Lucas came in as the sun was setting, stamping mud from his boots and unwinding the scarf she’d knitted him.

He stopped short when he saw her face.

What’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong.

I just We need to talk.

He was across the room in seconds, hands on her shoulders.

Are you leaving? Did something happened? Clara, whatever it is, I’m pregnant.

The words emerged in a rush, unplanned.

Lucas went absolutely still.

What? I’m pregnant about 2 months, I think.

Maybe a little more.

Now that she’d started, the words kept coming.

I know it’s impossible.

I know what the doctors said.

I know I’m not supposed to be able to have children, but Mrs.

Davidson was here today and she’s delivered dozens of babies and she says she knows the signs and I’ve been sick every morning for weeks and I’m late.

And Lucas kissed her.

It was sudden and fierce and silencing, his hands cupping her face like she was something infinitely precious.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were wet.

You sure? His voice was horsearo.

No.

Yes.

I don’t know.

Mrs.

Davidson seems certain, and my body is certainly doing all the things pregnancy is supposed to involve, but the doctors.

Damn the doctors.

Lucas pulled her close, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.

Damn, every single one of them, and their certainty about things they clearly knew nothing about.

Clara felt tears sliding down her own cheeks.

You’re not angry.

angry.

Clara, I’m He laughed, the sound broken and joyful at once.

I don’t even have words.

Terrified, amazed, happy beyond measure, but angry.

Never.

I didn’t think it was possible.

Apparently, we’re in the business of impossible things.

He pulled back just far enough to look at her, his expression fierce.

You’re going to be all right.

We’re going to make sure of it.

I’ll take you to the doctor in redemption tomorrow.

Get you properly examined.

What if he says the same thing the Philadelphia doctors did? Then we’ll find another doctor and another until we find one who actually knows what he’s talking about.

Lucas’s jaw was set in a way Clara had learned meant he’d made up his mind about something.

But I suspect Mrs.

Davidson knows more about pregnancy than half the doctors in this territory.

If she says you’re carrying our child, then you’re carrying our child.

Our child.

The words settled over Clara like a benediction.

I’m scared, Lucas.

I know.

So am I.

He pressed his forehead to hers.

But we’ll face it together.

That’s what we promised, remember? Whatever comes.

That night, Clara lay awake long after Lucas had fallen into exhausted sleep beside her.

Her hand rested on her stomach, where supposedly, impossibly, a new life was forming, a life that shouldn’t exist, according to three Philadelphia physicians and all their medical expertise.

She thought of the woman she’d been when she arrived in Wyoming.

Broken, ashamed, convinced of her own worthlessness.

That woman would never have believed this moment could exist.

But that woman had learned to mend fences and calm panicked horses.

Had learned to read weather in the quality of light.

Had learned that strength wasn’t the absence of fear, but the refusal to let fear win.

That woman had become someone else entirely.

someone who could face the impossible and call it by its name, hope.

The next morning, despite Clara’s protests, Lucas insisted on the trip to redemption.

Dr.

Fletcher, the town’s only physician, was a tired-l looking man in his 50s who’d seen enough frontier life to be unsurprised by most things.

He examined Clara with professional detachment while Lucas waited in the outer room, pacing like a caged animal.

When the examination was complete, Dr.

Fletcher helped Clara sit up and regarded her thoughtfully.

“Well, Mrs.

Hail, I don’t know what those Philadelphia doctors told you, but based on what I’m seeing, you’re approximately 10 to 12 weeks pregnant.

” The room seemed to tilt.

“You’re certain? As certain as I can be without delivering the baby? Your symptoms are consistent.

The timing works out, and I can feel the changes in your uterus.

” He made a note in his ledger.

Were you told you couldn’t conceive? Multiple doctors confirmed it.

And did they explain their reasoning? Clara recited what she remembered of the medical jargon, the anatomical abnormalities, the unfavorable positioning.

Dr.

Fletcher listened with increasing skepticism.

Mrs.

Hail, I’ll be frank with you.

There’s a lot of nonsense in medicine, particularly when it comes to women’s bodies.

Doctors love to sound certain about things they barely understand.

The female reproductive system is remarkably resilient and adaptable.

What looks unfavorable in one position might be perfectly functional in another.

What seems abnormal on an examination table might work fine in actual practice.

