Thirty minutes later, I was feeling much more secure. Martin's Ruger was near at hand but not obvious, stashed in an otherwise empty drawer in the kitchen, and Margaret Granberry, who'd been glad to come over, was having a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. She was also holding Hayden, who of course had woken up just as I was saying hello to Margaret.

I was ready to take him from her to give him his bottle.

"I'll do it," she volunteered.

Oddly enough, I almost told her no. No, to the first offer of help I'd had with this baby. I had actually opened my mouth to demur, to say that I was used to it, to protest that this was my job.

I forced myself to smile and say, "Here."

Margaret pushed the coffee cup all the way across the table so she wouldn't spill hot liquid on the baby by some accident, and took Hayden gently in her arms. I'd shaken the bottle and tested the formula, so I handed it to her and she began to feed him.

"Have you had children yourself?" I asked, relaxing when it was evident the baby was fine.

She shook her head. "Nope. I don't want to give you more of our history than you want, but Luke and I have been married for ten years. The first few years, we could afford hospitalization insurance, so getting fertility testing was just out of the question. About three years ago, Luke's mom passed away, and she left her money in a trust fund for us. But by that time... I'm quite a bit older than Luke, and though we went on with the fertility testing, we didn't have much hope. Rightly, as it turned out."

Almost happy to have company in my predicament, since it made me feel not so inadequate, I told Margaret. "I'm not fertile, either." When she seemed interested, I told her about my unpleasant experiences with a top gynecologist in Atlanta, and Martin's indifference to our having our own baby. Suddenly I realized how much I was saying, and I apologized. "I don't like to talk about my reproduction problems at home," I said wryly. "It's like people know I failed, and they look at you like you're lacking something. Getting pregnant is so easy for so many women."

Margaret shifted Hayden slightly, held up the bottle to see how much was left. Hayden protested, and she smiled and slid the nipple back in his mouth. "Luke can't understand how women can talk about something as personal as fertility problems," Margaret said. The cold sun lit her red hair until it almost seemed to give off warmth. "It does seem strange to think that in this day and age there are some medical problems beyond fixing." "I know," I agreed fervently. "You keep thinking that this can't be an end of it, there must be something else they can do. If they can accomplish so much in other fields, why can't they fix you so you can have a baby?" "Martin was married before, right? To the Cindy who runs the flower shop?" "Martin has a grown son. You might not know if you haven't been living in Corinth that long, but Barrett's an actor. He's got a recurring guest spot on one of those nighttime soap operas. That's why I think Martin had a kind of 'been there, done that,' attitude about having another baby." Margaret nodded. "It's snowing again," she observed, glancing out the curtainless window before turning her attention back to Hayden. "I'm ready for Martin to get back. I live in the country at home, but somehow the snow makes this place feel even more isolated," I confessed, thinking I sounded pretty whiney and should probably shut my mouth. Growing up in the same general area, maybe Margaret was accustomed to the deafening silence of the snowfall. Had it been very lonely for her out here? "Did you see Craig and Regina much?" I asked.

"Not at first," she answered, after a moment. "We're so much older, and they were newlyweds. And Luke and I are both busy. But they got bored playing house after a while, and then we saw them more and more." "What did you think of the marriage?"

"That's a big question." Margaret Granberry hunched her head to her shoulder to push her flaming hair back behind her ear while she continued to feed the baby. "Were - are - you and Regina close?"

"No. I hardly know her."

"In that case... I'll tell you, I never could quite figure out why Regina and Craig got married. Their friend Rory was here all the time, and between you and me, I think there was something of a m¨¦nage a trois going on ... strange though that is to think of in Ohio farming country!" She laughed, and I tried to politely join in.

Margaret noticed my lack of enthusiasm. "I'm sorry," she said, a smile belying her contrite words. "We tried that Missionary Bible Church last weekend, and the people there were so fire-and-brimstone, the contrast with our lovebirds out here was really sharp."

"Martin's parents went to that church," I said. "At least, his stepfather made Martin and Barby go after he married their mother. They had a terrible experience there."

"I heard about it from one of the women in my book readers' club," Margaret said. "His sister Barbara, Barby? She got pregnant, right? and they drove her out. I hope you don't mind me bringing it up. It's a famous piece of local history."

