Читать книгу An Unlikely Mother - Danica Favorite - Страница 11

Chapter One

Leadville, Colorado, 1883

Stark raving mad. If Flora Montgomery had to describe herself in this latest scheme, that’s what she would say she was. Oh, she’d done some crazy things in the past. Horrible things. But nothing so insane as agreeing to spend the summer in a mining camp helping the less fortunate.

Like everything else in her life, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The baby’s wail pierced her ears again.

She stared at the little creature in her arms. “I’m sorry. They should have asked someone else to hold you. I’ve never held a baby before, and I know I’m doing a terrible job, but could you please have a little mercy?”

Unfortunately, her words only served to send more tears rolling down the baby’s cheeks, making Flora want to cry herself. Please, Lord, I know I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, but surely this poor child doesn’t deserve to suffer because of it.

Why had the other women thought that leaving Flora alone with a baby was a good idea? When they’d gone to unload a wagon, Mrs. Willoughby handed her this baby and told her to stay at the cabin with her.

Flora sighed. It wasn’t that they’d thought having her take care of a baby was a good idea, but that none of them wanted to be stuck with Flora. Which left Flora here with this tiny creature she knew nothing about.

Surely the other ladies would return soon.

Glancing down the well-worn path the women had taken only left Flora feeling more miserable. If they returned and saw what a terrible job she was doing in minding the baby, they’d have one more crime to throw at her feet.

That was the trouble with being the most hated woman in town. Once people found an excuse to hate you, it seemed everything else only served to validate that opinion. She should know. Not too long ago, Flora’s words were the ones the women hung on, her opinions dictating everyone else’s place in society. But she had been cruel in her judgments of others, shunning women who were now the ones everyone else looked up to. When Flora had hurt one too many people with her actions, they’d turned on her. And rightly so. But no matter how many times Flora said she was sorry, or tried to show that she’d changed, it didn’t seem to make a difference.

How, then, was Flora supposed to redeem herself?

Surely it wasn’t impossible. After all, Emma Jane Jackson, once tormented for being poor, uncomely and awkward, was now one of the most respected women in their group, married to one of the handsomest, wealthiest men in town. A man Flora had once hoped to marry. Virtue over beauty. Apparently that was what men valued in women these days. And since Flora had little of the former, and a great deal of the latter, she’d finally begun to accept that unless she changed her ways, she’d never find a husband of her own.

Since the baby had yet to cease its crying, Flora walked toward the nearby stream. Maybe the sound of water would soothe the poor thing. Not finding a husband was the least of Flora’s worries. After all, a husband meant children, and clearly, from the way this one carried on, Flora would make a terrible mother.

Prior to the great social revolution in Leadville, Flora would have been confident in the idea of motherhood; after all, she would hire the finest nanny from New York, or London or perhaps even Paris. But now, the women in her circle all chose to raise their children themselves, bringing even the smallest babies to help out at the mission, tied around them in some sort of apparatus to hold them against their bodies, leaving the women’s hands free to work.

One more reason Flora didn’t fit in. She’d had a nanny growing up, as did all the girls she’d known, but she’d also had no siblings, no babies to tend. Which was why she had no idea what to do with the squalling creature in her arms.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?” A miner, dressed in work clothes that were shabby but clean, approached.

“I...” Flora looked down at the baby. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

The man reached for the child. “Let me see what I can do. I’ve been told I have a way with little ones.”

Glancing toward the path the women had taken, Flora’s stomach dipped. What would the other women say if she handed the baby over to a strange man? It didn’t seem possible that they could hate her any more, but they always seemed to find a way.

“I shouldn’t,” Flora said, trying to ignore the way the baby’s face turned redder and redder. “Her mother might not like me letting a stranger take her.”

Smiling, the man took a step toward her. “A wise decision. I’m...” He paused. “George. George, uh...Baxter.”

The man, George, looked nervous. Flora had learned that many people came to these parts to escape a past they were ashamed of. Unfortunately, when one’s past was in a place where everyone else came to hide, there was no hiding it.

So this George Baxter, probably not his real name, well, Flora wasn’t going to judge his secrets. But she wasn’t going to simply hand him someone else’s baby, either.

Even if she wasn’t sure her ears would ever recover from the high-pitched screaming.

“Flora Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Baxter. I do appreciate your offer, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be proper.”

Another smile filled his face. “Could I make a suggestion, then?”

“It would be most welcome. I’m sure it couldn’t hurt at this point.” Flora sighed, looking at the wailing baby once more.

“You’re holding her wrong,” George said. “Cradle her gently next to you, like so.”

He bent down and picked up a large stick and demonstrated.

Flora shook her head. “I tried that, and the baby cried even worse.”

