couldn’t blame them for expecting her to disappear, as well. She peered once more up and down the platform. Had their father decided that he couldn’t handle the stress of caring for all these children? He hadn’t struck her as that type when they’d met at the brownstone, but what did she know about men? They could all have a bit of that slick behavior her stepfather had shown.
“Where is your father?” she asked Matthew.
“He’s gone to get the baby.”
“Oh.” She consulted the large clock that hung from the rafters. “The train leaves in fifteen minutes. Do you have the tickets?”
Matthew shook his head. Gripping her purse tighter, Victoria bit back uncertainty, torn between pulling those frightened little children into her arms and marching into the depot’s office to ask for copies of the purchased tickets. Finally she said, “We may as well board and get you all settled in. Do you have any more bags?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Why do you have so many?” Mary piped up.
Feeling her cheeks color slightly, Victoria peered down at the little girl. How old was she? About seven? “A lady needs a lot of things.”
“Papa says I’m a lady, and all I have is this.” She hoisted a small drawstring bag. “One nightgown, a fresh pinafore and stockings. Why do you need more?”
Glancing around, Victoria drew the children toward the train. “The things a lady wears underneath are bigger, that’s all. And some of them can’t be crushed. Besides, I’m bringing soap, and all of you will need a good scrubbing. Now let’s hurry. I don’t want your father to have to deal with us should he be late himself.”
As they climbed aboard, the conductor asked for their tickets. Victoria felt the heat rise once more into her cheeks. She had no idea the conductor would demand the tickets so early. She’d taken the train when they’d traveled up to Portland last summer, but Charles had seen to those details. “I’m sorry. They haven’t arrived yet. Are we assigned seats?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I have a list of the passengers. What is the name?”
“MacLeod. Mitchell MacLeod,” a deep voice behind her answered.
Victoria turned to find Mitchell climbing up with great ease despite the baby he held. Swathed in a simple white layette and a brown blanket, she nuzzled her cap, which had managed to cover half of her face. Her attitude was clearly deteriorating.
“She’s hungry,” he said bluntly.
Victoria swallowed. “Do you have any milk for her?”
“Yes, but let’s get settled first. Here, take her.” Supporting the baby’s head, he shoved her into Victoria’s arms. In that brief moment, panic swept through her. Until now, Victoria had yet to hold a baby. Ever.
Oh, dear, what was the child’s name? Mitchell had told her, but she’d forgotten it in her haste to accept his offer. Oh, yes, Emily.
For fear she might drop Emily, Victoria drew her close as Mitchell surrendered the tickets. Glass clinked in the cotton drawstring bag he held. She half expected the bottom of the bag to start leaking milk, but it didn’t.
Hoping that Mitchell knew how to bottle feed the infant, Victoria smiled bravely at the rest of his children. They did not return it.
Goodness, she thought. This was going to be a long trip out West.
A porter led them to their seats, speaking as he walked. “I can show you where you can warm the milk, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Did he think that she was married? Regardless, Victoria thanked him before turning to Mitchell. “Am I expected to feed Emily? We didn’t discuss the finer details of my employment.”
Mitchell removed his tall, wide-brimmed hat and slipped it into the compartment above them. Was it one of those Stetsons she’d read about in stories of the Wild West? He chose then to peer down at her, his thick, chestnut hair springing free into enviable curls. Her dark blond hair had only a light wave to it. Although slimly built, Mitchell had broad shoulders and arms that strained his jacket’s sleeves. He was obviously a man used to hard work. “Have you ever fed a baby before?” he asked.
Reddening, Victoria glanced around. By now, the car was nearly full. A young woman carrying her own infant squeezed past, her wide, slightly dated skirt sweeping away everything in its path. She settled in a seat across from them. When Victoria returned her gaze to Mitchell, she shook her head. “Until this moment, I hadn’t even held a child. I have no siblings nor friends with children. Mother thought they were messy and felt it unbecoming of a lady to fawn over them.” Her smile felt watery. “Do you know how? I presume we should warm the milk, and I can only hope that bag has everything we need.”
* * *
Mitch frowned at her. What on earth kind of woman had he hired? When he’d met Victoria a few days ago, she was genteel and seemed full of common sense, unlike that fretful mother of hers.
He’d assumed she would know about babies. Didn’t all women? Grimacing, he realized that he should have asked that question when they’d first met. But by then, he’d been in Boston for a fortnight and at the time still reeling from his wife’s passing two weeks before that—and of course from Emily’s arrival. The hospital hadn’t even contacted him about Agnes’s death, he recalled grimly. They’d simply arranged for her church to bury her.
Mitch was thankful for their compassion. But by the time he’d terminated the rental agreement of her home and figured out how to set aside his anger at the situation she’d created, another week had passed. Only by the charity of the nurse who’d attended Agnes during her final hours did the baby get the care she deserved. The nurse had then instructed him to either find a nursing mother or purchase the bottles and baby’s milk needed. The doctor had suggested the latter also.
By then, time had become even more precious. He’d needed to hire a woman to help him during the train ride out. Not just any woman, but a trustworthy one. Mitch had heard tales about women willing to care for babies, but once payment was given, the children often died mysteriously.
Mitch looked down at Emily, her nuzzling and fussiness escalating. A good screaming bout would soon begin and his heart wrenched. She may always represent the worst betrayal in his life, but he could not abandon her. He’d never be able to live with himself if he did.
He rubbed his forehead. “I’ll show you what to do.” He turned to his oldest son. “Matthew, mind the young ones. We’ll be back in a moment.”
He strode to the front of the sleeper car. He could only assume Victoria followed, because he couldn’t hear a thing over the train whistle and the din in the car. The train lurched ahead and immediately, he spun, fully prepared to catch Miss Templeton and the baby. But all was fine. Miss Templeton’s grip might have been a bit tight, but she’d kept herself steady.
* * *
The older porter tending the fire in the small stove of the train kitchen looked up when they approached. Victoria watched Mitchell thrust the cotton bag at him. “We need some baby’s milk warmed, please.”
Still holding the baby, Victoria slipped in beside Mitchell, determined not to miss a thing. She had better learn all she could as quickly as possible.
The porter took the cotton bag and loosened its drawstring to peer inside. He nodded and told them he would deliver the warmed milk to their seats.
As they made their way back, Mitchell said to Victoria over his shoulder, “You do this each time. I’ll see to the man’s gratuity when we reach Denver. That’s when we change lines.”
“Where will we store the milk between the feedings? It’s already quite warm in here.”
“I expect the kitchen has an icebox, but each time we stop, I’ll purchase more if need be, plus food for us.” He slowed. “I won’t waste money on the food made at train depots, though.