Stuart

Mariska wades through the tall grasses in a flowing green skirt and long-sleeved tunic top. She rests a hand on her pregnant stomach as she picks a yellow flower and twirls it in her fingers. Her hair is to her shoulders now in beautiful waves, and she wears a garland of white flowers like a headband.

It’s late April, and while she looks like she could go any day now, the doctor calculated her due date as mid-May, which means we made the little guy shortly after we returned to Great Falls, possibly that night by the campfire.

Had I known she was expecting Stuart William Junior, I’d never have let her ride with me to track down and capture Jessie, much less help me train and finally tame that spirited horse. We’ve been a lot more careful ever since. As much as Mariska fights me, I can’t help being extra protective of her at this time.

Now Jessie is part of our herd, and she is the calmest horse on the place. Running away and spending a few months fending for herself was good medicine for that wild horse. When I trained her, she picked up almost exactly where we left off in the process, and doesn’t seem to be like her mother, which is a good thing.

Mariska looks up and sees me watching her, and a brilliant white smile spreads across her beautiful face. I can’t believe there was a time I didn’t think she belonged here. She’s made a place for herself in this wilderness. She and Winona spent the long winter days when we couldn’t leave the house exchanging stories of their heritage and beliefs. Winona has done more talking since we’ve taken over than she did in all the days I’ve known her. She’s become like a surrogate grandmother for Mariska.

I spent the winter months planning and talking to the other ranchers and my uncle. In the spring I’m going to bring more horses on the place, and Mariska wants to start a therapy program for mentally disabled kids. It’s something she learned about at UGF—equine therapy. She also wants to add her art to the mix.

By this time next year, I expect the place will be up and running and alive with animals and children and good things coming out of loss or disability.

Last night, as she lay in my arms, we’d spread our hands over her swollen belly and talked about the past and the future.

“I thought for a time I might never have you again,” I confessed. “Everyone kept saying I was like my dad, and as much as I didn’t want to be true, it seemed like they were right. I decided it was better to let you go. I saw what he did to my mom, how unhappy she was.”

Mariska laced our fingers together and pulled them to her lips for a kiss. “Your mother once told me you are a lot like your father, but you’re also half of her.”

“Bill said I’m all me, and if I wanted you back, I should go and get you. It was the best advice I’ve ever gotten.”

She squirmed around as best as she could with her stomach so extended. When our eyes met, that golden hazel glowed like the sunset. “Have I ever told you I love your uncle?”

I chuckled and kissed her turned-up nose. “About a million times.”

With a little sigh, her smile faded. “Losing Jessica then losing you then finding out all those things about my past… I didn’t know who I was anymore. I cut my hair and changed my wardrobe. I couldn’t bear seeing myself the way I’d been with you. I stopped believing.” Her slim arms slid around my neck, and I leaned down to place my lips to hers. “Then you came back, and the shield I’d put up around my heart began to crack.”

My eyes narrowed and I caught hers. “It’s a good thing I was feeling so bad about myself when I saw you with that other guy… I was hurt and angry and ready to punch somebody in the face.”

“You’re such a caveman,” she laughed. “Poor Pete.”

“He would’ve been poor messed-up Pete if I hadn’t been worried you wouldn’t forgive me.”

She pulled my face to hers then, and we were lost in a passionate kiss, which naturally led to other things.

I’m smiling, thinking of holding her in my arms when I see her grasp the bottom of her stomach. The flower drops from her hand, and her eyes flash to mine, round and worried. I’m over the fence and running to her side before she can even finish saying “My water broke!”

In a sweep she’s in my arms, and I’m running to the truck.

“My skirt! I’m all wet!” she cries, trying to get out of my arms. “Let me go inside and get my suitcase!”

“I’ll come back for it.” Reaching for the visor, I open it and the silver keys hit my lap. I jam it into the ignition when she leans forward, both hands on the dash and lets out the most inhuman groan I’ve ever heard.

“Shit, Mariska…” My fucking stomach slams to my feet, and I throw the truck into reverse before skidding out of the yard onto the two-lane road leaving a cloud of dust and rocks in our wake.

“Stuart…” Her eyes are closed, and her face is white. A sheen of sweat coats her upper lip, and fear clenches my chest.

“Are you okay?” She’s too early, and the thought that something could go wrong, the notion that we might lose this one, has me on edge.

“We’re going to make it,” she gasps, but her fingers are white on the dash, and her eyes squeeze shut as she lets out another little cry of pain. “Just keep driving. Be careful!”

I press the accelerator harder. “Hold on.”

It’s the only bad thing about where we live—we’re miles from the nearest hospital. My mind struggles to stay focused and rational as she lets out another long wail from the passenger’s seat. My palms slide on the steering wheel, and I almost shout when we finally get in the city limits.