“Does she need to uh...” George shifted, looking more uncomfortable than he had at saying his name. “...belch?”

She wasn’t allowed to say that word in polite company. Let alone discuss those particular things with a man. But she did need to find a way to get the baby to quiet down.

“How am I supposed to know that? The baby doesn’t talk.”

If he sensed her irritation, he didn’t show it. His face held a look of kindness and gentleness. Patience. The kind of man Flora would like to get to know, were he not so far outside her social station. A pity, since the harder Flora had worked on improving her character, the less appealing those in her social station seemed to be.

Eyes twinkling, George held the stick to his shoulder. “Put the baby against your shoulder, like so, and gently pat her back.”

George reached forward and tapped her arm lightly. “Like this.”

What sort of man would be so...kind...as to go so far to help a woman in distress when it was a matter in which most men would never be involved?

Flora had seen mothers pat their babies like that. She imitated the action. The baby obliged by letting out a large belch. Then another.

And then she promptly emptied the contents of her stomach on one of Flora’s best dresses.

But at least she finally stopped crying.

With a smile, George untied the kerchief from around his neck and handed it to her. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. You don’t know anything about babies, do you?”

“I’ve never held a baby in my life.” Flora brushed at the mess with the handkerchief with one hand, while trying to balance the now-happy, squirming baby with the other.

The handkerchief did little to mop up the mess. No wonder so many of the women of her acquaintance wore such unsightly aprons. At least their dresses could be salvaged. “Do they all expel such...”

George chuckled, and reached for the baby again. She shouldn’t let him, but she had no idea how she was supposed to not drop the baby and get the foul-smelling liquid off herself. How did other women manage? Surely it wouldn’t hurt to let this man help her for just a moment. If he didn’t look like a miner, she’d think him a gentleman for sure. Hadn’t he already demonstrated a level of civility that went beyond what most people would do?

Giving her a charming smile as she relinquished the baby, he said, “I believe they do. Though this little one seemed to be more enthusiastic in her efforts.”

Flora used her now-free hand to finish cleaning herself off, but it seemed like she was only making a bigger mess of things.

“There’s water in my canteen.” George pointed to an object resting against a tree. “Feel free to use it all. The creek’s not too far.”

So many rules of propriety were being breached in this situation. But as Flora used the water to cleanse the remaining mess, she found she honestly didn’t care. With only the water and handkerchief to clean up, she knew she was doing a fair job, at best.

Flora watched as George cuddled the baby, chattering at her and pointing to things. She would never have imagined that a man would be so good with a baby. She shook her head. One more reason she shouldn’t judge by appearances. The same way people would have assumed that as a woman, Flora would know what to do with one.

“Do you have children of your own?” Flora asked, handing him back the handkerchief.

“No.” George gave her a warm smile, and for the first time, she realized that the man was quite handsome, indeed. He had blue eyes that crinkled at the edges, and though his dark brown hair was unruly, she found the way it curled at his collar quite attractive. Even the stubble on his chin made him seem...well, masculine, adding to his charm.

“But I have a nephew, and I’ve always gotten on with children. Even now, when I attend church, no matter where I go, the children seem to congregate around me.”

He tickled the baby under her chin, making her giggle. “Babies aren’t so hard, really. They just need to know that they’re safe and loved. The reason you’re having so much trouble is that you’re nervous. Babies can sense that.”

Flora sighed, watching how comfortable he was with the baby in his arms. “I suppose. I just don’t think she likes me much. Most people don’t.”

The sound of chatter in the distance reminded Flora of her duty, and that the returning women would not appreciate the fact that she’d allowed a strange man to hold the baby.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Flora said, holding out her hands. “I should take her now.”

“You are most welcome, Flora Montgomery,” he said softly, his breath a whisper on her cheek as he placed the baby in her arms. “And if it’s any consolation, I like you just fine.”

Her face heated as she shifted the baby and stepped away. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been soon enough for the returning women.

“Flora Montgomery! How dare you canoodle with a strange man while watching my precious Ethel!” Mrs. Willoughby marched up to her and snatched the baby out of her arms.

“I didn’t—” Flora couldn’t finish her sentence as her gaze drifted to the other women standing around, staring at her like she was some fallen woman.

Was this how others had felt when Flora had lashed out at them for what Flora had considered improper behavior? Oh, how she wished she could go back and change the way she’d reacted to situations she’d known nothing about. Accuse first and make apologies never, that had been the way of things. How wrong she’d been.

“Ma’am, I can assure you, there was nothing improper between myself and Miss Montgomery. Little Ethel had a slight accident on Miss Montgomery’s shoulder, and I was helping her clean up the mess.” He held up his soiled handkerchief, as though proving his case.

