you teach me how you made those noodles?” Emma Sue asked, gesturing toward the cloth. “Cecil really enjoyed them when you made them last week with the pheasant he shot.”
Bridgette had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out that she’d shot the pheasant—another skill she’d been taught while being a nursemaid to yet another family. Once the urge passed, she said, “You just beat a couple eggs with enough flour to make a sticky dough and then fold in enough flour until you can roll it thin and slice it into strips.” Pulling the apron over her head, she crossed the room to hang it on its nail. “I’ll be back as soon as possible, and add the noodles to the pot then, so don’t worry about that. They’ll only need to cook a few minutes and supper will be ready.”
“I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few weeks.” Emma Sue sighed. “Walking all the way to Hosford and back to sell the eggs would have been too much for me.”
“Yes, it would have been,” Bridgette agreed. Suggesting Cecil could easily make the trip, considering the money they made from selling eggs was about their only income, crossed her mind, but there was no need in pointing out the obvious. “You’ll rest while I’m gone?” she asked Emma Sue pointedly.
“Yes. I might sew, but I’ll do that in my bed.”
“Good, that’s what I needed to hear.” Bridgette took down her bonnet from the nail in the corner where her personal belongings were folded and stacked, including the blankets she spread out on the floor to sleep upon each night. Twisting the bonnet ties into a bow beneath her chin, she said, “I already have the rabbit fur soaking. Once I’ve tanned it, you’ll be able to make something for the baby. Maybe a warm hat for this winter.”
“Oh, that is so nice of you.” Emma Sue shook her head. “You are so smart. How did you learn about so many things?”
“I’ve been a nursemaid for many families over the years,” Bridgette answered. “And have learned something from each one of them. Opal Andrest showed me how to make the egg noodles and Ted Wilkenson taught me how to tan a rabbit hide.”
“Oh, what are you learning from us?”
How I don’t want to live. Not able to say that, she smiled. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll tell you as soon as I do.” Since that didn’t sound very flattering, she added, “Someday we’ll have time for you to teach me some of your embroidery stitches. You are very good at that.”
Emma Sue beamed. “Oh, yes, I will teach you.” Her smile faded. “But I’ll need to get some more thread and—”
“Don’t worry about that now,” Bridgette said. “We have time.” Picking up the two baskets of eggs, she added, “But I don’t. I must hurry. Don’t want Mr. Haskell closing his store before I get these eggs delivered.”
“Please remember Cecil’s plug of tobacco.”
Bridgette nodded and walked out the open doorway. If she kept biting it, she wouldn’t have a tongue left by the time Emma Sue delivered that baby. Leaving the door open for some air circulation, she started down the pathway that would eventually lead her to the road to Hosford.
She couldn’t seem to walk fast enough. It was as if she was escaping, running away. That wouldn’t happen. She was only taking the eggs to town to sell them. However, that in itself was an escape. A welcome one. Even though it wouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. She couldn’t be gone any longer than that. Emma Sue’s time was near.
A shiver rippled Bridgette’s spine. “No,” she said aloud, forcing her mind not to bring up any images. Not to remember Emma Sue’s statement. She knew what husbands and wives did to produce babies. She’d helped with numerous deliveries and had performed several alone when Dr. Rodgers hadn’t arrived in time.
Every birth made her think of her own life. Her future. Babies of her own. It felt as if she’d been waiting forever for that to happen. Waiting to start living the life she dreamed about each night. Waiting for her husband.
She sighed at that thought. Garth wasn’t really her husband. It hadn’t been a real marriage. She’d been seven and just learned the truth about her parents, that they’d died and would never be coming back to get her from the orphanage. She’d told Garth she didn’t want to be an orphan and he’d said he’d be her family, then neither of them would be orphans. When she’d said two people couldn’t just become family, he’d said they could if they got married. So he’d married her. It had been a pretend ceremony, in the backyard of the orphanage under the same big tree she’d fallen out of—and broken her arm in the process. But she’d never felt like an orphan, never felt alone, after that make-believe ceremony.
An outsider yes. That she’d been since being taken off the train. Living with people who would never be her family.
“Hold up there!”
Frustration shattered her thoughts. Letting out a long sigh, she turned about and watched Cecil riding his big plow horse along his barbed wire fence. She squinted as he rode closer, trying to figure out what he had on his lap.
Curiosity won out, and she made her way toward the hole he’d made in the fence. A gate would have been too much work for Cecil. “What do you have?” she asked.
“You told me to get a cow,” Cecil shouted. “I did better than that! Got a calf!”
Sure enough, it was a calf. She recognized that now that he’d pointed it out. “How on earth do you expect to keep a calf alive?”
He rode past her, toward the barn that was in serious need of repair. “I ain’t gonna keep it alive. We’s gonna eat it.”
Momentarily stunned, Bridgette shook her head, questioning her hearing. It only took a moment for her to realize she’d heard right. This was Cecil, and that’s just how he’d think. “Oh, no, you’re not!” she shouted, running after him. She’d carefully packed straw around the six dozen eggs in the baskets to prevent breakage, but at this moment, she didn’t care if every egg broke.
When the horse stopped near the barn door hanging on one hinge, she set down both baskets and marched forward. “A calf’s not better. Emma Sue needs milk, cream and butter. That you would have gotten from the calf’s mother. Whom that calf needs. Where is she? Where’s this calf’s mother?”
“Back with the rest of the herd,” Cecil said. “And I am too gonna kill this here calf. That’s what that cowboy was gonna do.”
“What cowboy?” she asked, rubbing the calf’s nose. It was adorable. Red-brown with the cutest little white face and big brown eyes. The poor thing couldn’t be more than a few hours old.
“One of the cowboys with the cattle drive,” Cecil said. “The trail boss told him to shoot the calf. Lucky for me I rode up when I did.” Curling one edge of his upper lip, he chortled. “He didn’t want to shoot it. Tried, but didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. I watched him.”
Infuriated, Bridgette slapped his leg. “Get down.”
“Let me hand you the calf.”
“No,” she snapped. “Leave the calf where it is. Just get off that horse.”
“I cain’t get off with it on my lap.”
She grabbed a handful of his pant leg and pulled. “Yes, you can. Now get down. Hurry up.”
“Why?”
Holding back a scream that tore at her neck muscles, she growled, “You either get off that horse, or I’ll leave. I’ll go to Hosford and you’ll be out here alone, taking care of Emma Sue, and the baby that’ll be born any day now.”
“You cain’t do that.”
“Oh, yes, I can.” As a second thought, she added, “And I’ll tell Emma Sue’s father you wouldn’t listen to me. That I couldn’t tolerate being in your presence any longer.”