“Sofia’s papá shouldn’t kiss strange women in front of her.” Scowling, she waved a spatula at him.
Warmth bled into his cheeks. “I didn’t intend to. It just sort of happened.”
“Who is this woman?” She went back to the stove, where eggs and bacon sizzled in the pan.
“Her name is Olivia.” He wiped the counter, trying to act nonchalant. “She helps women at a local maternity home.”
“Is she Greek?”
“She’s Italian. She comes from an immigrant family like ours.”
Mamá pursed her lips. “She sounds . . . all right.”
His lips twitched. That was high praise coming from his mother.
“Are you going to marry this Olivia?”
“I don’t know, Mamá. We were just friends until yesterday. Then things changed and we haven’t had a chance to talk about it.”
Mamá flipped the eggs and peered over her shoulder at him. “You bring this Olivia to dinner one day soon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The telephone rang, and Darius rushed to answer it. Anything to escape his mother’s scrutiny.
“Can I speak to Darius Reed, please?” a deep voice said.
“This is he.”
“Darius, this is Horace Cheeseman.”
Chills of foreboding raced along Darius’s spine. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Why would Mr. Cheeseman be phoning him at home on a Saturday? At seven forty-five in the morning?
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I have some bad news about Meredith.” The man’s voice cracked.
“What is it?” Maybe Mr. Cheeseman was just learning that Meredith hadn’t gone out west after all. That she’d found somewhere else to spend her confinement.
“My daughter is dead.”
The blunt words struck Darius like a blow to the chest. He sank onto a chair, his mind spinning. That wasn’t possible. The man had to be mistaken. “I don’t understand. She told me she was going to a maternity home in Ottawa. How could she be dead?”
“She didn’t go to a maternity home.” Mr. Cheeseman sounded gritty, as though he’d swallowed sandpaper. “She went to some back-alley quack and paid him to take care of her problem. But she developed a serious infection and ended up in the hospital, too afraid to call her mother or me. At least that’s what the nurse at the hospital told us when she called with the news.”
Darius raked a hand through his hair. “I . . . I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe this. . . .” His throat seized up. Meredith was gone? Lovely, vivacious Meredith . . .
“Since you cared for my daughter once, I felt you should know.”
“I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss, sir.”
“The funeral will be on Wednesday morning at St. Cornelius Church. Eleven o’clock.”
“I’ll be there, sir. If there’s anything I can do—”
The connection cut out, leaving nothing but silence buzzing in Darius’s ear, along with the sinking sensation that he may have somehow played an unwitting part in Meredith’s demise.
Olivia tried not to let the fact that she hadn’t heard from Darius since their kiss in the park disturb her. He took classes on Saturday, she remembered. And Sunday was spent with his family, going to church, and then having Sunday dinner. But by noon on Monday, while she helped Mrs. Neale make sandwiches, Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted his impulsive action and was now too embarrassed to call her.
Margaret entered the kitchen with her son on her shoulder. “I think we’ll have to call Mrs. Dinglemire soon,” she announced. “Cherise has been complaining about a sore back. That’s how my labor started.”
Momentary anxiety hit Olivia at the thought of another baby coming, but she forced herself to breathe. She would have to get used to this happening on a frequent basis and not panic every time. She cut the last sandwich and placed it on a plate. “Thanks for telling me. We’ll be sure to keep a close eye on her.”
Margaret bounced the baby, who had started to squirm.
Olivia took a closer look at Margaret, noticing the fatigue around her eyes. “Why don’t I take Calvin for a bit while you get some rest?” She wiped her hands on her apron.
Margaret’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She held out her arms. “I’m feeling a lot better now. I can handle a baby again.”
Margaret still seemed uncertain as she handed over the red-faced bundle. “I think he needs a diaper change.”
“I can do that. You go take a bath or a nap. If he gets hungry, I’ll come and find you.”
Relief flooded Margaret’s features. “Thanks. I could use a nap. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Go on then. We’ll save some sandwiches for you.”
Two hours went by in a flash. Tending to the baby kept Olivia occupied, with no time to dwell on Darius. She tried to sit with Cherise in order to keep an eye on her, but the girl wanted no part of her company, preferring to be alone with her discomfort. So instead Olivia rocked little Calvin in the nursery. She had just decided that it was near his feeding time when a groan sounded from the next room, followed by a string of French words that Olivia didn’t understand.
She took the baby into the next bedroom. Whether Cherise wanted company or not, she was getting it.
The girl was bent over the bed, one hand at the small of her back.
“Bonjour, Cherise. Looks like you’re having contractions. Remember to breathe through the pain.”
Cherise glared over her shoulder. “How can I breathe when it feels like a knife is stabbing me in the back?”
“I know it’s hard, but it does help.” Olivia could recall the discomfort of her contractions in vivid detail and had blessed the nurse for helping her manage the pain. “I’ll call Mrs. Dinglemire and be right back.”
“Wait.” Cherise huffed. “Promise me something, Olivia.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Promise you won’t let that woman near my bébé.”
Cherise didn’t need to elaborate. Olivia knew exactly whom she meant. She walked over and laid a hand on Cherise’s shoulder. “I promise no one will take your child. Mrs. Dinglemire and Dr. Henshaw both know your wishes, as do Ruth
