Dakota Child

Fluffy squirmed in Ma’s tight grasp. Tom and Tiger edged toward the sound, ears tipped in curiosity. The rest of the cats shrank back under the stove.

“Can’t you make him stop?” Billy demanded.

“I would, if I knew what to do.” She looked annoyed and frustrated at the same time.

“Why don’t you know?” He waited as she scowled at him. “He ain’t yours, is he?”

She snorted. “You wanting him? Right now, you could have him. Real cheap. Free, in fact.”

Billy blinked. His mouth pulled down at the corners. “You can’t give a baby away just because he’s crying.”

“No?” She pushed to her feet, took three steps and thrust the squalling bundle into Billy’s arms. “You make him stop.” She dropped back to the chair as if exhausted.

Billy couldn’t move. He’d never felt anything like this little bitty human. He had to remind himself to breathe.

The baby weighed next to nothing, yet had the lungs of a cattle drover. The little bundle of noise drew in a breath, pulling his mouth into a pout.

The poor thing.

Billy lifted the baby to his chest and patted gently. The wails continued. Billy walked toward the door, turned and walked back. Were the screams less intense? He hummed the tune, “Fairest Lord Jesus, ruler of all nature.”

The baby snuffled a bit, then grew quiet.

Billy let the sweetness of success, the incredible pleasure of holding this baby, fill his thoughts.

Ma stopped moaning, stopped rocking.

He kept humming, fearing the baby would begin his caterwauling again if he quit. He sank to the chair across from Vivian and continued the song.

Vivian sighed and tipped her head back.

Convinced there was something not right about this whole situation—a woman who admitted she wasn’t married and obviously knew little about caring for the infant she claimed was hers—he tried to figure out a way to get the truth from her. But she could answer questions any way she chose. Truth or lie.

“You hiding from someone?” He kept his voice the same timbre as his hum, relieved the baby didn’t protest and Ma seemed content murmuring comforting noises to Fluffy. A fragile peace settled about his taut nerves.

Vivian studied him intently.

He thought for a moment she intended to ignore his question.

“What concern is that of yours?”

The baby whimpered and Billy hummed for a few minutes before he answered. “I think it’s my concern if someone is looking for a missing baby. Last thing I need is trouble with the law.”

She gave a tight smile. “It seems to me you can handle most any trouble.”

“You mean my size.”

“I think it would be a good deterrent to any nosy parkers.”

“I ain’t talking about snoops. I’m meaning angry citizens or lawmen. I make a mighty big target for a bullet.”

Again that look of defiance. “I’m not planning to stay.” She glanced at Ma and gave the barest shiver.

Billy guessed she wasn’t aware of it any more than she realized the fear in her eyes.

Tom and Tiger, the most curious of his cats, jumped to his lap and nosed around the baby, sniffing and meowing. Tom, the more aggressive one, laid his ears back as if to say he didn’t approve of sharing his space with this strange creature. “Tom, you be nice.” Tom meowed innocently then edged under Billy’s arm, making Billy chuckle. “You always got to be first, don’t you?”

He felt a little foolish talking to his cats in front of this woman, and shut up.

“I’ll be gone as soon as the storm lets up,” Vivian assured him.

“It shows no sign of doing that.” And suppertime approached. His stomach began squeezing his backbone. He didn’t care to miss a meal. Nor delay it even a few minutes, but Ma didn’t look about to make anything.

Vivian was a guest. She could hardly be called on to prepare food. Besides, she might expect him to eat like she did. In which case he’d leave the table as hungry as he was now.

That left him—with a sleeping infant in his arms. He shifted the tiny bundle and handed it back to Vivian.

The baby protested at the change of arms but didn’t waken.

“I’ll make us something to eat.” He hated cooking. Seemed to take forever to prepare enough food to satisfy his appetite.

They had a good supply of venison; potatoes and turnips from the garden; eggs, milk, cheese and a storeroom with beans, flour and cornmeal. His mouth watered at the thought of fresh-from-the-oven corn bread drowned in molasses, but that took too long.

He pulled out three big fry pans and dropped a dollop of bacon drippings into each. As soon as it sizzled, he put venison chops in one pan and browned them. He cut leftover potatoes into the second and broke two dozen eggs into the third pan. He sliced a roll of Ma’s bread and wished for some fresh green vegetables, but garden season was a long way off.

“It’s ready. Come and get it.” He filled a plate for Ma, filled another with an equal amount for Vivian and set them on the table. The rest he scooped to a platter for himself.

When Vivian rose, Ma jerked to her feet. “Don’t come any closer.”

Vivian stopped so fast she teetered.

Billy stared from one woman to the other, feeling as if he were caught in the middle of two storms, not knowing which one would intensify first, nor what damage each would inflict.

“Ma, we got to feed the woman. It’s uncharitable not to.”

“I’ll leave,” Ma said, and before Billy could think what she meant to do, she dropped Fluffy to the floor, grabbed her plate and retreated past the stove into the doorless pantry. She pressed into the farthest corner, out of sight.

“Ma.”

“I’ll eat here,” she mumbled.

“I can eat here,” Vivian said at the same time.

Billy wanted nothing more than to sit down and fill the hollowness some people called hunger. Instead, he had these two people—three, if you counted the baby—to contend with.

And a storm in his head as violent as the one raging outdoors.

Chapter Three