Nodding with a shy smile to a passerby, Mary continued on to her morning job, that of caregiver for Finn and Charise Maynard’s children—Oliver, Larry, Sammy Z, and baby Leona. She watched the children while Charise attended to her fledgling seamstress shop, housed in the large front room on the second floor of the old Lone Tree Saloon, which was now Finn’s barber shop. Mary kept the children occupied until it was time to help Charise prepare lunch, get the children fed, and then get them down for their naps before cleaning up the kitchen. Sometimes she would stay and assist Charise in the shop, but oftentimes she would take her leave to do what she wanted until her shift at the restaurant began that evening.
Thinking of the restaurant, and specifically her boss, Mr. Huber, brought a smile to Mary’s face as she walked along the several blocks it took to get to the main part of town. He had been so kind and accommodating since he had found out about Mary’s condition, and he vowed to give her only the simplest of jobs, such as taking orders and washing dishes, and relieving her of lifting and carrying the heavy serving trays.
Mr. Huber had been the first resident Mary and Doc Reeves had tried out the marriage fable on, and he had bought the whole kit and caboodle. They’d hit a rough patch when he asked about the date of the happy occasion, but Mary had managed to change the subject with a distraction. She felt excruciatingly bad about deceiving the man, and avoided answering direct questions as much as she could. Her papa had been a stickler for honesty, and had taught her and her brother to always be truthful, so the lie pinched like a cocklebur in a corset.
“Good morning, Mrs. Christiansen,” Sheriff Plasters, who had as an afterthought been informed of the situation, tipped his Stetson as he passed. Mary managed a choked reply and put her head down as she continued walking.
Oh my Lord, will I ever get accustomed to hearing that? Well…I suppose I won’t need to get too accustomed to it, since I’ll go back to being Mary Robinson in a matter of months, although that will mean my child’s name will differ from mine…. That thought, and what she would tell the people of the town, made Mary’s stomach begin to feel queasy again, so she quickly averted her thinking to more pleasant subjects.
This afternoon, she and Pauline had plans to go over Mary’s wardrobe and see what they could do about getting, altering, or possibly making, several serviceable dresses with room to accommodate Mary’s soon-to-be larger shape.
Thinking of that, Mary felt her face heat at the shame of finding herself with child—and by a man she couldn’t stand. Ahh, but I must think of it as Doc Reeves says…the baby is mine. What was that Bible verse Pastor McKnight read during his sermon on Sunday…? She pursed her lips and racked her brain to remember, as it had greatly moved her and she had written it down in the journal Pauline had encouraged her to start keeping—one, for practice in penmanship, and two, because it was nice to be able to look back on your thoughts and feelings during a transitional time in your life.
Ah yes…in the book of Jeremiah… “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born, I set you apart.” God already knows this baby. She…or he…will be my child and I will give it all of the love and care that’s within my power to give. His…or her…name will be Christiansen. What a nice name that is. My baby will wear the name proudly. Maybe…maybe I won’t have to give the name up. When the time comes, maybe Dwight and I can just get a divorce, but I can keep the name… It won’t exactly be like a real divorce…in the eyes of God, I mean, since he and I were never really married...
She shook her head at the perplexing situation, and, for good measure, the thoughts of her husband as well. However, she couldn’t help but wonder what Dwight was doing that day. Did he have a lot of fares for his taxi? Was it as hot in Louisville in August as it was here in Brownville? Did he wonder anything about her? She hoped he was well, and happy. For a man to do what he had done for her, he must be a special kind of person. Pauline said he was. It still amazed her that he would do such a thing for a person—well, two people he didn’t even know—and she whispered a quick prayer that he would be blessed in return.
Just then, she arrived at the building on Main that used to be the Lone Tree Saloon. Smiling, she recalled the story Charise and Finn had told her when she’d first come to work for them. It seems Jesse James, the famous outlaw, had declared the place his favorite watering hole whenever he was in Nebraska—and had even shown up at their wedding reception! Talk about a memorable occasion!
Ah well. As they say…truth is stranger than fiction at times.
Hours later, Mary examined a few yards of leftover muslin as she sipped on a glass of sweetened, ice-cold lemonade—made wondrously possible due to the Lone Tree’s large ice room deep in the cool of the cellar. Charise had volunteered to pitch in to help make maternity dresses for Mary, and had even offered a few leftover fabrics for which she had no definite plans.
“I have a bodice that I’d made for Rachael McKnight, the pastor’s wife, a few years ago, but