“Ethel was ill?” Horror flashed across Mrs. Willoughby’s face as she examined the baby.

Flora was nearly concerned herself, except for George’s chuckle.

“I’m sure it’s no cause to worry, ma’am. Looked to be a typical baby spit-up to me. Just a lot of it.”

“And what are you, a doctor?” Mrs. Willoughby glared at him. At the negative shake of his head, she turned and marched to the cabin.

Feeling the gazes of the others strongly upon her, Flora turned to him and smiled. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Baxter. Your kindness is much appreciated, and I will remember it always. I should get back to work. After all, that’s why I came.”

She directed that last comment at the other women, forcing a smile despite the sinking feeling that, with even this small task, she’d once again failed to meet their standards.

George smiled at her. It was a shame the man was a miner. He’d been kind, helpful and he was the first man in a long time who’d treated her like she was anything but the disappointment everyone else saw her as. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, despite her less than joyous mood. He was also quite pleasant to look at.

But even if they could find something in common, her family and the rest of society would never approve of her marrying someone so far removed from their world.

Still, it had been nice to have someone treat her like a human being for a change. If only she could get the rest of society to do the same.

* * *

Flora Montgomery. As he lived and breathed. George Baxter Bellingham would never have expected to run into her in the mining camp. For a moment, he’d been afraid his former nemesis would recognize him, but then he remembered that he was no longer the pudgy little boy all the kids tormented. Besides, Flora had moved from Denver to Leadville several years ago, and they hadn’t seen each other since. Part of him felt bad for deceiving her about his identity, but he hadn’t exactly lied. He’d given her his first and middle names, but not his last. Fortunately, his middle name was his mother’s maiden name, so it sounded like a real name.

Right now, he couldn’t afford to have anyone, most of all Flora, know his real name. Flora’s father was once George’s father’s best friend, but the two men had had a falling-out years ago, shortly before the Montgomerys moved to Leadville.

Though George didn’t know what had happened, he did know that John Montgomery was considered an enemy of the family. With George’s father now gone, it was up to George to figure out what was going wrong at the family’s mine, and he wasn’t sure if the Montgomerys could be trusted. A young lady of Flora’s station would obviously know nothing about her father’s business, but all it would take was a careless mention of running into George, and his carefully crafted plan would fall apart. John Montgomery most likely wouldn’t recognize George for the same reasons Flora hadn’t.

He watched her retreat, noting that the years since their childhood had been kind to her. She’d grown into a graceful young woman, and he’d heard tales of her beauty long before this meeting. The tales had not done her justice. No longer the knobby-kneed, freckle-faced brat who once poked fun at him for sport, Flora had acquired not only beauty, but a gentility that drew him.

Back in his debutante-chasing days, Flora would have been exactly the sort of woman George would pursue. But those days were over, thanks to his father’s death and subsequent rumors that the mine was having financial troubles. His former fiancée, Shannon, had given him back his ring with the sickeningly sweet suggestion that he might need the money from selling it.

No more debutantes or any other kind of socialite for George.

Even if he found a way to straighten out his family’s finances, he didn’t want a wife who could only love him in the “for richer” part of their vows. Women like Flora expected a certain kind of life, a life he wasn’t sure he could provide. If he’d learned anything from this experience, it was that a man’s fortune could change more quickly than anyone could imagine, and regardless of how things turned out for him financially, he needed to know his future wife would be happy in any circumstance.

Still... Flora Montgomery. Tempting. He’d liked the way she’d taken on caring for a baby when she had no idea what she was doing. Even though she’d been utterly disgusted with the baby spitting up on her, she still had a sweet smile for little Ethel. The last thing Flora had wanted to do was take care of a baby, that was obvious, but he’d seen her genuine concern for the child.

Of course, he had to remember that he wasn’t George Bellingham, welcome in parlors of the finest families, but George Baxter, lowly miner, and from the way Flora had recoiled at his acquaintance, he wouldn’t be invited to tea anytime soon. As tempting as it was to get to know her better, he wasn’t going to go down that path. The likes of Flora Montgomery were only interested in men who could advance their social standing. Even if George’s plan worked, he wanted no part of a woman who couldn’t love a man for who he was. Call him sentimental, but his parents had married long before they’d had money, and theirs was one of the best marriages he’d ever seen.

Shannon had done him a favor, giving him his ring back. And he wasn’t planning on giving it to anyone else who could only see a man for his bank account or social standing.

Neither of which would amount to much if he didn’t figure out who was sabotaging operations at the mine. A couple weeks ago, an entire tunnel had caved in, narrowly avoiding killing several workers. His brother-in-law, Arthur, had told him that it was the cost of doing business, and these things happened sometimes. But that wasn’t how George’s father had done business, and had it not been for a runaway carriage, he’d still be here to make things right.

