The Mistaken Widow. Cheryl St.John

shook her finger under Sarah’s nose, punctuating her next words. “Don’t you move again.”

      A few minutes later, a short, wiry doctor appeared, two starched nurses flanking him. One held a tiny bundle of flannel.

      “Oh!” Sarah pressed her palm to her chest and waited as the woman carried the baby forward. “Can I hold him?”

      The nurse looked to the doctor who nodded his permission, then placed the infant in Sarah’s arms.

      The red-faced baby blinked at his surroundings, much as she had upon awakening. He had fair hair and a ruddy complexion. The eyes he tried to focus were a deep, deep blue, with a look of wisdom more fitting an old man than a baby. He frowned and when he did, he looked just like Sarah’s father.

      “He’s a handsome one,” the nurse said. “He’s the biggest, sturdiest boy we’ve had in a long time.”

      Sarah sighed her relief. Her baby really was fine. Better than fine. Big and sturdy.

      “We’d better take him back to the nursery now, so you can rest, Mrs. Halliday.”

      Reluctant to let him go, the woman’s words didn’t register for a moment. When they did, she blinked at the nurse. “What?”

      The doctor came forward then, and the nurse took the baby from her arms. “I’m afraid we have some disturbing news for you.”

      Sarah blinked. Wasn’t all this disturbing enough?

      “Your husband was killed in the accident.”

      Sarah tried to sit forward again.

      The doctor urged her back.

      “But, I—” Sarah began.

      “You’ve taken quite a blow to the head, Mrs. Halliday. You shouldn’t move around any more than necessary for a few more days.” The other nurse had moved up beside Sarah with a glass of water.

      Sarah drank obediently and lay back. She needed to straighten something out with these people. The room tilted crazily and she lost consciousness.

      

      This time she would get some answers. She ran her tongue over her teeth, grimaced at the horrible taste in her mouth, and struggled to remember. “Your husband was killed in the accident…Mrs. Halliday.” Sarah thought of the kind, red-haired woman and her handsome husband who had so generously taken her in and shared their room and brought her food.

      They thought she was Claire Halliday.

      How on earth could she explain what had happened? Every time she tried to talk to the doctor or nurses, they treated her as though she were feeble in the head and dosed her with laudanum.

      They allowed her to sit up and eat some bland oatmeal and drink a cup of tea. Later, a nurse she hadn’t seen before brought the baby and instructed her to nurse him. Sarah did the best she could, naively, painfully, and watched in wonder as her tiny son instinctively knew what to do when she didn’t. She touched his downy soft head, his tiny fingers, and opened the flannel wrapping to look at his wrinkled pink skin and marvel at his toes.

      He was so tiny…so helpless…and—tears welled in her throat and stung her eyes—so completely and totally dependent on her. Her! How on earth was she going to care for this child all by herself? She had no money, no place to live and no prospects. The realization terrified her. Never in all her life had anyone ever needed Sarah before. And now that someone did, she was unprepared for the responsibility. She couldn’t bear to let him down.

      The nurse returned for the baby later, and Sarah napped briefly. When she woke, the doctor stood beside her bed.

      “Good afternoon, Mrs. Halliday. You’ve made great progress today.” He removed the bandage and examined her forehead. “It’s safe to move you now, I believe. You still can’t walk on that leg for some time. Not if you want it to knit so you can use it like you used to. It was a nice clean break, however, and you’re young and healthy. It will heal quickly.”

      Where was he planning to move her to? she wondered.

      “Mr. Halliday, your husband’s brother, that is, arrived yesterday. He’s waiting for my approval to take you home. I think it’s safe, as long as you follow my directions. You may leave with him in the morning. I will give him instructions for your care.”

      Sarah bit her lip. She was afraid to object for fear they would sedate her again. She pretended calm, nodded and laid her head back against the pillow. The doctor left.

      She could find her baby and leave on her own before morning. Sarah glanced at the bulky outline of her leg beneath the covers. And what? Become a cripple? She really doubted she could put any weight on it, anyway. And what would she do if she ran off? Where would she go? She would be unable to work for weeks—months maybe, let alone care for herself or her baby.

      She thought of her father and her comfortable childhood home, and squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt unbearably to know she hadn’t meant enough to him for him to forgive her. He hated her now. She had to wonder if he’d ever really loved her, or if she’d merely been a convenience as long as she kept the house running and entertained his clients. Going back was out of the question.

      When this Halliday fellow showed up, she would explain to him what had happened. He would be easier to reason with than the doctors and nurses had been.

      Sarah spent a fitful night, waking often, dreaming of twisting metal, cold dark alleyways and crying, hungry babies. Finally, morning arrived, and with it, nurses to assist her. One washed her hair and helped her bathe while the other laid out unfamiliar black clothing.

      “I tried to find something—appropriate—for your trip, Mrs. Halliday,” the nurse said hesitantly. “Your trunks were sent ahead, and Mr. Halliday asked us to shop for you.” Not her trunks, Sarah thought. She’d only had one. Apparently Claire’s trunks had been sent ahead. Obviously, the Halliday name carried much weight, and they were treating Sarah as though she were one of them.

      She looked at the black wool skirt, handkerchief linen blouse and short velvet jacket with eyelet embroidery, all purchased with Mr. Halliday’s money.

      The nurse gave her a hesitant look. “Don’t you like the suit? Buying it ready-made, I didn’t have much to choose from.”

      “It’s lovely—it’s not that, it’s just that…”

      “What, dear?”

      She could hardly leave in the cotton hospital robe she had been wearing. She would have to accept this traveling suit and somehow repay Mr. Halliday. “Nothing. Thank you.”

      The nurses helped her dress, then situated her awkwardly in a wooden chair with wheels and brought the baby to her. He’d been outfitted as well, and was accompanied by an enormous valise. Sarah stared at the flannels and changes of clothing with a growing sense of unease. “Where did all this come from?”

      “Mr. Halliday had them sent for the baby, ma’am.” The nurse opened a round box and presented Sarah with a smart hat made of the same velvet as the skirt and jacket. One side of the brim curled upward, trimmed with black silk ribbon and ostrich feathers. “Do you like it?”

      Sarah stared at the hat, apprehension roiling in her stomach. Where was the man? He’d gone to all this expense without even laying eyes on her, without giving her a chance to explain!

      “You don’t like it.” The nurse’s voice held disappointment.

      “I’ve never worn anything so—mature.” She was, in their opinion, a married woman with a child, she remembered, and she wished she hadn’t said anything.

      “You are in mourning,” the nurse reminded her.

      “Of course.” She accepted the hat and turned to the mirror the nurse held. She would throw herself on the man’s mercy when he arrived.

      Sarah sensed the atmosphere in the room change. Slowly, she turned