building burned and I—I caught it." She took a long, shuddering breath. "Then the building collapsed, and I fear the woman died."
"I swear, that's a miracle for sure." A soft glow suffused Patience's face. "It purely is. Especially since—" She broke off. "Boy or girl?"
Lucy blinked. "I don't know. There wasn't time to check."
"Land sakes, let's take a look." With expert hands, Patience took the sleeping baby into the parlor and gently laid it on an ottoman. The child stirred and whimpered, but didn't fully awaken. She unpinned its diaper. "A girl," she said. "A precious baby girl. Looks to be about a year old, more or less."
Lucy stared in awe as Patience swaddled the child. A baby girl. She couldn't believe she'd rescued a baby girl. The child stretched and yawned, then blinked. When she saw Patience's face, she let out a thin wail.
"Oh, please," Lucy said. "Please don't cry, baby."
When she spoke, the baby turned to her, and an amazing thing happened. Something like recognition shone in the little round face, and she reached up with chubby hands. The deep, fierce instinct swept over Lucy again, and she picked the little girl up. "There now," she said. "There, there." Nonsense words, but they made the crying stop.
Patience watched them both, her eyes filled with a sad sort of knowing. "The Almighty is at work tonight," she murmured. "Sure enough, he is."
For the first time, Lucy noticed streaks of hastily dried tears on Patience's face.
A chill slid through her, and she stood up, still holding the tiny girl. "What's happened?"
Patience touched her cheek, her warm, dry hand trembling a little. "You best go see your mama, honey. Your daddy was bad hurt fighting the fire."
Lucy felt the rhythm of dread pounding in her chest like a dirge. "I'll take the baby," Patience offered.
"I've got her." Lucy led the way up the stairs and rushed to her father's bedroom, adjoined by double doors to his wife's suite of rooms. Dr. Hauptmann was bent over the four-poster bed, and Viola Hathaway sat in a chair beside it. Patience's sister, Willa Jean, knelt on the floor, crooning a soft spiritual.
Lucy had never seen her mother in such a disheveled state. She wore a dressing gown and her hair hung loose around her face. Holding her arms clasped across her middle, she rocked rhythmically back and forth, taking in little sobs of air with the motion.
"Mama!" Lucy hurried over to her. "Are you all right? What happened to the Colonel?"
The doctor stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to hold in emotion. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "So very sorry."
"Lucy, my dear Lucy," her mother said, never taking her eyes off her husband. "He's gone. Our dear dear Colonel is gone."
Lucy's arms tightened around the child, who had stopped crying and was making soft cooing sounds. She pressed close to the bed.
Colonel Hiram Hathaway lay like a marble effigy, as handsome and commanding in death as he'd been in life. In flashes of remembrance, she saw that face lit with laughter, those big hands holding hers. How could he be gone?
How could someone as strong and powerful as the Colonel be dead?
"He went out to fight the fire," Patience said. "You know your daddy. He'd never sit still while the whole city was on fire. He was with a crew of military men, knocking down buildings with dynamite. They brought him home an hour ago. Said he got hit on the head. He was unconscious, never even woke up, and right after we put him to bed he just...just went to glory."
A choking, devastating disbelief surged through Lucy as she sank to her knees. "Oh, Colonel." She used the name she'd called him since she was old enough to speak. "Why did you have to be a hero? Why couldn't you have stayed safe at home?" She freed one hand from the baby's blanket and gently touched the pale, cool cheek with its bushy side-whiskers. "Oh, Colonel. Were you scared?" she asked, her hand starting to shake. "Did it hurt?" She couldn't find any more words. What
"I swear, that's a miracle for sure." A soft glow suffused Patience's face. "It purely is. Especially since—" She broke off. "Boy or girl?"
Lucy blinked. "I don't know. There wasn't time to check."
"Land sakes, let's take a look." With expert hands, Patience took the sleeping baby into the parlor and gently laid it on an ottoman. The child stirred and whimpered, but didn't fully awaken. She unpinned its diaper. "A girl," she said. "A precious baby girl. Looks to be about a year old, more or less."
Lucy stared in awe as Patience swaddled the child. A baby girl. She couldn't believe she'd rescued a baby girl. The child stretched and yawned, then blinked. When she saw Patience's face, she let out a thin wail.
"Oh, please," Lucy said. "Please don't cry, baby."
When she spoke, the baby turned to her, and an amazing thing happened. Something like recognition shone in the little round face, and she reached up with chubby hands. The deep, fierce instinct swept over Lucy again, and she picked the little girl up. "There now," she said. "There, there." Nonsense words, but they made the crying stop.
Patience watched them both, her eyes filled with a sad sort of knowing. "The Almighty is at work tonight," she murmured. "Sure enough, he is."
For the first time, Lucy noticed streaks of hastily dried tears on Patience's face.
A chill slid through her, and she stood up, still holding the tiny girl. "What's happened?"
Patience touched her cheek, her warm, dry hand trembling a little. "You best go see your mama, honey. Your daddy was bad hurt fighting the fire."
Lucy felt the rhythm of dread pounding in her chest like a dirge. "I'll take the baby," Patience offered.
"I've got her." Lucy led the way up the stairs and rushed to her father's bedroom, adjoined by double doors to his wife's suite of rooms. Dr. Hauptmann was bent over the four-poster bed, and Viola Hathaway sat in a chair beside it. Patience's sister, Willa Jean, knelt on the floor, crooning a soft spiritual.
Lucy had never seen her mother in such a disheveled state. She wore a dressing gown and her hair hung loose around her face. Holding her arms clasped across her middle, she rocked rhythmically back and forth, taking in little sobs of air with the motion.
"Mama!" Lucy hurried over to her. "Are you all right? What happened to the Colonel?"
The doctor stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to hold in emotion. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "So very sorry."
"Lucy, my dear Lucy," her mother said, never taking her eyes off her husband. "He's gone. Our dear dear Colonel is gone."
Lucy's arms tightened around the child, who had stopped crying and was making soft cooing sounds. She pressed close to the bed.
Colonel Hiram Hathaway lay like a marble effigy, as handsome and commanding in death as he'd been in life. In flashes of remembrance, she saw that face lit with laughter, those big hands holding hers. How could he be gone?
How could someone as strong and powerful as the Colonel be dead?
"He went out to fight the fire," Patience said. "You know your daddy. He'd never sit still while the whole city was on fire. He was with a crew of military men, knocking down buildings with dynamite. They brought him home an hour ago. Said he got hit on the head. He was unconscious, never even woke up, and right after we put him to bed he just...just went to glory."
A choking, devastating disbelief surged through Lucy as she sank to her knees. "Oh, Colonel." She used the name she'd called him since she was old enough to speak. "Why did you have to be a hero? Why couldn't you have stayed safe at home?" She freed one hand from the baby's blanket and gently touched the pale, cool cheek with its bushy side-whiskers. "Oh, Colonel. Were you scared?" she asked, her hand starting to shake. "Did it hurt?" She couldn't find any more words. What
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