Wedded For The Baby. Dorothy Clark

blanket close about the baby and listened to the rumble of the buggy wheels, the sound of water rippling over rocks in the creek that flowed alongside the road—anything to keep her from thinking about what she’d done.

      A large house with a turret loomed out of the darkness, the white paint glowing in the moonlight. She stared, surprised at the size and style of it. “What a lovely home.” She glanced sidewise at Trace, sitting on the seat beside her. “It looks...a bit out of place out here in the wild.”

      He nodded, urged the horse forward. “That is the Ferndale home. John Ferndale is the town founder.” He glanced her way. “He owns this valley. And he wants Whisper Creek to be a village patterned after the towns back east.” He faced forward again. “The Ferndales are older, but I believe you will find his wife pleasant.”

      Mr. Ferndale—the man who held his contract. Was that a subtle warning? “I’m sure I will.” Cold air swept across the road, chilled her face and neck and sent a shiver down her spine despite the snug velvet collar on her gray tweed coat.

      “We’re almost there.”

      The buggy rocked over a rut. She tightened her hold on the baby, braced herself with her feet and peered into the growing darkness. A short distance ahead, the dark form of a building stood in front of the towering pines at the foot of the mountains that embraced the valley. Judging by the shape, it had to be some sort of outbuilding. “Is that your stable?”

      “No. That is my house.”

      She squinted to bring the lines of the building into sharper focus against the trees and made out what looked like a porch wrapped around the strange building. She stared at the yellow blurs that took the form of windows as they neared. It was...different. She looked over at Trace Warren.

      “It’s an octagonal house.”

      “I’ve never seen such a house.” She faced front again, studied it as they approached. “It’s odd—but very attractive.”

      “And most efficient. A few years ago I made a hou—I had occasion to pay a visit to a man who owned one. It was an exceptionally hot day in August, and the man’s house was pleasantly cool. I decided then and there, if the opportunity arose, I would build one.” He halted the horse.

      A small man wearing the hat and tunic of a Chinese laborer stepped out of the shadow of a large tree and gripped the cheek strap of the mare.

      “This is Ah Key. He is going with me to the station for your trunks.” Trace Warren stepped down from the buggy, grabbed the baby’s valise, came around to her side and held up his hand.

      She acknowledged Ah Key’s polite bow with a smile and a dip of her head then cradled the baby close, placed her hand in Trace’s and stepped down. He helped her up the three steps to the wraparound porch and opened the door.

      The entrance was triangular with a black-and-white tile floor. A table with an oil lamp and a silver tray stood beside an open doorway in the short wall on the left. The room beyond appeared to be the sitting room. The doorway on her right was dark.

      “Would you like to tour the downstairs, Katherine? Or would you rather go upstairs to the baby’s bedroom and yours?”

      Her need to be alone was stronger than her curiosity. She looked down at the sleeping baby. “I think it would be best if I go upstairs and put the baby to bed.”

      “Do you need me to carry him up the stairs for you?”

      Her arms tightened on the bundle in her arms. “No, thank you. I can manage.”

      He nodded and motioned her through a doorway into a center hall with a beautiful stairway. “The kitchen is through that doorway straight ahead.”

      She glanced into the kitchen, then gripped the banister with her free hand and started up the stairs to a landing, turned and climbed to a second landing. The carpet runner was soft beneath her feet and quieted his footsteps behind her, but nothing could dull her awareness of his presence.

      “We’ll turn right and walk down the hall when we reach the top.”

      If she reached the top. The trembling in her legs was getting worse. She wanted to turn and run back down the stairs and all the way to the train station. She looked down at the baby and finished climbing the stairs. Pewter wall sconces lit a long hallway.

      “That is my bedroom.”

      She glanced at the closed door and continued walking, turned right into a connecting hall, her heart pounding.

      “That door straight ahead opens into your bedroom. This smaller room on the left is for the baby. A dressing room joins them.”

      He opened the door and she stepped into the baby’s room, stopped and stared. “It’s beautiful!”

      “I tried to prepare as best I could for the infant. I take it from your surprise you were expecting...less.” He frowned and set the baby’s valise down on the floor.

      “I wasn’t expecting anything, Mr. Warren.” She squared her shoulders as best she could and looked at him. “I’ve only been responsible for this baby since this morning.”

      He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “You’re right. I apologize, Katherine. Please excuse my foolish remark. This unexpected turn of what was already an odd situation has taken me by surprise, as well. Now, if you will excuse me, Ah Key is waiting. Please make yourself comfortable. Should you need anything for the baby before my return, I have a store of supplies for him in the kitchen.” He stepped back into the hall and closed the door.

      She took a deep, calming breath and looked around. There was a shuttered window with a lit oil lamp on the stand beneath it in the center of the outside wall. Shelves hung on the wall to the window’s left, a painted chest beneath them. There was a small heating stove and a large wardrobe at one end, and a wood rocker with a pad on its seat, and a wood and wicker crib at the other. An oval, fringed rug covered most of the polished wood floor.

      Mr. Warren had, indeed, prepared for Miss Howard’s baby. Her chest constricted. Thankfully, she had accepted his strange offer of marriage. If she hadn’t, according to Mr. Warren, this house and all that he had done to give the baby comfort would have been lost. The thought gave her pause—and further purpose. She would have to be very careful not to betray the truth of their in-name-only marriage to the townspeople. Mr. Warren—no, Trace—must have a chance to save this lovely home and his apothecary shop. And for the baby’s sake, she would do all she could to help him.

      The quivering in her legs had stopped. She carried the baby to the crib and tucked him beneath the blue-and-white woven coverlet, rubbed her tired arms while she waited to make sure he stayed asleep. It was odd how empty her arms felt without him. He gave a little wiggle, and his tiny lips moved in and out, making those small sucking sounds.

      She smiled, walked over and picked up the valise. The used bottles had to be cleaned. And the soiled diapers she had wrapped in a blanket had to be washed. What should she do with them?

      He had mentioned a dressing room. Where... She pursed her lips and looked around. If her bedroom was at the end of the hall, then the dressing room had to be through that door close to where the crib sat. She tiptoed to the door and opened it.

      “Oh, my...” Her gaze darted from one object to another outlined by the moonlight flowing through the window in the long wall of the triangular room. There was a bathing tub with two spigots attached at the end, a washstand—again with two spigots attached—and one of those flush-down water closets. A small table sat beside the window.

      She jerked around at a bump from the other side of the wall behind her. That would be where her bedroom was located. She put the valise on the table, moved to the connecting door and looked in. Trace Warren was standing on the far side of a large bedroom with one of her trunks at his feet. He glanced her way.

      “I wasn’t sure if you wanted your trunks here in the bedroom, or in the closet.”

      “The closet?”

      “Through