At a wail rising from the valise, Herman held out the bag. “Find a home for my baby.”
four
A babe?
Zoe jumped up from Jane’s bed and started across the hospital room, her focus upon the battered leather bag the miner was holding.
Another muffled cry came from inside, this one angrier than the last.
“I can’t take care of her no more, Pastor.” Herman extended the bag toward Pastor Abe, but the young minister took a step away, confusion—and fear—rounding his blue eyes. Even though Zoe had just met Pastor Abe, she suspected he’d never held a babe and wouldn’t know the first thing about looking after one.
“Are you sure you can’t care for her, Herman?” With stiff arms, Pastor Abe shoved his hands into his pockets, clearly having no intention of accepting the bag.
“I ain’t fit to be her father.”
“You can be,” Pastor Abe said gently. “God will give you the strength you need.”
“She needs a mother and father,” Herman insisted. “I was hoping Lord Colville could find a place that would take her. But with all your connections, I bet you can find her a new family.”
“What’s her name?” Zoe asked as she approached.
“Violet.” Herman’s outstretched arm shook. “Rose wanted me to give her the name of a flower, same as her.” His jitters and bloodshot eyes were the same symptoms Zoe had seen in her father countless times, which meant he was in need of his next drink.
When her fingers closed around the handles, Herman offered no protest and relinquished the burden. He stank of rum, tobacco, and urine. But the bag smelled even worse. When was the last time the man had changed the babe’s napkin?
Zoe placed the valise on the floor and knelt beside it. “How long ago did she eat?”
Herman lowered his head, but not before she caught sight of his shame. “Think it were last eve.”
“Last eve?” Indignation rose in Zoe, but she bit back her angry retort. After Zeke was no longer around to protect her, she’d earned the back of her father’s hand across her mouth one too many times for speaking her mind, especially when he was drunk or in need of his next binge. As a result, she’d learned to control her temper when necessary.
Instead of giving Herman the tongue-lashing he deserved, she made quick work of unbuckling the strap and pulling the bag open. The stench was enough to wrinkle even the stoutest of noses.
Yet, the second Zoe laid eyes upon the wee infant inside, she forgot all about the urge to gag, especially when the babe peered up at her, then reached out tiny fingers and grabbed a handful of Zoe’s hair.
In that instant, Zoe fell in love.
She scooped up the child in spite of the foul odor and damp blankets. She cuddled the wee one in her arms, unable to tear her gaze away. “Oh you precious, sweet babe.”
The infant stared back, as though trying to figure out who Zoe was. Dark brown, innocent eyes, a smattering of downy hair, rounded cheeks.
An ache swelled inside Zoe with a need so deep she couldn’t begin to explain it, even if she’d tried. With the small bundle warm and wiggling against her chest, pain came rushing back along with memories. Memories of holding Eve in just the same way, of blowing bubbly kisses against her belly, of snuggling her close and singing lullabies.
If only Meg had been home that fateful morning. If only Meg had paid the infant more attention. If only Meg had been more responsible. Instead, Meg had been out all night and hadn’t returned. And Zoe, as usual, had been watching over Eve.
The ache in Zoe’s chest squeezed into her throat. She’d cared for the babe as best she could, and she’d loved the babe when no one else would. All she’d done was lay Eve down for a morning nap like she always did. She’d made sure the child was asleep before starting on the laundry.
But for a reason Zoe still didn’t understand, Eve had never woken. When Zoe had checked a short while later, she discovered Eve wasn’t breathing or moving. Though she rushed to the nearest dispensary, the infant never cried another cry or breathed another breath.
No one, not even the doctor, could determine what had caused Eve’s death. After all the months that had passed, Zoe still blamed herself, figured she’d done something wrong. Meg hadn’t passed any judgment, had acted almost relieved not to have an illegitimate child anymore. Or maybe she’d been relieved she no longer had to listen to Zoe’s scolding and ranting about her need to be like their mum.
Whatever the case, Zoe hadn’t been able to save Eve, but she could help this child here and now, couldn’t she?
The babe began to suck her thumb noisily, making angry grunts in the process. She was tiny and delicate, and yet she didn’t have the look of a newborn.
“How old is Violet?”
“Four months.” Herman slanted a glance toward the door. No doubt he was wondering how much longer he had to stay before he could slip away and drown himself in drink.
Violet slurped at her thumb but apparently realized she wasn’t getting any nourishment from the sucking. Her lips wobbled and her eyes squinted as she released another wail, a demand for something to fill her stomach.
“Do you have a bottle for her?” Zoe directed the question at Herman, who shook his head and focused on the floor.
“We’ll need bottles and pap or milk—maybe both.” She bounced Violet in an effort to calm her.
Neither of the men moved.
Zoe glanced first at Herman then at Pastor Abe. “Right away.”
Pastor Abe jerked his hands out of his pockets and straightened. “Of course. Bottles and milk.” He started toward the door but then paused before exiting, looking back at her with the kindest eyes Zoe had ever seen. “Will she need anything else?”
“I’m sure the attendant can provide me with a few rags for making a clean napkin.” And warm water for bathing the child. No telling what kind of rash the babe had from lying in her own filth for so long.
Pastor Abe nodded and then glanced at Herman. “We’ll talk more when I get back, okay?”
“Sure, Pastor.” Herman spoke with forced cheer but didn’t meet Pastor Abe’s gaze. Zoe was well acquainted with the tactic of avoidance, the one that meant the need for drink was more important than anyone or anything.
Pastor Abe, however, seemed satisfied with Herman’s assurance. He continued on his way, his footfalls in the hallway and on the stairs loud and urgent. When the hospital door gave a resounding thump of closure, Zoe straightened and faced Herman.
“I’ll take care of Violet this afternoon,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage. “You needn’t worry about her.” The truth was, she wouldn’t hand the babe back over to Herman, not even if he threatened to beat her. The man didn’t deserve to have the child—not now, not in his current condition. But she’d learned that some people—like her father—worked better if they thought they were in control.
“I’ll take her back to the Marine Barracks with me,” she continued, “and you can come and get her there later.”
“Thank you, miss.”
“I don’t mind.” She refused to look over at the bed where Jane lay motionless, having breathed her last over an hour ago. Zoe had been nearly mad with her grief when Pastor Abe had arrived, hadn’t wanted to leave her friend’s side, hadn’t been sure she could go on.