Page 16 of Tremaine's True Love
The grooms led the horses out, Atlas sporting bulging sacks slung over his withers.A refreshing hack, indeed.
“I’ll be gone in three days’ time,” Tremaine said, for Bellefonte would either part with his sheep for a reasonable price or he wouldn’t. “‘Nae man can tether time nor tide,’” Tremaine quoted. “And no ten men can stop the press of business for one such as I. If your brother won’t sell me his sheep, then I’m off to the German states in search of other herds. Humor me this once, madam, and I’ll not trouble you again.”
Lady Nita accepted Atlas’s reins from the groom, and gave the boy a look such that he hustled back into the barn with a muttered, “G’day, yer ladyship.”
Tremaine bid William to stand, which the beast would do until spring if need be.
“You may accompany me,” Lady Nita said, “but I want to hear that poem about the mouse and life’s precariousness. Susannah was quite taken with it.”
Tremaine boosted Lady Nita onto her unprepossessing gelding, surprised at her request.
Also pleased.
* * *
Nita approached the Chalmers cottage purposefully, though dread dragged at her heels, given what she’d found on other visits here. Did Mr. St. Michael oblige her by remaining on his horse, looking handsome and substantial in his winter finery?
No, he did not.
He swung down and tethered their mounts to the porch railing, then clomped up the sagging steps right behind her.
“This is unnecessary, Mr. St. Michael. You will embarrass the mother and make my errand here more awkward.”
He rapped on the door with a gloved fist. “This mother will not embarrass so easily as that.”
The cottage stank, as Nita had known it would, of boiled cabbage, unwashed bodies, dirty linen, and despair.
“Lady Nita!” Mary’s greeting was enthusiastic but quiet, and her younger brothers said nothing at all.
“Good day, Mary. Mr. St. Michael and I thought to see how you’re getting on.” The cheer in Nita’s voice was mostly sincere. Mary held a small bundle in her arms, and the baby’s blanket was still clean.
“Mama’s resting,” Mary said, the baby tucked securely against her middle. “Wee Annie is thriving.”
“You lot,” Mr. St. Michael said to Mary’s younger brothers. “Outside with me now. Two horses need walking and somebody must show me where the woodpile is.” His tone of voice was positively glacial, and the boys dove for their coats and scarves.
“Evan, you stay inside,” Nita said. The smallest of the three boys had weak lungs and likely no shoes.
“He can gather up the soiled linens,” Mr. St. Michael said. “There’s laundry aplenty in need of boiling.”
Well, yes. Any household with a new baby boasted a deal of laundry. Within minutes, Nita heard the rhythmic sound of an ax falling, and Evan was scurrying about, making a great heap of dirty clothing, bedding, and linen by the cottage door.
Nita used the relative privacy to fold back the curtain over the sleeping alcove, where Addy slumbered on as if she were the worse for drink.
“She hasn’t had any gin,” Mary whispered. “Not since wee Annie was born. Mama has slept and slept. I bring her the baby, like you told me to.”
The back of Nita’s hand to Addy’s forehead verified the absence of fever.
“Having a baby can be tiring,” Nita said softly. Childbirth could also be fatal, and then what would these children do? Nick allowed them to forage in the home wood for deadfall, and Nita had her suspicions about where the occasional hare in the stew pot came from.
“Annie’s awake,” Mary said, peering at her sister. “She’s hardly ever awake.”
The very old and the very young often drifted in a benevolent twilight. When Nita’s father had dwelled in that twilight continuously, she’d known his end approached.
“Let’s have a look at her,” Nita said, closing the curtain and taking the baby from Mary. Annie Elizabeth felt solid, reassuringly so, and Mary had kept the baby clean. A clout had been tied about the infant’s small form, one of many Nita had made from old shifts and sheets.
The door opened and fresh, chilly air gusted through the cottage. Tremaine St. Michael dumped a load of split wood into the empty wood box.
“So that’s the new arrival?” he asked, peering at the baby in Nita’s arms. “Pretty little thing. Ladies of that size always look so innocent.”
