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Chapter Eight

Isabelle rose from the chair, her face scalded with sorrow. She removed the blood–soaked linen and replaced it with the clean sheets Rory brought into the room. "Open the door. Let him hold his son and say goodbye to his wife."

As suspected, Jon and Hiram stood right outside the room. Hiram wore a mask of fear on his white face while peering over Rory's shoulder. "Jane?"

"This is your son. His color is good, his breathing normal."

He didn't take the child in his arms, but maneuvered around Rory and walked to the bed. No one had to tell him Jane was gone. Isabelle had folded her slender, child–like hands over her chest . . . her still, deathly pale hands. "Jane?" Long, anguished moments passed in silence. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath and pivoted around to face Isabelle.

"We were too late; I couldn't help her by the time we arrived."

A pitiful lament echoed through their home. Hiram bypassed Rory, his son and Jon and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Let me talk to him, Isabelle."

Rory went with Jon, hoping a look at his son's face might ease his grief. The man's eyes were rimmed in red, his face flush from crying. "What will I do without her? Jane was everything to me."

"She left you a remembrance of the love you shared, Hiram." Rory made another attempt to place the child in his arms and succeeded.

"A son?" He looked down at the boy. "He looks like Jane."

"Yes, a handsome lad. What name will you give him?" Rory asked hoping to take his mind from Jane's passing.

"She wanted Levi if she had a boy."

Jon gave a firm nod. "A fine name for a fine boy."

Rory heard Isabelle shuffle into the kitchen to stand behind them.

Hiram traced his son's small face with a gentle finger. "How will he survive without a mother? I know nothing about babes."

"You have a cow, don't you, and I thought I heard a goat when we arrived?" Isabelle stood beside Rory and wrung her hands. "He can adapt to cow's milk. If that doesn't agree with him, try goat's milk."

"No, I can’t care for this infant."

"Would you like Rory to stay for a week? It's not right and proper, but in light of losing your wife and having to care for a newborn, I believe even the gossipmongers of Guilford will overlook the impropriety."

Rory wanted to stamp on her sister's foot or better yet, muffle her, but the damage was done.

Hiram looked up at Rory. "Would you stay for a short spell until I can learn how to take care of him?"

"Yes," she replied with hesitancy. "For a week if you promise to be an attentive pupil, make an honest effort to care for Levi on your own."

"Agreed."

Before Jon and Isabelle gathered their belongings for the return trip home, they prepared Jane for burial and laid her out on a platform in the small sitting room. They hugged Rory, said goodbye to a distraught Hiram and left the Miles' cabin.

"Levi will want to eat soon and again in a few hours so we might as well dig right in, Hiram. Do you have cow's milk in the well?"

He nodded.

"Let's begin with that and hope it's agreeable. If not, we'll try the goat milk."

Hiram handed Levi to her and walked from the house to retrieve the milk. Rory looked down on Levi and thought about how small and vulnerable he looked. Once again, a conversation with Dawson about human frailty wormed its way into her brain. Their time together had been short but his words affected her in profound ways. Was it any wonder that when trouble clouded her days or stressful situations entered her life, her thoughts turned to Dawson? He'd return home soon. Perhaps she'd know once and for all if love at first sight truly existed.

Countless neighbors and friends dropped by in the following days to pay their respects to Jane. Rory didn't realize how much she'd missed Jon and Isabelle until they walked through the door.

Before she had a chance to speak with them, Hiram led them away. "She'll be on ice until I can bury her this spring behind the Methodist Church."

Following behind them, Rory wanted to clap her hands over her ears. She'd heard the same diatribe from the man a thousand times in the last two days.

Isabelle made a feeble attempt to change the subject. "How's Levi faring?"

"The cemetery sits on a cold, desolate parcel of land," Hiram seemed to be speaking to blank air. "One tree amid a trio of graves. Jane’s will be the fourth."

Jon attempted to speak with Hiram while Isabelle turned to Rory. "I’m sorry, lass. I had no idea he’d be so fragmented or I wouldn’t have left you."

"You haven’t seen the worst yet. Soon he’ll pace, wring his hands, and then run them through his hair. Back and forth, rambling the whole time. I think he’s half-mad with grief." Rory lowered her voice. "Or self-pity."

"Rory, she was very young." Sorrow masked her sister’s face. "We don’t know how we would act in the same situation."

"He has a son to care for now and must he be so maudlin about her death?"

"Perhaps Jon should suggest you come home with us today."

Rory shook her head. "That won’t do. I promised to stay a week and Hiram still needs my help. I’ll push him harder in the next three days to take more responsibility with Levi."

"What can we do to help?"

"Maybe Jon can convince him it’s time to remove Jane from the house. Hiram can’t concentrate on Levi with his wife laid out in the next room."

"I’ll speak to Jon right away. Let’s hope Hiram listens to reason."

Isabelle and Jon stayed until the last neighbor bid them goodbye. Jon’s suggestion to move Jane to a makeshift coffin in the barn went better than Rory expected. So did the next three days. Hiram seemed less occupied with his wife’s death and more attentive to Levi’s needs. By the time Jon returned for Rory, she was confident Hiram knew how to care for his son in her absence. An awkward goodbye with Hiram preceded her departure. She didn’t expect to be showered with gratitude but a sincere thank you would have been nice. Rory shrugged it off to the man’s inadequacy in social graces. With relief, she boarded the cutter with Jon. Soon she’d be back to a semblance of normalcy, among her family where she felt sheltered and secure. And when spring arrived, she’d see Dawson again. The thought sent a rush of warm blood pedaling through her veins.

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