Which left the task up to George.

His mother had been badly injured in the carriage accident, and her medical bills and treatments were costly. Arthur was busy handling the family’s other business interests, which were also inexplicably losing money. Though Arthur had insisted that George remain at Harvard, pursuing his studies so that he could eventually take his place in the family businesses, George couldn’t sit back and watch his family lose everything.

Arthur might be too busy to get to the bottom of the troubles at the mine, but George wasn’t. How could he continue spending money that the family might not have much longer? His mother needed the medical care. His sister was expecting another baby. No, the answer was not to bury himself in the books, but in this mine.

Folks used to say that Elias Bellingham was far too generous in his dealings with others, and that it would someday send him to the poorhouse. Which was why, Arthur had told him, the family business was nearly bankrupt again.

Didn’t George owe it to his father’s legacy to see if he could turn things around at the mine?

A faint whimper on the other side of the tree where he’d laid his canteen caught his attention. As George rounded the tall pine that hadn’t yet been claimed by the camp for fuel or building material, he spied a little boy sitting in the hollow near a boulder a few yards away.

“Hey, little guy,” George said softly as he approached. “Are you all right?”

The small boy couldn’t be more than three or four years old, the same age as his nephew, Sam.

A tear-stained face stared up at him, longing thick in the child’s eyes. He spoke rapidly, but the words were foreign to George. All he could understand was, “Père.”

Father. George had taken a few French lessons, but he’d been terrible at it. Many of his peers had had French nannies, learning the language as part of daily life. But the Bellinghams had gone with a more traditional English nanny. Which did him little good now.

Since the boy looked like he was about to start crying again, George knelt beside him. Maybe the boy spoke English. “Parlez-vous Anglais?”

The little boy shook his head. Great. That was about the extent of the French he could remember, other than a few words that didn’t seem helpful here.

Pointing to himself, he said, “George.”

Then he pointed at the little boy.

“Pierre,” the boy said.

Then the boy began speaking again in rapid French. George shook his head and pointed to himself again. “No parlez Français.”

Hopefully it was enough to convey to the boy that he didn’t understand. The boy nodded slowly as tears continued rolling down his cheeks.

George pointed to himself again. “George...help...Pierre.” Wait. What was the word for help? “Aid?”

That seemed to get Pierre’s attention, or at least stop the flow of tears.

Pierre pointed at George’s canteen.

“Are you thirsty?”

Silly of him to ask, since Pierre probably didn’t know the word. George held out the canteen, mostly empty from Flora’s use, but there was a little water to spare.

Pierre drank the water quickly, then pointed to his stomach.

What was the word for hungry? Back when George was pudgy, everything had been about food. “Faim?”

Hopefully he wasn’t telling Pierre something awful. But Pierre nodded, so George took that as a good sign.

Judging by the fact that the little boy was alone and crying, George was going to assume he’d somehow gotten separated from his father. But how was he supposed to find a little boy’s father when he’d barely arrived at the mining camp himself? He’d been here just long enough to pitch a tent and gain employment at the mine.

Flora. She was here with the church mission. Perhaps the people at the church mission would know of anyone who spoke French who could... George smiled. Flora had a French nanny when they were children. She used to brag about how her nanny was superior to everyone else’s because of it. She and her friends would speak in French, giving themselves airs and using it as a means to exclude the other children. Back then, he’d found it annoying.

But now, it just might save this little boy’s life. Flora could help him care for the boy and translate so they could find Pierre’s father.

George gave Pierre a smile. “Pierre come with George. Manger.” At least that’s what he thought the word for eat was. He held out his hand.

Clearly the love of food that had led to George’s torment as a child was helping him now. Pierre smiled back and took George’s hand.

George had never imagined he’d be so grateful for Flora Montgomery. When they were children, she’d teased him and tormented him mercilessly. Who knew that Flora’s annoying affectation from the past might very well be the thing he needed most right now? While pursuing his newfound attraction to her was still out of the question, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again.

George ruffled the little boy’s hair. He wished he could convey something more to him, to make him feel comfortable, but at least Flora could do that. Despite the complication of meeting Flora so early in his quest, knowing that she could be the one person to expose him, she would also be a great asset. People might say that Elias Bellingham’s weakness was his concern for others, but George was grateful his father had passed on that trait to him. He wouldn’t feel right leaving Pierre until his father had been found, and Flora’s help would make it easier for George to help Pierre and accomplish his own mission. As long as he could keep Flora from learning his real reason for being in the camp.

Though he hoped to find Pierre’s father quickly, George was going to enjoy every moment he spent in Flora’s company until then.