loria looked up sharply at the sound of the knock. No one ever visited her. No one who knocked, anyway She crossed the small room and pressed her ear against the wood.
“Who is it?”
The first response was a masculine rumble, muffled by the steady beat of the storm outside. Then Sadie's voice rang clear.
“Open the door, Gloria.”
Within seconds, the small room was full of people and rain. Sadie had braved the short distance between the main house and Gloria's room without donning any sort of cover, and her face and shoulders were dotted with raindrops.
The man, however, looked as if he had waded through rivers to get here. His drenched hat was drawn low on his face, the collar of his coat tugged up to his chin, but Gloria recognized him immediately as the man she had met at the supply wagon. The man with the pregnant wife. MacGregan.
Danny's basket was close by the small stove in the corner. Gloria lifted the basket, set it on her bed, and drew her only chair close to the stove.
“Here,” she said. “Sit down.”
“Let's take off that wet coat first,” Sadie said.
She removed the drenched garment from his shoulders and hung it on the hook by the door. Sadie then led him to the chair and said, “Give her to me.”
That's when Gloria noticed the bundle in the sling across his chest. It had the shape of a baby, but it was deathly still and quiet.
Sadie held the child while MacGregan reached behind his head to pull the sling from his neck. Once relieved of his burden, he collapsed into the chair. Gloria stepped back, sat on the edge of her bed, and placed a grateful, protective hand on her sleeping child.
“What have you brought here?” Gloria asked.
“You remember Mr. MacGregan. John William—”
“I know who he is.”
“His wife died last night.” Sadie cradled the baby in her arms and lifted the quilted cover from its face. “You remember her from that day at the supply wagon.”
Of course Gloria remembered. The wife. Respectable, married. Gloria thought back to the look of withering disdain and tried to conjure an appropriate emotion.
“She had a real hard time of it.” Sadie sat next to Gloria on the bed, the baby on her lap. She peeled away layers of damp swaddling, then bent her head down close and whispered, “Wachen Sie auf, sweetie. Wake up.”
“What are you doing here?” Gloria asked. “Why is he here?”
“We need your help,” Sadie said, looking up from the baby for the first time.
“We offered to help,” Gloria replied. “We offered to help and she said no. Not from us.”
“Well, she cannot refuse now. This baby needs to nurse, and you're the only one who can do that for her.”
“Why should I?”
By now Sadie had the baby completely uncovered and Gloria saw the tiny body A little girl silent and cold. Without thinking, Gloria took a blanket from her sons coverings and held it out in silent offering. Sadie lifted the little girl, and Gloria spread the blanket on Sadie's lap. As Sadie drew the warm corners across the tiny shoulders, Gloria sensed a now familiar tugging at her breast.
“I'll answer that,” came the gruff voice from beside the stove. Gloria looked at him, but he wasn't looking at her. His face was firmly fixed on the hands clenched in his lap. His lips barely moved. If he hadn't been the only man in the room,
Gloria wouldn't have been sure he was speaking.
“First off,” he said, “I'll apologize for my wife's rudeness. She wasn't a happy person. She didn't want to be here.”
Sadie spoke up. “There's no need for—”
“And maybe 1 don't have the right to ask. But I'm not askin’ for my wife. I'm not askin’ for myself. It's for my little girl.”
He looked up, and Gloria saw his face for the first time since that January afternoon nearly five months before. He ran his fingers through his wet hair, raking it from his face. She saw his piercing, pleading eyes, the color lost in the shadows. His nose was large and, she guessed, had been broken at least once. His jaw was strong, as was his chin, which now quivered in betrayal of the strong front he seemed determined to maintain.
“It seems," he continued, “that God brought you here and brought me here for a reason. He took my wife, but he saved my child.”
Gloria snorted. “If God can save your child, why do you need me?”
“Because, sometimes God needs a little help.”
There was a brief moment of almost complete silence broken only by the sound of Sadie softly patting the baby girl's back.
Then, in an instant, everything broke free.
A boisterous cry burst from the bundle at Sadie's shoulder.
John William leapt from his chair and rushed to Sadie's side.
“She's alive!” he cried.
“Well, now,” Sadie said, bringing the baby back to a cradle in her arms and smiling into the scrunched, screaming face. “It wasn't ever a question of her being alive. She is a strong girl. She was just a little sleepy. A little cold. And now,” Sadie looked pointedly at Gloria, “she is a little hungry”
Gloria felt an unexpected rush of milk. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse and then with the ribbons of her chemise. She looked up at John William, who flushed and turned his back. His shyness made Gloria smile. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a man blush.
“Give her to me,” she told Sadie.
Soon, without further question or conversation, the little girl was in Gloria's arms, rooting impatiently as Gloria worked to uncover her breast. The impatient cries continued until Gloria guided the tiny face to the nipple and the hungry mouth latched on as if for life. She looked down at the baby's face, now pink and flushed, and asked, “What's her name?”
John William didn't turn around when he answered.
“We—she wanted to name a little girl Celestia.”
“Celestia?" Gloria said, her voice tinged with amusement. “Such a big name for such a little girl.” She took the blanket that had been used to wrap the baby, draped it over her shoulder, and told John William it was safe to turn around. “What was your wife's name?”
“Katherine,” John William replied.
“Well, then, how about Kate?”
“Yes!" Sadie chimed in. “Celestia can be a middle name. She can be Katherine Celestia, and we—well, you—can call her Kate.”
“Well, that would be fine, I guess,” John William said. He seemed confused, overwhelmed, relieved. “Katherine Celestia MacGregan.”
Just then, another sound joined the room—a soft stirring from the basket on the bed.
“That," Gloria said, “is my son. His name is Danny-—” she stopped short, startled by the emptiness of his name. “Just Danny”
John William reached behind Gloria and took her child up in his arms.
“Hello, Danny,” he said. “Do you mind if I hold you for just a minute? Your mama's busy right now.”
Little Danny replied with a contented coo, and John William returned with him to the chair by the stove.
Soon a new quiet settled in the small room. One of peace, of life. Nobody spoke, not even to Sadie when she silently slipped out the door.