So they were wrong.

They were premature in their certainty at the very least.

He folded his hands.

The fact is you’re pregnant.

Whatever those doctors thought would prevent it clearly didn’t.

Now we focus on keeping you and the baby healthy.

What are the risks? Dr.

Fletcher didn’t sugarcoat it.

The usual risks any woman faces in childirth, which are considerable on the frontier.

Add to that your previous medical history and the fact that this is your first pregnancy at how old are you? 28.

A bit older than ideal for a first baby, but far from impossible.

You’ll need to be careful.

No heavy lifting, plenty of rest, good nutrition.

I’ll want to see you monthly until the last 2 months, then weekly.

He paused.

“Do you have anyone who can attend the birth? A mother, sister, friend?” Clara thought of her mother, who’d sent her west with barely a goodbye.

“No, no one.

Mrs.

Davidson has experience as a midwife.

I’d suggest engaging her services.

She’s better at the practical side of birthing than I am, if I’m honest.

I’m better at handling complications.

” The word complications hung heavy in the air.

“What should I expect?” Clara asked.

Dr.

Fletcher spent the next 20 minutes outlining the progression of pregnancy in terms both clinical and practical.

Clara absorbed it all, filing away information about quickening and false labor and the signs of trouble.

When he finished, she felt simultaneously more informed and more terrified.

One last thing, Mrs.

Hail.

Dr.

Fletcher’s expression softened slightly.

Try not to borrow trouble.

Yes, childirth is dangerous.

Yes, things can go wrong, but they usually don’t.

Most babies come into this world healthy and squalling, and most mothers recover just fine.

Focus on that.

Lucas practically leaped to his feet when Clara emerged.

Well, he confirms it.

10 to 12 weeks.

Lucas’s face transformed.

He swept her into his arms, lifting her off her feet despite her startled yelp, spinning once before setting her down gently.

“Careful,” she protested, laughing despite herself.

“Dr.

Fletcher just said, no heavy lifting.

You weigh nothing.

” But Lucas’s hands were gentle as he steadied her.

“10 to 12 weeks.

That means late August or early September.

” He thinks a summer baby.

Lucas’s grin was incandescent.

We’ll have a summer baby.

On the ride home, Clara found herself studying Lucas’s profile.

He’d been quiet since they left town, but it was a happy quiet, contemplative rather than troubled.

His hand kept finding hers, squeezing gently before returning to the rains.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“I’m thinking I need to build a cradle, and we’ll need to set up a nursery.

We can use the small storage room off our bedroom once I clear it out and put in a window.

And the house will need reinforcing before next winter.

Better insulation.

Can’t have a baby getting cold.

Lucas, it’s March.

The baby won’t arrive until late summer.

I know, but there’s a lot to do.

He glanced at her, expression suddenly serious.

I want everything to be perfect for you, for both of you.

Clara’s throat tightened.

It doesn’t need to be perfect.

It just needs to be safe.

It’ll be both.

I promise you that.

They rode in comfortable silence for a while, the prairie stretching away on all sides.

Clara felt the familiar queasiness stirring.

“Morning sickness didn’t restrict itself to mornings,” she’d discovered.

“But it felt different now.

Meaningful, a small discomfort in service of something miraculous.

” “I can’t believe it’s real,” she said quietly.

After everything, after being told it was impossible.

Believe it.

Lucas’s hand found hers again.

You’re going to be a mother, Clara.

Our child is going to be the luckiest baby in Wyoming, having you.

The tears came then, unexpected and overwhelming.

Lucas pulled the wagon to a stop and gathered her close, letting her cry against his shoulder.

“What if I’m terrible at it?” Clara sobbed.

“What if I don’t know how to be a mother?” “Then you’ll learn.

Same as you learned everything else about ranch life.

Remember your first week here? You could barely get the stove lit.

Now you cook better than anyone I know.

Babies are different from stoves.

True.

Babies are more portable and cry less when you forget to feed them.

He pulled back, wiping her tears with his thumbs.

Clara, listen to me.

You are the strongest, most capable woman I’ve ever met.

You came to this ranch broken and built yourself back up into something remarkable.

You’ll do the same with motherhood.

I have no doubt.

