Chapter 30

Elspeth

Thus, began my new “norm.” By day, I was a cook and a growing part of the community. My appearance had been enough to warrant attention, and once the word got around that I was with child, I somehow qualified to become their darling. It was the general assumption that the father of my child was “no account.” If it meant keeping my privacy, I was content to let that viewpoint exist.

By night I tried to become a blogger, writing home-grown advice columns peppered with comfort food recipes. I began to seek more and more freelance writing positions so I could augment my income. I’d brought along the laptop Finn had given me. I had to pay for this baby and then there was the question of insurance. I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to handle it all, but I knew I could do it. I was grateful I’d chosen to get off the bus where I did. It could have all been so much worse.

I was on the Internet constantly, and it was my primary source of contact with the world. Rural West Virginia was quiet and disconnected from the rest of the world so I wasn’t subjected to business or news blaring from a screen on the café wall. I had no idea what was going on in Finn’s world.

A storm came in one evening, and I’d always loved violent weather. I huddled over my computer, composing a post about hair care products when his dark eyes and dark brown hair invaded my mind and eyes. I wanted so badly to look him up, but wouldn’t allow myself to do it. I knew I was weak, and in this time of trouble, I knew I could reach out to him and he’d rescue me. I knew this without a doubt. It was that very reason I had to keep my distance.

I would ruin his name, his career, and everything he stood for if I came in dragging a bastard’s reputation with another one in my arms. My pride had a price, after all.

As I grew in girth, there was general speculation about how I would “get along.” The ladies from the Baptist Church held an impromptu shower for me, and I suddenly had a baby’s wardrobe. Women began dropping off care packages for me; a few articles of clothing with elastic waists, an old crib that had been repainted, a bag of used, but sparkling clean diapers, their patches neatly fixed. It was probably the greatest sense of family I’d ever known in my life. I would never forget the people in this community and their help.

It was a rainy day in late October. Sadie had taught me to bake cinnamon rolls and the smell was escaping through the café’s kitchen fan and customers were piling in, tapping off their umbrellas and settling in for fresh rolls and large cups of Sadie’s well-known coffee. My back had begun to ache just after noon and by two o’clock, I had a pretty fair idea of what was happening.

Nothing escaped Sadie’s eyes, and she went into action. Customers were shooed out of the restaurant and the closed sign went in the window. Sadie had put in a call to the local midwife who showed up promptly. Between the two of them they got me upstairs and the intense labor began.

Sadie had a rocker brought upstairs and she sat there and held my hand, wiping my forehead from time to time as she regaled me with stories of her childhood. This was oddly comforting, but in my heart, I just wanted Finn to be there. At that moment, I’d even have settled for Mother.

The emotions I was feeling were completely out of character for me. I was fearful – of the pain, of the uncertainty of the future, and of traveling the same path my mother had chosen. I was angry for having gotten myself into this position and of not being able to provide the child with a more solid beginning to his or her life. Lastly and finally, I was jubilant – for I finally held my baby son in my arms.

I named him Dirk David Alexander and as the midwife handed him to me, I felt an immense joy and pride. From that moment forward, I no longer lived for myself.

Dirk was a very good baby, as babies went. He slept in a tiny bassinette someone had given me, next to my bed. I awakened every few hours when his tiny hands balled up and he cried from hunger. He became quite the rage with the customers as I took him downstairs with me and his carrier sat in a protected booth at the back of the restaurant. Diners would tiptoe over and peek at him, remark at his dark brown eyes and hair and then leave me a twenty as a tip. If there ever was proof of the expression, “It takes a village,” then Dirk was raised by so many aunts and uncles he would never be alone in his life.

I continued to write blogs at night, rocking his bassinette and eventually holding him on my lap as I one-finger typed. He grew quickly, his rotund baby’s body lengthening into long, lean legs that wanted to stand so he could explore the world.

It was late November, Thanksgiving to be exact. We’d been invited to many homes to take part in holiday dinners, but I wanted to build the feeling that Dirk and I were a family unto ourselves. I’d taken him downstairs and put together a plate of turkey and mashed potatoes that were left over from what we’d been serving all week. I let his tongue touch bits of sweet potato pie, just to give him a sweet taste and he cooed, wanting more.

He needed a nap afterward, and I decided to spend the quiet time writing some blogs ahead for the times when I was busy and tired and not up to it. I was in a mellow, almost sad mood as the sounds of families coming and going could be heard around me.

I felt I was finally up to it and looked up Finn’s name.

I was not prepared for what I found.

It took some tracking and a few sources, but it seemed that the brilliant career of Mr. Finn Tremaine was in serious straits. For unknown reasons, he had pulled out of his own companies, turning over caretaking to a CEO and now had gone into seclusion in his Lake Michigan summer house. The rumor sites showed pictures of him coming out of a liquor store, his hair and clothes disheveled and a beard hid his strong, determined jaw. He was on his way down and no one knew why. Some whispered an addiction—but to what?