Page 4 of The Heart’s Charge

“It’s Fern Dawson.” The doctor cut straight to the point. “Her baby’s coming, and she’s cloistered herself away in one of Wendell’s old line shacks. This gentleman is going to take me to her, but we’re going to need a wagon and some female reinforcement. Tell Jake at the livery to hitch up a wagon and alert Mrs. Abernathy. If Fern will listen to anyone, it’ll be the parson’s wife. I’ll tie a white handkerchief to a tree or bush at the place we turn off the road so he can find us.”

Oscar remained wary as he jerked his head toward Jonah. “Are you sure we can trust this fella’s—”

“Oh for pity’s sake, man, we don’t have time for this.” Dr. Hampton grabbed Oscar by the shoulders and shoved him toward the door. “Fern is not well. Go fetch Jake before we end up having to deliver another Dawson to the undertaker.”

Oscar’s wife skittered after her husband, eyes wide, face pale. As she passed the doctor, however, she slowed and clasped his hand. “I’ll find Mrs. Abernathy and let her know what has happened. If she’s not available to attend Fern, I’ll go myself.”

Dr. Hampton smiled. “Thank you, Hannah. You’ve put my mind at ease.”

She offered a small smile and released the doctor’s hand, but instead of following her husband out the door, she hesitated in front of Jonah. She met his gaze, the pink spreading across her cheeks evidence of her embarrassment and unease. Yet there was an earnestness glowing in her eyes that could not be denied. “Thank you for going out of your way to help a stranger, Mister . . .”

Jonah tapped the brim of his hat. “Brooks, ma’am. Jonah Brooks.”

“Mr. Brooks.” She dipped her chin. “May God reward you for your kindness this day.”

“A healthy mother and babe will be reward enough.”

She nodded. “Amen to that.” Her gaze darted to the doctor then back to Jonah. “Godspeed to you both. And may his grace abound.”

As Jonah waited impatiently for the doctor to collect his horse from the livery so they could set out, he silently repeated Ms. Hannah’s plea for grace. It was as good a prayer as any, he figured, and Jonah’s gut told him that everyone involved was going to need a larger than average helping of the commodity before this day was through.

CHAPTER

THREE

Wendell! You should be here!”

Mark couldn’t agree more. If he ever ran into good old Wendell, he was going to wring the fellow’s neck. There were some things a man just wasn’t meant to do, and bringing another man’s baby into the world topped the list.

“It’s all right, Fern.” Mark had coaxed the name out of her about an hour ago, once the labor pains increased their frequency and she realized she was stuck with his company. “You can do this.”

Whether or not he could was still in question. After years on the battlefield, he’d never considered himself squeamish, but injured soldiers typically didn’t have live beings bursting from their bodies either.

He gripped her hand and ran a damp rag over her brow. She wagged her head back and forth, rejecting his offer of comfort. He tossed the rag back into the basin of lukewarm water he’d filled with the contents of his canteen. As midwives went, he had to be the worst in history. Why God had chosen him to aid this woman was a mystery he’d never comprehend. The Almighty must not have had anyone else in the area.

Fern grimaced, then gave in to the groan that tended to punctuate each push. Veins stood out at her temples. Strands of limp hair lay plastered against her face. Her dull eyes sought his. She squeezed his hand. “Sorry . . . I tried . . . to shoot you.”

It was the first kind thing she’d said to him. First completely sane thing too. Mark grinned. “That’s all right. I was a stranger to you then. You were afraid.”

She wagged her head again. It seemed to be her favorite occupation. “‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’”

She was quoting Scripture about hospitality? Now? Maybe he’d jumped the gun on the sane assessment.

He chuckled softly and gave a little head wag of his own. “I don’t think God expects a woman in labor to play hostess.”

She closed her eyes against another building contraction. “Not . . . that. Didn’t recognize . . . you were . . . the angel.” As if that statement were not shocking enough, she dug her nails into his hand and sat up away from the pillows he’d propped behind her. “Promise you’ll take care of my baby.” She gritted the words out through a clenched jaw.

“Of course.” He’d agree to anything at this point.

I know I’m not an angel, Lord, but if you see fit to send divine reinforcements, I wouldn’t argue.

“Good,” she groaned, “because we need you . . . now!”

Now?

Mark chanced a peek at the place on the bed he’d been doing his best to avoid looking and spotted a dark, slimy dome emerging.

The baby was coming!