at least?”
“No.” Rayanne shook her head, then sniffed. “He ain’t offered nothing, and my daddy’s pretty steamed about that.”
“Rightly so,” Alisha replied, remembering when the teenaged girl had first come to her seeking help. “Rayanne, I’m glad you’re keeping your baby, but honey, you know if it gets to be too much, there are plenty of couples who could give your baby a good home—”
“No,” Rayanne said, coming up off the bed in spite of her rounded belly. “I told you already, I can’t do that, Miss Alisha. I can’t give up my baby to strangers. Mama said we’d make do. I’ll find work somewhere, and Mama will help me.”
“I know your mother will do her best,” Alisha said, nodding, her hand reaching out to the girl. “And you know I’ll help you out, too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rayanne said, settling back on the bed, her hand clutching Alisha’s. “I appreciate everything you’ve already done. And I ain’t told no one about the money you loaned me.”
“Good,” Alisha replied, relief washing over her. Then at Rayanne’s evasive look, she asked, “Not even Jimmy?”
Rayanne glanced away. “He found some of it in my purse. But I told him Mama gave it to me. He made me give some over to him, for cigarettes and gas. Said I owed him since he had to take me down the mountain to that free clinic you suggested in Dalton.”
Anger coursed through Alisha’s veins like a raging river, but she couldn’t let Rayanne see that anger. It had been a long, hard battle, counseling this girl at church every week, and Alisha knew the real battle was still to come. She couldn’t bad-mouth Jimmy Barrett, whether she liked the man or not, at least not to Rayanne. The girl was in love with Jimmy. But Jimmy was older than Rayanne, and a sweet-talker with street smarts at that. Rayanne had been taken in by his charm and cunning. And now the girl was paying for her impulsive actions and her need to be loved and accepted. Big-time.
But we all have to pay, sooner or later, Alisha reasoned. We all pay for our sins.
Don’t let my baby suffer because of me, Lord, she said silently. And don’t let Rayanne pay because she made one mistake. “Jimmy needs to own up to his responsibilities,” she told the girl, her voice calm in spite of the flutter of rage still moving through her system.
“I think he’ll come around after the baby is born,” Rayanne said in a hopeful tone. “I mean, how could anyone resist something so little and sweet?” As she spoke she gazed down at Alisha’s son. “What did you name him?”
“Callum,” Alisha answered, the anger simmering down as she looked at her son. “Callum Andrew Emerson.”
“Callum,” Rayanne said, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Where’d you come up with a name like that?”
Alisha lowered her head and smiled softly. “The man who helped deliver him—his middle name is Callum.”
“Ah, that’s so sweet, Miss Alisha. Is this man…is he handsome?”
Seeing the girl’s sly grin, Alisha laughed. “He is a very nice-looking man, yes. And a true gentleman.”
A man who grew up in Atlanta, the very place I’m trying to forget, she reminded herself.
Rayanne watched Alisha, then touched a hand to Callum’s little arm. “Do you wish his daddy was here?”
A shiver moving like a fingertip down her spine, Alisha wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “I know his daddy would be so proud,” she said, tears once again brimming in her eyes.
“We’re a pair, ain’t we, Miss Alisha?” Rayanne said, one hand holding to Callum as she reached the other to Alisha. “All alone, with no daddies for our babies.”
“We are a pair,” Alisha said, the tender longing in the girl’s eyes making her own heart ache. “But we’re going to be fine, Rayanne. Remember, I promised to help you.”
Rayanne nodded. “And you told me, no matter how bad things get, God is watching over me.”
“That’s right,” Alisha replied, remembering a time when she thought God had abandoned her. “You made a mistake, but your child shouldn’t have to pay for that mistake. And if you turn to God and try to do right by this baby, things will work out for the best.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rayanne said, her hand touching her stomach. “I pray you are.”
Alisha echoed that prayer in her own soul. She wanted to do right by her child, and she surely wanted God to guide her along the way. It had taken her a while to see that God was here with her, and now that she’d turned back to Him for the help and guidance she needed, she could only hope God had not turned away from her pleas, from her need to raise this child with love and faith as his cornerstones.
And she could only hope that God had forgiven her for her awful, awful sins and the secret that could destroy her son if anyone ever found out the truth.
Chapter Five
I t was past noon before Jared made it back to the cabin with Dr. Sloane and Miss Mozelle in tow. Together, he and the doctor had gone to find the midwife, in spite of Dr. Sloane’s protests that he didn’t need “that strange woman” meddling in his work.
“Alisha wants her there,” Jared had told the ornery man. And after meeting the distinguished Dr. Joseph Sloane, Jared wanted a second opinion himself.
To his credit, however, Dr. Sloane had cleaned up and sobered up with record speed. And the man didn’t seem to have a problem walking the half-mile distance to Alisha’s cabin.
“Been walking this mountain since I learned how to walk,” Dr. Sloane had informed him as they skirted their way past deep rutted puddles and fallen limbs. “Walking is good for your health,” the doctor had reminded him.
Jared hadn’t lost the irony of that reminder. He wanted to retort with, “Well, alcohol is not good for your health or for anyone living on this mountain who needs your help.” But something had stopped him. Something in Dr. Sloane’s demeanor set Jared to wondering why the man did drink. Jared decided he couldn’t be cruel to someone who was willing to go out after a storm, with a hangover, to help another human being. Maybe Doc Sloane had some redeeming qualities after all.
And then there was Miss Mozelle. If she had a last name, no one had bothered to give it to Jared. Even though she had to be older than the doctor by twenty years, she didn’t look as old and wizened as Dr. Sloane. But then, Jared didn’t think anyone could top the doctor’s sallow, sunken face.
The midwife had skin the color of a rich mocha coffee, and eyes as brown and rich as tree bark. She wore several knitted shawls and scarves, a bright red one on her braided head, a green-and-yellow one around her shoulders and another longer thick black one for warmth. Underneath them, she had on a long denim gathered skirt and sturdy hiking boots. And she carried a large tapestry bag, her walk proud and queenlike. She also stood at least a half a foot over the shrunken Dr. Sloane.
“I was born and raised in that house,” she told Jared as she pointed to her large square gray-washed house with the long wide front porch. “My great-grandfather was a full-blooded Cherokee. He married a freed slave woman and they had seven children. My father was a hardworking, proud man who farmed the land down in that small valley beyond our house, and my sweet mother was a school-teacher to the black and Native American children on the mountain.”
Miss Mozelle was obviously very proud of her mixed Native and African-American heritage. Interesting African masks were hanging on the porch walls, mixed in with Cherokee artifacts that seemed to depict a story of some sort. The colorful masks, broken arrowheads and shiny beads, all strung and hung with leather, glinted and swayed as the weak sun tried to break through the cold, dark skies.
Not knowing what to say to the intimidating woman, Jared nodded toward the mountains off in the distance, past a plummeting