Clara wanted to believe him.

needed to believe him because the alternative that she would fail at this too, that the doctors had been right about her inadequacy, even if they were wrong about her fertility, was too terrible to contemplate.

“We’ll face it together,” she said, echoing his earlier words.

“Always.

” The weeks that followed took on a dreamlike quality.

Spring arrived properly, transforming the brown prairie into a riot of wild flowers.

Clara’s body continued its relentless changes.

Her belly swelled.

Her breasts grew heavy.

Her back began to ache from the shifting weight.

Lucas treated her like spun glass, rushing to help with every task until Clara finally had to put her foot down.

I’m pregnant, not dying, she informed him after he’d tried to prevent her from carrying a basket of laundry.

Dr.

Fletcher said normal activity is fine.

He also said no heavy lifting.

This is hardly heavy, Lucas.

You’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep this up.

but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

He cleared out the storage room and transformed it into a nursery, building a beautiful cradle from wood he’d been saving for years.

He reinforced the walls and added a window that let in the southern light.

He even attempted curtains, though Clara gently took over that project after his first attempt resulted in fabric that resembled a shipwreck more than window dressing.

Mrs.

Davidson visited regularly, ostensibly to check on Clara’s progress, but really, Clara suspected, to ensure Lucas wasn’t driving her completely insane with his overprotectiveness.

The older woman brought practical advice and blunt reassurance in equal measure.

He’ll calm down once the baby arrives, and he realizes, “You’re tougher than he thinks,” Mrs.

Davidson said one afternoon while Lucas was out checking the fence line.

“First time fathers are always the worst.

My Hank nearly drove me to murder with our first.

He’s just worried.

Of course he is.

You’re carrying something more precious than gold to him.

Mrs.

Davidson’s expression grew serious.

But Clara, you need to prepare yourself for what’s coming.

Child birth isn’t easy, especially out here.

You’ll need strength you didn’t know you had.

I’m frightened.

Clara admitted.

Good.

Fear keeps you cautious.

Just don’t let it paralyze you.

When the time comes, your body will know what to do.

You just have to trust it.

Trust her body.

The same body that three doctors had declared defective.

The irony wasn’t lost on Clara.

In May, she felt the baby move for the first time.

A flutter so faint she almost missed it like butterfly wings against the inside of her stomach.

She was hanging laundry when it happened, and she froze mid-motion, hand flying to her belly.

There it was again.

Unmistakable this time.

Movement.

Life.

Lucas, she called out, knowing he was somewhere nearby.

Lucas, come quickly.

He appeared at a dead run, shovel in hand, face pale with alarm.

What’s wrong? Are you hurt? No, I feel this.

She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her stomach.

Wait for it.

They stood there in the yard, laundry forgotten, waiting.

Clara began to think the baby had gone still again, that Lucas would think her foolish.

Then Lucas’s eyes went wide.

Was that the baby moving? His hand stayed pressed against her belly, waiting for another flutter.

When it came, his entire face transformed with wonder.

“That’s our child,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

“Our child moving around in there.

” “Say hello to your father,” Clara murmured to her stomach.

The baby responded with another kick, stronger this time.

Lucas dropped to his knees in the dirt, pressing his ear against her belly.

Clara ran her fingers through his hair, overcome with a love so powerful it frightened her.

This man, this life they’d built, this impossible child growing inside her.

It was more than she’d ever dared to dream.

“I can hear something,” Lucas said, like water moving around.

“That’s normal.

The baby floats in fluid.

It’s incredible.

” He looked up at her and Clara saw tears tracking through the dust on his face.

You’re incredible.

The months continued their relentless march.

Summer arrived with crushing heat that made Clara’s swollen body even more uncomfortable.

She took to sitting in the shade during the hottest part of the day, her hands busy with knitting small garments while her mind wandered to the future.

What would their child look like? Would it have Lucas’s dark hair or her lighter brown? His height or her features? Would she be a good mother? The question circled endlessly, unanswerable until the moment arrived.

In late July, Dr.

Fletcher confirmed what Clara already knew.

She was measuring large for her dates.

Could be a big baby, he said.

Or could be twins run in your family.

Clara’s heart stuttered.

Twins? It’s possible.

I’m feeling what might be two distinct areas of movement, but it’s hard to say for certain.

We’ll know when you deliver.

twins.

