Billy pushed back from the table. “Great meal, Grace, thanks.”

“It was the best I could do.” She glimpsed the annoyance in his expression. “Glad you liked it.”

“That’s better.” He carried the dishes to the washbasin and poured boiling water over them, adding from the bucket to cool it off.

“I can wash up,” she protested. He often helped with dishes, and it always made her feel guilty.

He gave her a hard look. “I’m not insinuating you aren’t capable of doing it on your own. Maybe I like to share your company.” He plunged his hands into the water. “Or maybe I just want to get the grease out from under my fingernails.”

She laughed. “I knew there was some underlying reason.”

“Actually. . .” He handed her a plate to dry. “There isn’t. It’s all for you.”

She nodded. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“It seems like someone should do something to help that young woman.”

“Like what?” He followed her shift of topic so quickly she wondered if his thoughts had been on the same thing.

“I simply don’t know.” She added a plate to the pile of clean ones. “But there must be something.”

“I suppose we could—I don’t know. Maybe I could offer to fly her back to her parents wherever they are.”

“If they’ll have her back.”

“Yes, there’s that, isn’t there?”

“Is there a place that takes unwed mothers?”

“It’s never been a topic I explored.”

“Me, either.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be any way for us to help.” He finished dishes and turned to face her. “So you’re finally willing to admit that a baby can’t be held responsible for what happens.”

She shook her head. “I know where you’re going with this.”

He grabbed her around the waist. “I’m sure you do. But humor me.” He took her silence for acquiescence. “Isn’t it time you stopped feeling like you’re to blame for your mother’s early death?”

She met his gaze without blinking, while inside, arguments raced through her mind.

“Let’s take it a step further. Can you see you aren’t responsible when things go wrong?”

“I don’t think I am.”

“Really? So whose fault was it when the wind blew down the clothesline?”

“I shouldn’t have loaded it so heavily,” she mumbled.

“Whose fault was it when the wash tub sprung a leak?”

She refused to meet his eyes.

“Who did you blame when Nellie had problems having her baby? Who did you blame when the doctor was out of town?”

She steadfastly refused to look at him. His arguments made her concerns sound silly.

“Grace, who did you blame when the engine on the airplane stalled and you lost our baby?” His low voice twanged with pain.

“I didn’t blame you.”

“No. You blamed yourself and figured you should have to pay. Do you know how much it hurt to watch you doing that?”

She met his pain-laced dark gaze for a moment and then let her gaze skid away. “When you say it like that, it makes my suffering sound childish.”

He grabbed her hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t hurt because of the baby, nor that you shouldn’t suffer. That’s different. Blaming yourself is futile and destructive. It’s as unfair as blaming Maggie Murphy’s infant.”

She searched his eyes, trying to sort out her confused thoughts. Finally she shook her head. “It isn’t that simple.”

“Why not?”

“I can see it’s foolish to blame myself for things I have no control over, but. . .” Her voice dropped to a strangled whisper. “What about the stupid things I do?”

His face serious, he shook her tenderly. “Grace, you are way too hard on yourself. No one is perfect. We all have to learn as we go along. Often we learn by doing things the wrong way first. That doesn’t make you stupid—only human.”

She let herself drown in his gaze. Slowly she nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll try harder.”

He shook his head. “Stop trying harder. It’s enough to do what you can. And for my sake, have a little fun doing it.”

“I have fun.”

“Seems to me you always end up feeling guilty about it. Sometimes I think you feel you have to take your father’s place. And Irene’s.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

He grinned crookedly. “Seems to me you had more fun when you lived at home. As if your father and Irene provided the ‘shoulds’ in your life, leaving you free to enjoy yourself. Now. . .” He shrugged. “ It seems you’re lost without their control. You try and replace them, and you’re far harder on yourself than they were.” He paused. “And you know as well as I do that they treated you like a fragile child.” His smile grew tender. “You are not a child, and you’re certainly not fragile. Why you are the most self-sufficient, practical, independent woman I have ever been married to.”

The tightness in her throat that promised tears dissolved in laughter. “You are so pitiful sometimes.”

“Ah, but what would you do without me?”

She smiled up at him. “I couldn’t.”

He kissed her thoroughly.

