A Conard County Baby

This was not going well. She felt a wave of near despair along with drowning fatigue. She reminded herself not to expect much. After all, she’d only been here a few hours. And the fatigue itself was to be expected. Not Angie’s fault, but the fault of a long, stress-filled day.

Resting her hand over her stomach, she allowed her eyes to close. A little nap might help, she thought, letting her head fall backward against the sofa. She’d get through this somehow because she had to. There was absolutely no other option. Not yet.

Scott’s face swam before her eyes, filling her with a rush of adrenaline and fury. No. Not him. He was gone for good. Don’t think about him.

At last exhaustion released her.

* * *

When she awoke, she had a crick in her neck. She twisted it immediately, trying to ease it, then saw the room was dimly lit by a single lamp. Opening her eyes wider, she found Cash at the other end of the room in a green plaid-covered armchair, reading a magazine. He appeared absorbed. Several matching armchairs dotted the room, looking weary and worn. The sofa on which she had dozed was also green, but plain and a bit lumpy. No Angie in sight. She knew a moment’s shame at how much relief she felt. That girl was a handful, and she could only feel sympathy for her father. She understood that Angie had been through a terrible experience, but she seemed determined to push everyone away.

When she shifted some more, Cash looked up from his magazine. “Hungry? Your lasagna is still warm in the oven.”

“Thanks. I’ll get it.”

“Nah. It’s no problem. I’ll bring it out here and put it on a TV tray. You like salad? We’ve got tossed greens and some Caesar dressing.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Her mouth started watering before she even got all the sleep out of her eyes. For the first time she realized she had eaten very little that day. A hearty meal would probably make her feel a whole lot better about everything.

She felt marginally more awake by the time Cash returned with her meal and a beverage. “Thank you so much, but you really don’t need to wait on me.”

“You just woke up. It’s okay.”

Then he returned to his chair and resumed reading while she ate. As famished as she suddenly realized she was, she was glad he didn’t try to converse or keep her company. What looked like a large serving of lasagna disappeared rapidly, along with the salad. By the time she finished, she felt more than full, yet it wasn’t long before her spirits and energy began reviving.

“I needed that,” she remarked.

He looked up and smiled. “I saw how little you ate all day. You didn’t even finish Maude’s pie. I guess I’ll hear about that next time I’m in.”

“Did I insult her?”

“Probably, but it’s easy to insult Maude. She’ll get over it as long as you don’t make a practice of it.”

“I doubt I’ll go there very often.” She needed to save every penny from this job. She lifted the table, moving it back, and started to reach for her dishes.

“I’ll help.”

She glanced at Cash and caught her breath. She recognized a look of pure male appreciation when she saw it. She’d seen it often enough. Instead of feeling flattered, however, this time she felt as if little ice crystals grew inside her. Never again. No man would ever have his way with her again. As far as she was concerned, it was just fine if no man ever touched her again. Touches were lies and then they could be followed by demands that turned violent. As with Scott, who simply refused to accept her decision to wait for their marriage. The ugly names he had called her remained branded on her heart, and the memory of his greater strength, the way he had subdued her against her wishes and then violated her... No, never again.

“Did I say something wrong?”

She came back to the present with a start. Cash now stood only a few feet away, his hand extended as if about to lift her plate. “No...no. Just a...memory.”

“Not a good one.” But he didn’t pursue it. Instead, he helped with the dishes, showing her the dishwasher and then giving her a five-cent tour of the kitchen so she could find anything she was likely to need.

As soon as he finished, though, she pled fatigue. “I’m really tired. Do you mind if I go up now? Once I catch up on some sleep, I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing a bit. As she started to walk out toward the stairs, his voice stopped her. “Have you seen a doctor? About the baby, I mean?”

She froze, her back to him. “Not yet.”

“I think it’s high time. Don’t tell me you can’t afford it. I’ll see to it.”

