Читать книгу Matt's Family - Lynnette Kent - Страница 13

JOY BLOOMED inside her like a perfect rose. Kristin closed her eyes and held the expectation close, feeling the tender weight of a baby in her arms, remembering the sweet smell, the soft skin, the tiny sounds. Matt would be so…

Surprised. Maybe even angry. He’d told his mother on Memorial Day that the girls were enough of a family for now. He wasn’t ready for more children.

Jerked out of her celebration, she lay back against the pillows, then curled onto her side and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. She couldn’t really be pregnant. Kindly older women often believed all younger ones should be having babies. Sometimes they were right, sometimes not.

She thought backward over the last few months. Matt had spent a week away at the beginning of April, on maneuvers with the Army. He’d come back late on a Sunday night and slipped into their bed. Before she had fully awakened, her nightgown was gone and his warm hands were stroking her skin, driving her from dreams straight to the heart of desire. She’d taken him inside her without thought, without hesitation.

And, Kristin realized now, without preparation. She didn’t remember noticing her monthly cycle had stopped…but she couldn’t remember noticing it start, either. Chances were that Sadie Chisholm was right. Matt and Kristin Brennan had made a baby that night. Another baby.

“Oh, Lord.” The tears she’d fought off and on all day long won the battle, and came pouring down her cheeks.

The future loomed ahead, suddenly more of a threat than a promise. She and Matt had lost most of their common ground. So far, this trip had done little to restore it. She felt more distant from him today than ever before. Even when he’d been missing, presumed dead, she’d carried his image with her, a part of her mind and soul. And she’d had Erin as a remembrance.

Now he was back, with wariness in his eyes and a guardrail around his heart. Babies brought enough strain to a family at the best of times. What would happen when everything was off balance?

Kristin didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard Matt’s voice. “Kris, want to wake up? Dinner’s ready.”

She felt the stiffness of dried tears on her face as she opened her eyes. Matt leaned over her, his gaze tender, a faint smile just visible on his mouth through the dark. “I’ll make your apologies if you’d rather sleep,” he said. “You do look tired. Sadie’s been beating me up about that.”

Sadie had told him? Kristin sat up quickly, forcing Matt to straighten. “W-what did she say?”

“Just that I ought to think more about you and less about a bunch of dead soldiers.” He sat down beside her and put a hand on her knee. “And she’s right. I’ve dragged you through enough history. We’ll find other things to do while we’re here—antique shops, national parks, whatever. We could go in to Philadelphia for a play, or some museums. What do you say?”

Tears threatened yet again. She remembered crying through the first three months of expecting Erin, and then Jenny. Luke would have recognized what was happening.

Thank God, Matt didn’t. Yet.

“That’s sweet, Matt. Maybe we can do some of that, too.” She slipped out from underneath his hand and crossed to the dressing table. Opening her purse, she pulled out the comb and makeup she’d bought in Fredericksburg. “But I think we should stick to your original plan. You’ve waited a long time to see these places.” Kristin switched on the glass-shaded lamp and turned to face him, hoping the powder hid her secret as well as the tear tracks.

Matt studied her from across the room. Something had changed. He’d seen her just an hour ago, but he was now looking at a different woman. “Everything okay?”

She gave him a smile—that tilt of her mouth that substituted for a real expression these days. “Still a little groggy, I admit. What did you and George do while I was being lazy?”

“They’ve got a little pond out back. We watched a couple of worms do water aerobics.” He felt more and more as if he were part of a play, saying lines written for him by someone else. “We can walk down there after dinner. It’s a pretty place.”

“Sounds good. Shall we go down and get some fried chicken?”

Matt stood up, feeling weary himself. “After you. I hear there’s strawberry shortcake for dessert.”

Kristin laughed as she left the room. “I may be shopping for a size larger clothes before we leave.”

With Sadie and George at the table in the dining room, dinner conversation kept up a comfortable pace.

“Our three daughters still live in Georgia,” Sadie volunteered as she passed the mashed potatoes. “George and me wanted to get out of the heat, so we headed north when he retired from the railroad. The girls and their fam’lies come at Christmas and the end of the summer. With all their younguns—nine grandkids in all—twice a year’s plenty.” She surveyed the table. “I’d better get another pitcher of tea. You folks go ahead.”

As the door to the kitchen closed, George turned to Kristin. “Your man here says you two have little girls of your own.”

Kristin smiled and helped herself to a piece of chicken. “Yes, sir. Erin’s almost eight and Jenny’s five.”

“He’d showed me a pi’ture. Pretty things. Thinking about havin’ another one, are you?”

Matt, watching, saw Kristin freeze, then swallow hard. After a measurable second, she finished cutting a slice of tomato. “Maybe in a little while. The girls are getting too old to be babied.”

“And you’ve got a lot of babyin’ left over, that it?”

She nodded, chewing.

George nodded, too. “My Sadie was that way. We had them three girls, but she said we were gonna try again, see if we could get us a boy.”

“And did you?” Matt asked, as Kristin took a sip of tea.

“We did.” Sadie came back into the dining room. “Andrew George Chisholm. Andy. Cutest little rascal there ever was. Always up to somethin’.” She rounded the table, refilling glasses. “But he was born with Down’s syndrome. His heart was weak, and it just plain wore out when he was nineteen.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Ten years ago, that was. We still miss him, don’t we, George?”