As they prepared for bed, Grace’s mind returned to Maggie Murphy and her child. “I can’t get them out of my mind,” she told Billy.

“I know. Perhaps someone will have already helped them.”

Grace doubted it, but she didn’t say anything more.

The specter of the huddled figure outside the closed door haunted Grace. Long after Billy’s breathing deepened, she lay staring into the darkness. It wasn’t right. Especially for that baby. There had to be something she could do to help. Perhaps there was. Long into the night, she worked out the details of a plan.

Over breakfast the next morning, she broached the subject with Billy.

“I think I know what we can do.”

“About what?”

“About Maggie Murphy and her baby.”

He nodded. “I wondered if you would forget about them. Go ahead. Tell me what you figured out.”

She spent several minutes outlining her plan. He nodded several times and thought about it several minutes before he answered.

“It seems you’ve considered every possibility. Go ahead. Whatever you do has my full support.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you, Billy.”

“You’ll be needing some money.” He went to the bedroom and returned with a roll of bills. “I hope this is enough.”

For the first time she wondered if she was doing the right thing. “This is most of our money, isn’t it?”

“There’s more where that came from.”

She nodded, stuffing the bills in her handbag. “I’ll get ready right away.”

He waited while she gathered up things she needed, then walked her to the car and kissed her good-bye. “I’m proud of you, Grace,” he whispered.

Her heart too full to speak, she waved as she sped away.

She drove slowly up and down the streets, not really expecting to see anything. Partway down the block, she turned into the alley, slowly going its length. Where would they go? An idea came, and she turned down the alley behind the hotel. Again, nothing.

Grace stopped the car to think. She’d need to find shelter and food. She turned down another alley. At first she couldn’t see any possibilities, but then she saw the leaning shed at the back of the yard. She got out and listened. If she heard anything, it was only a cat meowing. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to check. She picked her way to the door hanging by one hinge, pushed it open, and peered into the dim interior. She saw the bundle of rags and the pale cheek of the woman and caught her breath. Perhaps she was too late.

She sprang to the limp form. Large, fever-bright eyes turned to her. She bit her lip. This was no woman, simply a young frightened girl who drew back at her approach.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ve come to help.”

The girl moaned.

“Are you Maggie Murphy?”

The girl blinked, and Grace took it for acknowledgment.

“Where is your baby?”

The over-bright eyes looked toward her swaddled arms.

Holding her breath, fearing what she would find, Maggie lifted the covers. The baby lay very still, eyes closed. Maggie waited. The tiny chest fluttered. “She’s still alive,” she murmured. Barely. She must act fast. But how to get this pair into her auto?

“Old Len,” she muttered. “I’ll be right back,” she told Maggie.

Maggie closed her eyes.

Grace sensed the defeat.

“No. I will. I promise.” But there wasn’t time to argue. She dashed for the car and, driving fast, headed for the livery barn.

“Len,” she called.

“Why Mrs. Marshall. What can I do for you?”

“Can you come quickly? I need your help.”

“Why sure. You can count on Old Len.”

“You can come with me in the car.”

He ambled out and climbed aboard. “I’m not too sure about these things.” He nodded toward the car’s bonnet. “Seems to me you can count on a horse and wagon.”

Grace smiled. “Billy says the same thing about machines.”

“Where you taking me?”

Grace hesitated. What if he refused to help? She couldn’t lift Maggie into the car without assistance. Yet if he wasn’t going to help, he could as easily refuse there as here. She sighed. “I’ve found a young mother and her baby. They’re very weak. They need help.”

He nodded. “Young Maggie Murphy.” He nodded again. “I’m right glad to hear someone has the gumption to help them.”

Her breath gushed out. “Thank you, Len.”

She drew to a stop beside the lean-to and hurried inside, Len at her heels. “I want to get her into my car.”

“And then what?”

She jerked to a halt. “I thought of taking her to the hotel.”

“Good idea.”

Grace opened the cover and gingerly took the infant. The baby meowed a protest. Ignoring the alarm clenching her heart, Grace cradled the infant close.

Len nudged her aside. “I’ll carry this wee thing to the car.” He lifted Maggie like she was nothing. Maggie opened her eyes, saw the baby in Grace’s arms, and sighing, let her eyes close again.