She kept walking, unsure whether she felt annoyed by his presumption or simply glad that someone cared enough to help. She’d needed to see a doctor for months now, but it hadn’t been allowed. Her family didn’t want this baby unless she married Scott, and if she went to any doctor it would be for a discreet abortion. To see a local obstetrician might set tongues wagging.

She’d tried to escape long enough to see a doctor. She hadn’t managed, not with all the eyes ordered to watch her every minute. She couldn’t get out the door without a keeper.

Hand over her stomach, she mounted the stairs, still astonished by the rabbit hole one man had shoved her into. No proper prenatal care. No one to believe her story except a stranger in Wyoming. Her entire family had turned on her and had treated her worse than they would have treated a prized racehorse that might be off the circuit because she had come unexpectedly into foal.

Oh, she didn’t miss the parallels. From birth she had been groomed for one thing. Maybe the saddest thing of all was that she had been naive enough to believe they loved her. Instead, brutally, she had learned that she was simply a chip on the poker table of life.

Cash had been right. The whole thing had been medieval.

When she entered her room and closed the door, ready to sink onto a soft bed with a book, she froze. Even though she’d been in here only briefly today, she felt something had changed.

Looking around, she couldn’t imagine why she felt that way. Did the air smell different? How would she know, as little time as she’d spent in here?

She turned on all the lights, looking more closely, then saw that the closet door stood open just a tiny bit. At once she went over and opened it. One look told her everything. Her suitcases were not as she had left them. Someone had been looking through her luggage.

Angie.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the closet, wondering how to handle this. Most of the cases were locked, and unless the girl was a wizard who could guess combinations, she probably hadn’t been able to get into them.

An almost laugh escaped her when she thought of how that must have frustrated the girl. But the issue was bigger than that and she knew it. Angie had no business trying to get into her bags. It was an invasion of privacy, supremely rude and possibly indicated an intent to steal something. She decided, however, that unless there was some other action on Angie’s part, she should just ignore it. Making an accusation might only ruin any possibility of getting through to her.

Standing, she unfastened her jeans and sighed with relief as they loosened, but this time she didn’t think about how much she needed to get some maternity clothes. Her mind was firmly fixed on Angie, and she lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, looking for any key to the lock around Angie’s heart.

She didn’t know the girl well yet, but she’d picked up on a few things. Maybe riding with her tomorrow would help loosen the steel bands Angie insisted on wrapping around herself. Or maybe not.

The truth was, Hope felt even more at sea now than she had this morning. More unanswered questions faced her than before.

But she made up her mind that she wasn’t going to give up on Angie, no matter how hard it was.

Because, frankly, she could see herself in that young woman. The self that was angry, bitter, hurting, betrayed and all the rest of it. She just didn’t make a show of it.

Angie was crying out for help in all the wrong ways.

Maybe.

* * *

Downstairs, Cash poured himself a bourbon and carried it into his office. He sat staring at the darkened computer screen, knowing he should take care of some business, but his mind was unwilling. He had too much else to think about.

There was Angie, of course. There was always Angie. His daughter was a puzzle within a puzzle, and he couldn’t see the first chink or move to make. His repertoire of fatherly actions was limited, no question. He had no real experience to guide him, and the years lost between them weren’t helping.

But he’d been struck by Hope’s comment about Angie being angry because her mother should have been saved. He hadn’t considered that before at all. To him, the loss of life for someone so young was the same, no matter the means. But Hope had cast it in a different light, and he would have bet that she was right. Sick people were supposed to get well unless it was something like cancer, and how much more true that must seem for someone Angie’s age. The idea that an infection could kill someone so swiftly must be beyond her ability to believe.

Then there was Hope herself, who had until recently led a charmed life it seemed. Now she was cast alone, friendless and penniless on the waters of a world she knew nothing about. When he thought about the fact that she hadn’t yet seen a doctor about her pregnancy, anger burned in the pit of his stomach. He simply couldn’t imagine people who thought the way her family evidently did. No care for the child, no real care for Hope, who was their daughter. More concern for a guy who might be a senator one day, a guy who wasn’t even family.