two. So fragile.
So helpless.
No. Not helpless. Willow was here to protect them. And so was Charles.
One of the babies began to whimper, its fists balling up and flailing. Offering soft hushing noises, Willow reached to scoop it into her arms, only to discover that the baby was wet—which meant that now its clothes were wet and the blankets, as well. Thankfully, Willow had set the small stack of flannel nappies on a nearby table.
The infant settled somewhat once she had removed its wet clothing and changed its diaper. Her diaper. The smaller baby was a girl. Willow would need to find some dry blankets or cloths. But first...
When the second baby began to fret, Willow changed his diaper, as well.
A boy and a girl.
As she swaddled him beneath the woolen cape beside his sister, Willow blinked back tears. Jenny must have been so proud. How on earth had she managed to deliver them on her own and keep their arrival a secret? She must have been incredibly frightened to have taken such measures—and even more alarmed to have left them behind.
Willow jumped when someone pounded on the door. But the noise was quickly followed by “Willow, it’s me. Charles.”
She hurried to let him in, then closed the door amid a swirl of snow. The weather grew more frightful by the minute. The walls seemed to vibrate from the force of the wind. By the time she was able to set the latch, a skiff of white had coated the floor with icy crystals.
Charles had gone out with one pail, but he’d returned with two.
“I brought the milk and some water for washing.”
She took the buckets and transferred them to the wood range for heating. Then she helped Charles to shrug out of his coat and hat and hang them on the pegs by the door.
“It’s getting pretty fierce out there,” he said, brushing stray snowflakes from his shoulders and stamping his boots to rid them of a layer of ice.
“Sit by the fire.”
“No, I’ll help you with—”
She pulled on his wrist. “Sit. I’ll bring you something to eat and drink, then we’ll worry about the rest.”
The fact that he nodded and sank into the chair gave credence to the effort it must have taken to slog through the drifts.
Willow hurried to scoop a mound of mush into his bowl. She filled a spoon with honey and set it atop the hot mixture. Then she poured coffee into a mug and carried them to Charles.
“Thanks. You were able to find everything you needed?”
“Yes.”
When he didn’t immediately eat, she shifted uncertainly. Had she somehow offended him with the simple fare?
When he spoke, it wasn’t a complaint. Instead, he asked, “Aren’t you going to eat with me?”
The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. At school, she’d been forbidden to take her own meal until the rest of the adults had finished theirs. Oftentimes, there hadn’t been much left and she’d been forced to go hungry.
“Go on. Get your food. I’ll wait,” he urged. “I suppose we could eat at the table, but the fire feels good. You can pull up that little crate there, and we’ll use it to hold our cups.”
Willow did as she was told, then collected her own food. By that time, Charles had drawn one of the kitchen chairs close to the fire.
“Here, you take the comfortable seat,” he said.
“No. I couldn’t possibly—”
“I insist.”
Reluctantly, she settled on the edge of the tufted chair. After all he’d done, Charles deserved the cushions, in her opinion. But he seemed oblivious to her consternation as he sat.
“Shall I say grace?”
“Please.”
“Dear Lord of all...for these blessings and those that Thou sees fit to send to us, we are truly grateful. Amen.”
“Amen.”
There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. Willow supposed that the pair of them were so accustomed to being alone, neither knew how to proceed.
Thankfully, Charles broke the quiet by reaching for his bowl.
“Oatmeal. One of my favorites.”
Some of the stiffness left Willow’s frame and she started swirling the honey into the mush with her spoon.
“With raisins, too,” he commented.
She glanced up in sudden concern. Had she made herself too at home with his stores? Were the raisins reserved for some other purpose?
But Charles didn’t look upset. Instead, he took a bite filled with the fruit, then made a soft humming sound and nodded. “It’s good. Really good.”
Willow wilted in relief.
“What? Were you thinking I wouldn’t like it?”
“I—I didn’t know if you were expecting something...fancier.”
He gave a short humph. “I’m well aware of the shortcomings of my larder. And what true Scotsman doesn’t like his oatmeal?” He offered a wink. “Especially with raisins.”
Willow laughed, and the brittleness of the moment was broken.
“How are the wee ones?”
“Fine. I’ve no doubt they’ll rouse soon. Unfortunately, while you were gone, they wet themselves clear through their clothes and their blankets. There were spare diapers, but not much else.”
“We’ll make a list of what they need tonight. The company store opens soon after breakfast is served and the shifts change.”
“Afterward, maybe you could...watch the children while I go to the Dovecote?” she asked hesitantly. When Charles regarded her questioningly, she said, “I’ll need to fetch my clothing. And a trunk with some belongings.”
“If you want to write a note to Sumner or one of the other girls, I’ll hitch up the sleigh and fetch them for you myself. There’s no sense going out in this weather if you don’t have to.”
Other than her father, Willow had never had someone put her comfort first, and the suggestion settled in her chest with a warm glow.
“Thank you. That would be very nice.”
Charles set his empty bowl aside and reached for his cup.
“There’s more oatmeal on the stove.”
“Mmm. Maybe in a minute. Right now, it feels good to sit by the fire.” He took a sip and then stared down at the children. “You’re sure they’re hale and hearty? They seem to sleep a great deal.”
“They’re only a day or two old. All that sleeping is normal for a newborn. Even so, we should probably have Sumner take a look at them.”
“She’ll be at the Dovecote in the next day or so. If she’s there when I collect your things, I’ll ask her to drop by. If not, I’ll leave a message.”
Willow hesitantly said, “We should give them names. As their parents...we would have named them.”
“You’re right.” His expression became solemn in the firelight. “It seems wrong somehow...for us to do the honor. Their mother should have had the chance.”
The soft luffing of the fire filled the silence.
“Did she mention possible names to you?”
Willow shook her head. “I don’t think she anticipated having twins. She rarely spoke about the baby itself, merely...her discomfort with her condition.”