The possibility hung over Clare like a sword.

One baby seemed daunting enough.

Two felt impossible.

But then everything about this pregnancy had been impossible.

August arrived with thunderstorms that broke the heat without bringing relief.

Clara felt enormous, ungainainely, ready for this to be over.

The baby or babies moved constantly now, keeping her awake at night with their acrobatics.

Lucas had taken to reading aloud to her belly in the evenings, convinced the child could hear him.

“You need to settle down in there,” he told her stomach one night after a particularly vigorous bout of kicking had made Clara wse.

“Your mother needs her rest.

” “I don’t think the baby cares about my rest.

” “Then the baby takes after you, stubborn from the start.

” Clara laughed despite her discomfort.

“I’m not stubborn.

You’re the most stubborn woman in Wyoming.

It’s one of the things I love about you.

The first contractions came on a sweltering afternoon in late August.

Clara was shelling peas on the porch when her belly tightened in a way that was different from the practice contractions she’d been experiencing for weeks.

This one had purpose, a gathering intensity that took her breath away.

She waited.

20 minutes later, another contraction gripped her, then another, building in strength and frequency until there was no denying what was happening.

The baby was coming.

Clara stood carefully, gripping the porch rail.

“Lucas,” she called out, proud of how steady her voice sounded.

“I think you should fetch Mrs.

Davidson.

It’s time.

” Lucas turned white as fresh snow.

For a moment, he stood frozen, the tool in his hand forgotten.

Then he dropped it and sprinted toward the barn.

“I’m getting the wagon ready,” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Don’t move.

Don’t do anything.

Just stay there.

” Clara would have laughed if another contraction hadn’t chosen that moment to grip her.

She breathed through it, counting the seconds the way Mrs.

Davidson had taught her.

45 seconds.

Not too long yet.

She had time.

The ride to town took forever.

Despite Lucas pushing the horses harder than he should have, every rut in the road sent pain jarring through Clara’s body, and she gripped the wagon seat with white knuckled intensity.

Lucas kept looking at her, his face a mask of poorly concealed terror.

“We’re almost there,” he said for the 10th time.

“Just hold on, Lucas.

First babies take hours, sometimes days.

We have time.

” “I don’t care.

I’m not taking chances, Mrs.

” Davidson took one look at Clara’s face when they arrived, and immediately took charge.

She sent Lucas to fetch Dr.

Fletcher ordered him to boil water, gave him a dozen tasks designed more to keep him busy than anything else.

Then she helped Clara into the bedroom, and began her examination.

“How far apart are the pains?” she asked.

“15 minutes, maybe.

They were 20 when we left the ranch.

” “Good.

That’s good.

Nothing’s happening too fast.

” Mrs.

Davidson’s experienced hands probed Clara’s swollen belly.

The baby’s positioned well, head down, from what I can feel.

Dr.

Fletcher thought it might be twins.

Did he now? Mrs.

Davidson’s examination became more thorough.

Her expression shifted.

Well, I’ll be.

He might be right.

I’m feeling two distinct areas here.

Hard to say for certain until they arrive, but you should prepare yourself for that possibility.

Two babies.

The reality of it hit Clara with fresh force.

She’d had months to get used to the idea, but somehow it had remained abstract until this moment.

Can I do this? Clare whispered.

Mrs.

Davidson met her eyes squarely.

You can do anything you set your mind to.

I’ve seen that for myself.

Now, let’s get you settled.

This is going to be a long night.

She was right.

The contractions continued through the afternoon and into evening, growing slowly stronger, but maintaining their steady rhythm.

Dr.

Fletcher arrived and examined Clare with his usual professional detachment, confirming Mrs.

Davidson’s assessment.

Two babies definitely, he said.

Both seem to be positioned reasonably well, though we won’t know for certain until they start coming.

Mrs.

Hail, you’re in for a challenging night.

Lucas sat by the bed, holding Clara’s hand through each contraction.

His face was drawn with worry, but he kept his voice steady.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” he said.

“I’ve barely started.

Still, you’re the bravest person I know.

” The night wore on.

Clara walked when she could, supported by Mrs.

Davidson’s sturdy arm.

The contractions intensified, stealing her breath and her ability to think about anything beyond the next wave of pain.

Continue reading….
« Prev Next »