ruth now thought of him as Buck. She adored him in the special way a mother loves her child, smiling as he tugged fiercely on her nipple and p

ummeled her breast with his little fists.

But, later, when little Chase Benteen Calder suckled at her milk-swollen breast, there were tears in her eyes. This was Webb’s son, different in size and coloring and temperament from her own. She had dreamed of this day—of holding his baby to her breast. It had come true, not exactly the way she had wanted it, but she was nursing his son.

The stethoscope was captured by a small hand that immediately decided it was meant to be eaten. Simon Bardolph chuckled and pried the Calder baby’s fingers loose from the instrument. Innocent brown eyes looked at him boldly.

“By the looks of you, Chase, you’ve already had enough to eat,” he declared.

“He has grown, hasn’t he?” Lilli declared proudly as her nearly five-month-old son began jabbering. He was sitting up straight, firmly balanced, chubby but not fat.

“He’s already trying to crawl, but he usually ends up scooting backward.”

“He’ll figure it out soon enough; then you’ll probably wish he hadn’t,” Simon murmured dryly and closed his bag. “I haven’t seen two healthier babies than this one and little Buck in a long time.”

“You will have some coffee and cake, won’t you?” she said and picked up the growing youngster, balancing him on her hip. “Webb should be back shortly. He had to go to the train station to pick up the senator. I know he’ll want to see you.”

“Can’t.” Simon shrugged into his coat. “I have to get over to Kreuger’s place. Three of his children are sick. Looks like pneumonia.” He shook his head, unwillingly comparing the disparities between this household and the pitiful circumstances of the dryland family.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lilli held Chase just a little tighter. As much as she disliked Franz Kreuger, she still felt sorry for his wife, Helga. “How is . . . his wife?”

His glance skimmed her briefly, trying to decide if she really wanted to know. “I don’t think you’d recognize her.” He sighed. “I don’t think she eats. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the food goes to the children and her husband, and she eats whatever is left.”