Len put Maggie on the seat, standing on the running board to hold her in place.

Grace nestled the baby beside Maggie, then drove to the hotel.

When she stopped, Len said, “I’ll wait here until you get a room. I wouldn’t be telling them why you want it, if I were you.”

“I understand.”

Inside, she waited for the gray-haired lady to turn from making entries in a large journal. “I’d like to rent a room.”

“Certainly. Mrs. Marshall, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” She handed the woman a bill and took the key, hurrying back outside. “Room seven,” she told Len. “No questions asked.”

“Then let’s get them there right quick.” He took Maggie in his arms and headed inside, Grace on his heels, carrying the infant.

The grey-haired woman glanced up. Her smile froze. She shot out of the chair. “Wait a minute. What do you think you’re doing?”

Len marched forward without hesitation. Grace followed suit.

“You can’t do this.”

“Is there something wrong with my money?” Grace demanded in a firm voice.

The woman hesitated. “Of course not.”

“Then I assume I can use the room as I choose.”

“Let it go, Mrs. Spicer.” Len’s voice, though quiet, invited no argument.

Grace hid a smile as Mrs. Spicer’s mouth dropped open then clamped shut. “Humph,” she muttered, turning back to the desk.

Upstairs, Len lay Maggie on the bed and gave Grace a worried look. “Are you wanting me to fetch Doc?”

Grace nodded gratefully. “I would really appreciate it.”

Len left before she finished speaking.

Grace forced herself to look at the limp infant in her arms and heaved a relieved sigh when she detected movement in the tiny chest. “Hurry, Doc,” she murmured as she wrapped the baby tighter, then placed it on the bed beside Maggie.

Her heart beat loudly in the silent room. Maggie moaned once without opening her eyes. Grace’s lungs hurt. She reminded herself to breathe.

Hearing boots thudding up the stairs, she rushed to open the door. Len shepherded in Dr. Martin. Grace had never met him, but he didn’t pause for formality, simply nodded and turned to the pair. “What do we have here?”

He examined the baby first. The infant opened her eyes and let out a weak wail. Doc shook his head. “I’d say she’s lucky to have survived this long. She’ll need lots of care if she’s going to live.”

“I’ll do it,” Grace said in a quiet, determined voice.

“You’ll be needing milk and bottles and all the rest of the paraphernalia.”

“I’ll get it at the store.”

Len stepped forward. “I’ll do the running for you.”

She shot him a grateful look.

“You’ll need to clean her up. She still has birthing fluid on her. But be gentle. She’s very weak. We’ll start her on sugar and water and see how she does. Now if you two would step out a minute, I’ll have a look at this poor girl.”

Len and Grace waited in the hall. Grace barely dared to breath.

Doc stepped out, shaking his head. “We’ll do our best, but I’ll be frank. She’s not in good shape. Rampant peritoneal infection, poor condition.” He shrugged. “I’ll send over some things.” Grace listened carefully as he told her how to care for Maggie. He didn’t have to tell her the first thing was a bath, the odor was telling enough.

Len left with Doc, promising to return with milk and the rest of the supplies Grace needed. “I’ll tell Mrs. Spicer to send up several buckets of hot water as well.”

Grace closed the door behind them. Her legs began to shake, and she leaned against the door for support. The enormity of the situation hit her. How was she to care for a sick baby and young mother?

A knock forced her to stand straight. A sturdy young girl held two buckets of hot water. “Mrs. Spicer said I should bring you these.” She ducked her head.

“Thank you. Could you possible bring me two more?”

“Certainly, Ma’am.” The girl turned and fled.

Grace tended the baby first, gently sponging the soil from her tiny body. “Poor wee mite,” she crooned, shocked at how lifeless the limbs felt. “It will be a miracle if you survive.” When she finished, she wrapped the baby in a clean towel.

Len returned with supplies from Doc. “He said the bottles are sterilized. Said to try two ounces every two hours. Said to take care of the baby first, then tend to Maggie.” He glanced at the girl on the bed. “Poor soul.”

