Linda Ford Read Free

forced calmness to her words. “What would you like me to do?”
    “I don’t know. Something. Anything.”
    She closed the remaining distance and looked at the small, scrunched-up face. Two little fists quivered beside the red cheeks. “It’s very tiny.”
    “I figure it can’t be very old.”
    “Is it a boy or girl?”
    He shook his head as he continued to jiggle the infant. “I don’t know.”
    “How can you not know?”
    He chuckled. “Maybe because I haven’t seen anything more than the bit that’s not wrapped up.”
    “You mean to say—”
    “I found it here in that basket. Can’t you make it stop crying?”
    He expected her to know what to do? Of course he would. After all, as an agent for the Orphan Salvation Society, she was deemed an expert on children. Only one problem. Until her father had signed her up for this trip, she’d had very little to do with children except in the company of their mothers or older sisters. Never had she even seen a baby so tiny.
    Still she told herself, I can do this.
    She would do this. She’d prove to her father and everyone else—herself included—that she wasn’t simply a fancy lady from New York. She was capable.
    He held the crying infant out to her.
    Her heart thumped so hard she thought he might hear it. She sucked in a steadying breath. Hoping her arms wouldn’t shake noticeably, she took the baby. It was incredibly tiny. Somewhere deep in her being, a protective ache made itself known and she cradled the bundle close.
    Heidi stood on tiptoe to peek around Rebecca’s shoulder. She pulled aside a corner of the quilt to look at the baby. “Oh, sweet,” she whispered. Then, as she realized Colton could see her, she ducked back out of sight.
    Colton heaved a sigh that Rebecca took for relief. Obviously, he thought she could take care of the little one.
    “Very well.” She could do this. “What does it need?”
    He shrugged, though it seemed more like a gesture of uncertainty than lack of concern. “Beats me. But I suppose it’s hungry.”
    “Then hand me the bottle, please.” She indicated the nursing bottle he held in one hand.
    He did so. His fingers were long and firm-looking. A workingman’s hands. Hands that would grip life with an unrelenting grasp.
    She pulled her thoughts back to reality and the heart-wrenching wails of the infant in her arms. She rocked. “Shh. Shh.” But the cries did not abate. What was wrong? What should she do? Steeling her face to reveal none of her fears, she shook the bottle then tipped the nipple into the open mouth.
    The baby choked.
    She jerked the bottle away. Oh, dear God, please don’t let this little one die. At that moment she wished some of her deportment lessons had been forgone for instruction in child care. But, of course, she was expected to follow her mother’s example and let her future children be raised by wet nurses and nannies. Rebecca recalled her nanny from when she was about five. When Miss Betsy left, she remembered crying for days until her mother had forbidden any more tears. Then she’d cried in private, often disappearing into a closet and shutting the door, hiding in the darkness.
    Her arms tightened around the baby. No child deserved to know such loneliness and isolation, if it could be avoided. A child belonged in a home where he or she would be loved and valued.
    Heidi tapped Rebecca’s shoulder and whispered so softly Rebecca strained to catch her words. “Maybe the baby needs a dry diaper.”
    Rebecca stared at Heidi. How did this child know more about infants than she, a grown woman, did? She stilled a sigh. Because Heidi had been taught from an early age to be practical rather than ornamental.
    The girl smiled. “Maybe there’s one there.” She indicated the basket, but didn’t move.
    Rebecca understood that Heidi didn’t want Colton to see her. The poor girl was terribly self-conscious about the burn scars on her face and arms, especially after they’d kept her from