“Get some sleep, Sythia.” Gently but firmly, Lark took the baby and rubbed his back. His wails calmed a bit. “You’re no good to him worn out like this.” She met Forsythia’s gaze, apology in her eyes. “Sorry for being short.”
Too weary to argue, Forsythia lay down in the stuffy warmth of the canvas interior and let the wagon’s jolting rock her to sleep.
She woke when they stopped for nooning and climbed out to find Lilac taking a turn with Mikael. She was trying a spoon this time to offer the fresh milk they’d drawn from Buttercup, the Hobsons’ cow, that morning.
“Come on, little one. Drink.” But as soon as the milk trickled down his throat, Mikael sputtered and coughed, twisting his tiny face away.
“It’s like he doesn’t understand what it is.” Gently, Lilac poked the tin spoon between the baby’s pursed lips again. “If he knew, surely he would take it.”
“Or he just wants his . . . m-a-m-a,” Del spelled, holding Sofie on her lap. At least the waiflike little girl was eating, taking bites of cold biscuit and bacon from Del’s fingers as if she’d been starved. Which was not too far from the truth.
Several women from other wagons gathered around, offering advice and encouragement.
“Maybe try when he’s sleepy,” Thelma Wheeler said, reaching to smooth the baby’s downy head. “Instinct might take over?”
“It doesn’t always.” Louise Bane shook her head, mouth pinched. “We tried to nurse my sister’s young’un after she died bearin’ him. He followed her within a week.”
Forsythia’s middle twisted at the tears that sprang into Lilac’s eyes. She squeezed her little sister’s shoulder. “Well, we’re not going to let that happen.”
Lark and Lilac joined one of the now-daily hunting parties for the afternoon, so Jesse took over driving the Durhams’ oxen while Del drove theirs. As the late afternoon sun slanted over the prairie, Forsythia walked beside the wagon, Mikael sleeping on her shoulder. At least he wasn’t crying, but his quietness since noon worried her. The baby seemed weaker, not moving as much, and she’d only gotten him to take a few more drops. Would he follow the dire path Mrs. Bane had predicted? Please, Lord, no.
“Miss Nielsen?”
Forsythia squinted against the sun. A young woman she’d only seen across camp approached, her hand shielding her eyes. Her red hair caught the setting sun.
“I’m Maggie O’Malley. I hear you’re havin’ trouble gettin’ milk down the wee one.” She nodded to Mikael. “I was wonderin’—would you let me try?”
Forsythia stared at her stupidly, too tired to compute.
A faint flush colored Maggie’s fair cheeks. “I’ve a five-month-old baby of my own, you see. Might I take him into your wagon?”
Understanding dawned, and Forsythia nodded. “Oh, of course. Oh, thank you.”
“I thought of it when me husband first told me of the foundlings you’d taken in. But I didn’t think I’d have enough milk for both babes, not all the time, and I heard you’d gotten the cow. But today—well, I thought maybe I could at least help him over this rough spot.” Maggie climbed into the wagon as she spoke, then unbuttoned her bodice with one hand, holding out the other for Mikael.
Forsythia laid the baby in her arms. Mikael squirmed and whimpered.
“Here, little one.” Maggie held him close. “There now, you know what to do.”
Forsythia sat silent, hardly daring to breathe. Please, Lord.
“Come now. Just take it, my love.”
Mikael fussed again. And then—a faint clicking sound. Then he was suckling—and swallowing.
“Oh, thank God,” Forsythia whispered, tears spilling over. “Thank you, Maggie.”
Maggie cradled the newborn close, crooning snatches of an Irish lullaby. Mikael nursed on one side, and then she switched him to the other.
“Maybe,” the young mother said softly, “if you brought the rag or spoon you’ve been tryin’ now . . .”
“Of course.” Forsythia scrambled out of the still-moving wagon. She grabbed the jar of milk they’d drawn at nooning and soaked the corner of a clean rag in it. Still praying, she climbed back up in the wagon.
“He’s sleepy but still nursing.” Gently, Maggie unlatched Mikael, who wailed a protest.
Into the open little mouth, Forsythia slipped the milky rag. Mikael opened his eyes in astonishment at first, then closed his mouth and sucked the rag.
“Oh, thank you, Father.” Forsythia dipped the rag again and again, Mikael sucking for another good fifteen minutes. Then he fell asleep, his head pillowed on Maggie’s calico sleeve.
“He just needed to remember how.” Maggie brushed the baby’s downy smudge of hair with a gentle finger. “Didn’t you, darlin’?”
“We can’t thank you enough.” Forsythia sat back, weak with gratitude. “Truly.”
“Just let me know if he needs a little boost now and then, aye?” Maggie handed the baby back and rebuttoned her bodice. “But I think you might be over the worst of it.”
The wagons circled at sunset, and Lark and Lilac returned with a brace of prairie chickens and a fat jackrabbit.
“We saw buffalo again, but too far away.” Lilac’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Little Bear says he’ll try to organize a real hunt soon, though. How is the baby?”
“So much better.” Forsythia laid a sleeping Mikael in Lilac’s eager arms. “Thanks to Maggie O’Malley.”
“Maggie who?”
Forsythia explained while Del cooked the prairie chickens, frying one and stewing another for a rich broth. They invited the doctor and Jesse to eat with them.
“We’re beholden to you folks for all the meals you’ve been giving us.” Dr. Brownsville scraped a spoon around his bowl and then wiped his beard. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Goodness, Doctor, it’s this train that’s beholden to you.” Del held up the ladle. “More stew, anyone?”
“Me.” Robbie held out his tin plate.
“What do you say?” Del cocked her head.
Robbie scrunched up his face. “Please.” Sofie sat beside him on the ground, gnawing a drumstick held tight in her tiny hands. Robbie glanced at her. “And Sofie and me need more biscuits.”
“Sofie and I.” But Forsythia smiled and handed