Heart quaking with uncertainty, Grace poured the warm sugar water into a bottle and screwed on the nipple. She cuddled the infant close as she had seen Nellie do and inserted the nipple. The baby gagged. Grace jerked the bottle out. “You must eat, little one. I can’t let you die.” Slowly, she tickled the little mouth with the nipple, smiling when the baby made sucking motions. Again she tried the nipple. The baby sucked weakly then choked.

Her mouth suddenly so dry it felt like cotton, Grace flipped the baby over and patted her back. “Baby, you near frightened me to death. How am I ever going to get enough nourishment in you?” She tried again, and again managed to get several swallows into the infant. Suddenly the baby fell limp. “You better not be dead,” Grace muttered. “Not after I tried so hard to get you to eat.” But she could see a faint rising and falling of the chest. She checked the bottle. “One ounce.” It would have to do. There was still Maggie to care for.

“Let’s get rid of these wretched rags,” she muttered, pulling one arm out of a torn and dirty sleeve. Maggie opened her eyes long enough to give Grace an annoyed look and mutter something under her breath. “You could give a little aid,” Grace said.

Maggie rolled over enough for Grace to slip her clothes off.

Grace filled a basin with warm water and the solution doc had sent and scrubbed a layer of dirt off. Maggie’s skin burned with fever. Despite the looseness of skin at her tummy, she was thin to the point of emaciation. Once or twice, Maggie opened her eyes and gave Grace a suspicious look.

Grace finished and threw a clean cover over Maggie.

A knock at the door made her jump.

“Who is it?”

“Len and my sister, Maude.”

She threw open the door. Maude bustled in. “Len told me all about it. I made some soup for the young lady and brought you some tea and sandwiches.” Both she and Len had full hands. “Now let me see to the baby.”

She plucked the infant up and tsked. “Not very good, is she? But not to worry. We’ll do our best.” She filled a fresh bottle and managed to get another ounce in while Grace ate a sandwich and drank a cup of tea.

“I’m so grateful,” she murmured. “I didn’t know how I’d manage to do everything.”

Maude glanced up from feeding the baby. “You’re a brave young lady. I admire your stand. It’s time someone ignored the self-righteous old busybodies around town and showed a bit of Christian charity.”

“It’s nothing that heroic. I simply couldn’t stand back and not do anything.”

“Rightly so. Rightly so.” Maude set aside the bottle. “That’s all the wee mite is going to take for now. And we’ll be grateful for small mercies, won’t we?”

Grace met Len’s eyes across the room and smiled at his wink.

Maude paid them no mind. “Let’s see if we can do as well with the poor young mother.” She shook her head.. “Seems a whole lot too young to be a mother, I’d say.”

“What’s done is done,” Len said.

“That’s a fact. That’s a fact,” Maude agreed, opening a jar of delicious smelling broth.

Grace helped her put another pillow behind Maggie’s head.

“Now, girlie, why don’t you try some of my famous chicken soup? Good for what ails you.”

“She’d say the same whether it was pneumonia or warts,” Len muttered.

Grace giggled.

“And have I ever been wrong?” Maude demanded.

“Not so’s you’d admit it.” Grace caught the glint of humor in his eyes.

Maggie turned her head away when offered a spoonful, but Maude coaxed some into her.

“That will do for now, you poor child. You go ahead and sleep.” As she tidied up, she gave orders. “There’s more soup. Give her some every couple hours. And the same with the baby—sugar water every couple hours. I’ll be back first thing in the morning, but if you run into trouble before that, you have Mrs. Spicer send for me.” She paused to direct a word to Len. “You ready?”

“If you say so.” He ambled for the door. “Good luck,” he said to Grace as he shut the door.

Maude’s words carried to her. “She’s going to be need a whole lot more than luck. Plenty of hard work will be needed to get that pair up and about.”

Grace smiled. Maude had been like a breath of fresh air—or maybe more like a brisk fall breeze.

Grace got little rest going from Maggie to the baby and back again, patiently trying to get each to take just one more swallow. As dawn turned the sky steel grey and then pink, sending faded light into the room, Grace stood and stretched.

“Who are you?”

She fair jumped out of her skin at the low words and jerked around to see Maggie’s unblinking gaze upon her. “I’m Grace Marshall.”