"That was after Martin's mother died, and Barby was just sixteen or fifteen, very young. Isn't it just bitter, when you can't conceive, how easily other women can?" I made myself drop that line of whine. "Martin's stepdad got up in front of the church and denounced Barby and asked the congregation to pray for her."

"What happened?" Margaret's light eyes were bright with interest.

"Martin punched out his stepfather," I admitted. "Then he joined the army."

"What happened to his sister?"

"She was put in a home for unwed mothers, I believe." When Martin told me the story, and it was one he hated to remember, it was because he was explaining why his family farm was in the hands of a man who hated him. "You don't know the rest of the story?"

"No. Martin was hazy on that part, because he had left for boot camp. I never had the nerve to ask Barby. She and I aren't good friends. Besides which, I know that had to have been terribly painful."

"Giving up your baby? I can't imagine that."

"But then, what kind of childhood would that baby have had in a household run by Joseph Flocken? Mothered by a sixteen-year-old?" "Good points. Ones I should've considered, since my own husband was an adopted child. His parents were just great."

"I'm glad for him. It must be a consolation, to know you were wanted enough to be selected over others."

Margaret shrugged.

"Where do you think the footprints lead?" I asked, standing up to look out the side window. I hadn't wanted to frighten Margaret, but it would have been wrong to ask her to come over because I was anxious without telling her why. "Unless they go across the fields all the way to our farm, I think they'll end in that little grove of trees in that hollow," she said. She'd gotten up with Hayden propped upright on her shoulder, and she was patting him so he'd burp. "Why?"

"Because that's the only place big enough to hide a truck or car," Margaret said practically.

I hadn't thought about it, but if a prowler didn't want to freeze his booty off, he'd have to have come in a vehicle, and that vehicle would have had to be parked somewhere unobtrusive. My neighbor was right. "So how did the car, if there was one, get to the grove?" "There's a little turnoff from the highway there, and a dirt lane runs between the fields."

"Oh," I said lamely. Margaret knew her local geography. "Is that your land?" "That's the boundary between the farms. Regina would walk from there and back to the house every day. I guess she was exercising because she was pregnant." "And you really didn't suspect?"

Margaret looked embarrassed. "I never said I didn't know, exactly. I guess I did think she was expecting. But I had no idea she was as far along as she was." Margaret wrinkled her classic nose. "I guess now ... I should have asked her about it. But I didn't think it was any of my business. The past three months, I didn't see her to talk to that often. Where shall I put the baby?" Hayden had fallen asleep.

"I'll carry him up." Margaret eased the baby over to me, and I carefully navigated the stairs with his heavy little body clutched to my chest. My guest had helped herself to another cup of coffee by the time I came back down. She was looking out the window of the living room, and I joined her. The Granberry's dark green Dodge pickup was parked to one side of the front door, and we stood side by side contemplating it. Margaret was about eight inches taller than I, and broad shouldered, but there was an air of feyness, of frailty, about her. "I just can't understand why Regina wouldn't tell everyone she was pregnant," Margaret said, her head moving gently from side to side in an amazed negative. According to Margaret, Regina had been pregnant... so if the baby I was calling Hayden was indeed Regina's child, he hadn't been kidnapped, and at least that was a crime I could wipe off Regina's slate in my mind. "Why indeed," I murmured, mostly to myself. The only reason I could think of...

Oh, ew, no. I winced.

"You had a thought?" Margaret asked. "You look like you just ate a lemon."

"What if she didn't plan to keep the baby?"

"You mean, give it up for adoption?"

"Maybe. But I was thinking ..." I just hated to voice the thought, and I couldn't even formulate why I found it so loathesome. Margaret was looking down at me expectantly. "What?" "What if she was carrying the baby for someone else?" "You mean, got pregnant on purpose? On commission, like?"

"Or got inseminated with someone else's sperm, so the baby would be the true child of half the couple." At least Margaret seemed to be able to follow my sometimes fractured thinking process. She was nodding. "You may have something there, Aurora," she said. "But I find it makes me think much less of Regina, that she would exploit someone's infertility for her own support."

She began to clear the few dishes off the table, and I began running hot water to wash them. As we washed, rinsed, and dried, Margaret told me about an art exhibit she and Luke had driven into Pittsburgh to see the week before, but I was still thinking about Regina.