Dakota Child

“I’m sorry he woke you but I can’t get him to stop crying.”

“Maybe he’s hungry.”

“I tried feeding him.”

“Wet pants?”

“No.”

“Tummy ache?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Now how would I know?”

He chuckled. “I guess he’s telling you the best way he can. He often have tummy aches?”

She turned her attention back to the baby but not before he caught what he guessed was a hint of surprise and confusion.

There was something odd about Vivian and this baby. Her affection and protective attitude were real enough, yet her inexperience seemed out of place.

She sighed.

He gave her a hard look now that the cobwebs had cleared from his mind. She looked as if she’d been wrung out and hung in a stiff wind to dry. “The little one been fussing long?”

“I’ve tried to keep him quiet so he wouldn’t wake you or—” She tipped her head toward Ma’s door. “But he simply won’t settle down.”

As if to prove her words correct, the baby arched his back and screamed louder.

Ma snorted.

Billy held his breath waiting to see if Ma would set up her own protesting racket. When he heard soft snores, he eased air out of his lungs. “Give him to me.”

Vivian didn’t argue. Didn’t even protest. In fact, she seemed as eager as a Dakota spring was reluctant to rid herself of the squalling infant.

He cradled the baby to his chest and hummed as he walked the floor. The baby cried at first and then slowly quieted. Billy continued to walk because every time he stopped, the baby stiffened and whimpered.

Vivian curled up in the stuffed chair before the warm fire and in minutes fell asleep.

Billy walked until he was sure a pathway across the floor marked his journey. He hummed until he grew both hoarse and amazed a little critter could outlast the reserves of a huge adult. When the infant finally seemed relaxed, Billy dropped wearily to the rocker, sighing relief when the baby didn’t fuss.

He closed his eyes, let his head fall back and listened. The wind had moderated. He figured the storm would end with first light and unless the drifts were impassable, he’d have Vivian and the baby in town by noon.

Then he and Ma could return to normal—the quiet calm of Ma working about the house, milking her cow, tending the chickens; his satisfaction in caring for all his animals and walking alone across the prairie. That was his life.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and denied a desire for more. No point in wishing for stars when he lived in plain old farm dirt. His world was what it was.

He was unreasonably glad when Joshua started to fuss again and he could turn his thoughts to something else.

Vivian barely stirred so Billy fed the baby, smiling as the tiny fist curled around Billy’s little finger. He rubbed Joshua’s cheek, amazed at the smoothness of his skin, like a polished rock warm in the sun.

Vivian had washed out the nappies and hung them to dry. Billy wondered how to fold one to fit the baby. Had no idea. Best he wait and let Vivian do it.

He and the baby sat warm and content in front of the fire. He watched the flames twist and turn, and wondered about Vivian. Why had God seen fit to dump her on his doorstep? If she needed help, he would willingly provide it. He rested his face against Joshua’s warm head. It pleased him to see Vivian and the baby together. God knew a child needed and deserved the love of his mother.

Billy snorted in surprise at the direction of his thoughts. This wasn’t about what happened to him. It was about protecting Vivian and the baby until the storm ended. Then they’d be gone. Some unfamiliar portion of his brain wondered what it would be like if he could keep them.

The room lightened. The frost-covered window turned gray.

The baby stretched. Billy turned the little bundle into his palms and stared into wide eyes as blue as the deep pond of water where the best fish hid. Joshua puckered his lips in an expression as wise and knowing as an ancient sage. It was so serious and comical at the same time, Billy chuckled. “Never seen anyone like me before, have you?”

As the baby blinked solemnly, Vivian woke with a gasp. “I didn’t mean to sleep.”

“That’s what most people do at night.”

She snorted. “If they’re safe in their own bed.”

“You’re just as safe.” He understood people’s fears of Ma’s crazy behavior and his size. He’d grown used to it. Put it down to ignorance, phobia or just plain scared. But after sheltering Vivian and helping with little Joshua here, he figured it was about time she realized both he and Ma were harmless.

Of course, Ma had to pick that moment to scurry into the room, her hair as tangled as a crow’s nest, her eyes wide. She paused to wave frantically at Vivian as if hoping her actions could chase her away. She mumbled something totally unintelligible before she darted past them and out to the lean-to to relieve herself.

He waited for her to return. He gave her a few minutes before he called, “Ma, get back in here.”

Joshua, startled at Billy’s loud voice, screamed as if he’d been stabbed. “Sorry, little fellow. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He rocked the baby.

Joshua stopped crying but his bottom lip stuck out, trembling, and his eyes remained wide.

Vivian jumped up. “I’ll get a bottle ready.”

Billy followed her to the table and waited while she prepared breakfast for the baby. As soon as Vivian took Joshua, Billy headed for the cold woodshed attached to the house. He yanked open the door and caught Ma’s hands, pulling her gently inside. “You’ll freeze out there.”

Ma whimpered and clung to his grasp. “I don’t like this,” she whispered. “It scares me.”

“Ma, she’s just a young woman with a little baby.”

Ma shuddered and pressed one hand to her chest.

“Look, the storm has ended.” He should be glad but it was not relief he felt. It was regret, which he expertly ignored as he led Ma to a kitchen chair. “You sit here while I get the fire going and make breakfast.”

Only by talking softly of the animals and the weather did Billy manage to get Ma to sit long enough to eat. He took a bowl of hot mush to Vivian in front of the fireplace without suggesting she move to the table. He didn’t want to risk sending Ma running from the room.

As soon as Ma finished, she started to pull on heavy outerwear. “I have to milk Betsy.”

Billy pulled on his winter coat, too. “I’ll look after the other animals.” He lifted the bar off the door.

“Leave the dishes. I’ll do them.” Vivian spoke quietly.

Billy gladly did so and followed Ma to the barn where he hurried through his chores. He would normally take time to brush the colt, stroke all the cats and play with Limpy, his three-legged dog. Billy had nursed the pup from birth. He was the only dog left from many batches. Limpy was getting old. Billy would soon enough have to find a new dog, though the idea branded a protest on the inside of his heart.

Poor Limpy used to love this weather but he was getting old and refused to leave the barn unless it was warm out. Today, the cold had a nasty bite.