“Why’re you helping me?” The look was both direct and suspicious.

“Because I want to.”

“I got no money.”

Grace smiled. “I didn’t expect you would have.”

Maggie closed her eyes as if searching inside for strength. “How’s my baby?”

For a moment, Grace hesitated, but that direct gaze demanded an honest answer. “She’s weak, but I’m managing to get a little sugar water into her.”

“I figured she’d be dead by now.” The words were flat, emotionless, but Grace caught the flash of pain that crossed her features.

“It must have been terrible.”

Maggie didn’t answer; her look indicated the answer was self-evident.

Doc came by to check the patients. “The baby is showing improvement. Keep up the sugar water every two hours.” He shook his head as he looked at Maggie. “We’ll do what we can.”

Maude and Len followed on his heels, bringing fresh soup and sandwiches. Maude helped feed both patients, then left with the used dishes and bottles. “I’ll boil these up and bring then back.”

Silence fell. Grace leaned back in the chair.

“Mrs. Marshall?”

Grace hurried to Maggie’s side.

“I know I’m getting weaker. I feel it in me.” Maggie closed her eyes, her breathing ragged. “I want you to let my parents know about my baby.”

Grace nodded. “Of course.” She found a pencil and piece of paper. “Why don’t you give me their names and address?”

Her voice weak and faltering, Maggie recited the information, then lay still. Thinking the young woman had fallen asleep, Grace rose.

“Wait,” Maggie whispered, struggling to find the strength to continue. “If they won’t take the baby, will you keep her?”

The enormity of the request made Grace’s knees weak. How could this poor child think her parents would refuse to take her baby? To have no one to turn to but a stranger. She swallowed back the sting in her throat. “I would be honored.”

Maggie thanked her with her eyes. “I want a lawyer to write it down.”

Grace blinked. “Of course, whatever you want. I’ll ask Len to send one next time he comes.”

Maggie’s head fell to the side.

Grace tiptoed away and prepared a bottle for the baby.

Len and Maude came again that afternoon.

Grace told of Maggie’s request for a lawyer.

“I’ll see to it right away,” Len offered.

“Could I get you to take a message to Billy as well? Tell him what’s happening and explain I’ll be home when I can.”

Len readily agreed.

The lawyer arrived and drew up papers as Maggie asked and had her sign them. He handed one set to Grace. “It’s all legal and final. If the Murphys don’t want this infant, she’s yours, signed, sealed, and delivered.”

Grace stared at the papers long after the lawyer had left. She hadn’t even had time to consult Billy. What would he say?

Doc came again that evening.

“The baby is much stronger.”

Grace knew it already. The child had taken two ounces in a rather greedy fashion.

“I think I’d like to keep her on the sugar water one more night,” Doc said. “Our Maggie is failing though.”

This also was not news to Grace. Maggie seemed to have spent her last bit of energy seeing the papers were duly drawn up and signed. Since then she had slipped farther and farther away.

“I’ll be surprised if she lasts the night,” Doc whispered. “Do you want me to send someone to stay with you?”

For a moment, Grace’s old fears rushed headlong into her mind, and she wished she could be anywhere but here. But she shook her head. “I’ll be fine.” This was something she had to do.

She slept a little while Maude fed the baby, and then she was alone with the patients, the darkness shutting out everything but the two faces in the circle of light from the bedside lamp.

Maggie opened her eyes. Her mouth moved, but Grace couldn’t hear what she said. She leaned closer.

“I want to see my baby.”

Grace brought the sleeping infant to Maggie, holding her so Maggie could see her face.

Maggie again tried to speak. Grace bent close. “Kiss her for me every day.” She gave the baby one last look. Already the light of life was fading from the too-wide eyes. Slowly, wearily, Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. A shudder rattled through her body, and then she was still.

Grace gently closed Maggie’s eyes and folded her hands across her chest. She would send for Doc in a moment, but for now she wanted to be quiet and remember Maggie’s last words.

“Kiss her every day for me.”

Tears blurred Grace’s vision as she gathered the baby to her bosom and kissed her soft cheek. “This is from your mommy,” she whispered. She breathed deeply of baby scent. Poor Maggie. She hadn’t even had a chance to name her wee daughter.