Page 5 of The Heart’s Charge

He jumped off the side of the bed and ran for the doorway, hoping he’d see the answer to his prayers riding down the narrow path. He’d petitioned fervently on multiple occasions for the doctor to arrive before the baby, but apparently God had settled on a different plan.

He trusted that the cavalry was coming—Jonah would never leave him stranded—but in the meantime, he was the only officer on duty. Turning away from the doorway, Mark steeled himself, rolled up his sleeves, and marched back to the battleground.

For the next several minutes, Fern groaned and pushed, then pushed and groaned. A head emerged. Mark cupped his palm around the tiny face, spreading his fingers wide around the baby’s mouth and nose as he did his best to support the child’s neck.

“The head’s out.” A tiny person’s head. Complete with a thin layer of dark hair, two ears, and all necessary facial features. Awe tightened his chest. He glanced up at the mother, whose face still contorted with excruciating effort. “Keep pushing, Fern. You’re doing great.”

She inhaled several panting breaths, then bore down again. As her groan coalesced into something closer to a scream, the baby’s shoulders pushed through one at a time. After that, the rest of the kid slid out surprisingly quick.

It was a slippery little thing. Terrified he would drop the tyke, Mark turned the newborn over and seated the baby’s bottom in his palm as he fumbled to support the head.

Her head.

“It’s a girl!” Grinning like an idiot, he glanced up at Fern, but she wasn’t looking at the baby. She stared straight up at the ceiling as she collapsed back on the pillows.

“I’m ready, Wendell,” she murmured, her words eerily flat.

Mark grabbed a clean sheet edge and wiped the baby’s face. The girl’s forehead scrunched, and a tiny mewl of a cry escaped. Little arms flailed in jerky motions as the cry grew louder and more demanding.

“Don’t worry, little beauty. Uncle Mark’s here.”

He cleaned her up as best he could, then wrapped her in the knitted blanket he’d found stuffed in a small bag under the bed. At least he thought it was a blanket. It hadn’t been finished. Loops hung empty where a needle had been pulled free. He’d tied off the loose yarn end as best he could, but he knew as much about knitting as he did about delivering babies, so the blanket would probably unravel. But it was clean and warm, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Once the little gal was presentable, Mark carried her around the edge of the bed to meet her mama.

“You have a daughter, Fern.” The infant was red and wrinkly, hairy and noisy, and since he had no idea what to do with the umbilical cord, she had a tubular protrusion extending from her midsection. Nonetheless, the little charmer utterly captured Mark’s heart as he cradled her close to his chest. “She’s beautiful.”

He bent low and extended the baby toward her mother.

Instead of reaching for her child, Fern recoiled. She turned her face away. “No.”

No? What did she mean, no? Mark frowned. This was her child.

Trying to coax Fern into accepting her baby, Mark started to lay the little girl on Fern’s chest, but the instant the baby’s fist bumped against her breast, Fern winced and jerked forward.

Mark snatched the baby back to his chest.

The muscles in Fern’s neck tightened again. “Something else is coming out,” she moaned.

Something else? Please don’t let there be another baby. It’s a miracle this one survived my ineptitude.

Cradling the infant in his left arm, Mark maneuvered down the side of the bed, taking care not to tangle the cord even as he tried to hurry. He didn’t see another head crowning, thank the Lord, but he did see blood.

“Help.” The whispered plea was all he could squeeze out through the panic-strangled walls of his throat. Not that there was anyone around to hear it. Except the same God who thought it a brilliant idea to stick him with baby duty in the first place.

“Wallace?” A deep voice called from outside.

Jonah.

Relief hit Mark with such a keen edge, he had to blink away tears. Thank God. I never should have doubted you.

“In here!” he yelled back. “Hurry.”

Footsteps pounded up the steps and into the cabin. Two sets. Thank God again.

“I brought the doctor.” Jonah steered a shorter man in a black suit in front of him. “Name’s Hampton.”

Fern shook her head. “No. No doctor. Only Wendell. Wendell’s supposed to come. I did my part.” She moaned, her eyes sliding closed as tears slid from beneath her lashes. “I did my part.”