Flashers on, I treat every red light like a four-way stop, until finally we’re pulling into the circular emergency drive. I throw the truck in park and hop out. Mariska’s still moaning and now she’s trembling. She’s in my arms, and I charge through the automatic doors like I’m carrying her from a war zone.

“We need Dr. Brown,” I shout to the attendant. She’s out of her chair asking what’s wrong, and a guy in scrubs is headed our way with a wheelchair. “She’s in labor,” I continue not wanting to put her down until we’re at a bed.

Mariska’s head is on my chest, and she grips the front of my shirt. I can feel her body straining with every pain, and I wish there was some way I could help her.

“Here, sir,” the fellow with the wheelchair motions for me to put her down.

“Show me to a room. I’ll put her on a bed.” I don’t want to put her down at all then Dr. Langley, Dr. Brown’s partner appears.

“Mr. Knight! I just got the call. Follow me.” He leads the way, and I follow him quickly down the hall.

“I think she’s too early,” I say as we enter the room. Mariska is sitting, leaning forward on the bed with her eyes closed. “She didn’t want drugs, but I think she might be in trouble.”

Her hand shoots out and grabs my arm with such force I almost sit. She’s shaking her head fast, and I peel her fingers off my arm, holding it in my hand instead.

“No?” I say, smoothing her hair back. “What’s wrong? What’s no?”

She looks up at me, and her eyes are so focused. “I wasn’t sure…” She takes a breath. “It’s the right time.”

“Right—it’s not the right time,” I agree.

“NO!” She shakes her head again, gripping my hand tighter. “This is the right time.”

Dr. Langley is at her side now, holding her arm and helping her back on the bed. “You think the due date was wrong?”

Mariska nods quickly, but then she lets out another yell. My stomach drops. “I hope she’s right.”

She’s crying out more, and the nurses are here. I’m out of my jacket and scrubs are shoved backwards over my shoulders so I can stand beside her and hold her hand. Every scream is a burning sear through my insides.

Dr. Langley is very calm, and he talks her through the process, encouraging and guiding her. Mariska’s body trembles, and her face is soaked. Her hair is soaked. I hold her arm and rub her back feeling like I might lose it at any moment and demand she be given drugs, even though I know it’s too late.

I can take pain. I can tolerate enormous amounts of pain, as I learned in the service. I can’t take watching Mariska suffer like this.

An hour passes. The nurse feeds her ice chips. Every muscle in my body aches from how hard I’m clenching. I feel like I’m pushing through every labor pain with her.

The doctor suggests she walk around when suddenly Mariska breaks into tears. My stomach plummets.

“What’s wrong, baby?” My voice cracks.

“I can’t do it.” She’s crying and shaking, her whole body trembling. “I can’t do it anymore. Stuart, I can’t…”

Holy shit. I hold her shoulders, stroking her sweat-soaked head. She grips my arms, and I know how hard she’s been working. I don’t know what to say.

Her head drops, but Langley keeps urging. “Come on, Mariska! Don’t give up!”

I’m not having it. My arms are around her shoulders, and I draw her close against my chest. “She needs to rest. Just give her a minute.” It’s a stern order.

The doctor’s eyes go round, and he levels his gaze at me. “She’s at a critical point. The baby’s almost crowning. We can’t surgically remove it. If she stops now, we could lose them both.”

Jesus! That’s something I won’t allow. My entire demeanor changes. I put my hands on her shoulders and help her sit up. “Come on, baby,” I say softly, catching her chin. Her eyes are wet with tears, and I see the exhaustion lining her face. “We almost have our little boy.”

She shakes her head as more tears fill her eyes. “I don’t think I can. Stuart…”

“Yes,” I smooth back her hair, forcing a smile as panic squeezes my chest. “You can, baby. You’re strong. Bring him here. Come on.”

She blinks at me a few times, thinking. I watch as her eyes roam around the room until at last they return to me, and in them I see that strength she’s always possessed coming back.

Her voice is trembling, but she grips my hand. “Okay.”

Minutes like eons pass as she works through the final stages. The doctor shouts that he’s crowning, and everything moves faster. At the same time, it all seems to go in slow motion until the noise of our urging, the crying and gasping of my wife, the drumbeat of my heart, all of it is cut by the most beautiful, the shrillest scream of a newborn I’ve ever heard.

In a flash Stuart William Junior is in the world, and he’s raging. His cries are strong and angry, and Mariska bursts into teary laughter. He’s swept to a little side area where he’s weighed, measured, and wiped down—yelling his head off the entire time.

I lean down to kiss Mariska’s lips. “He sounds strong.”

“He sounds like his daddy!” she laughs, her face beaming. “He doesn’t like being pushed around.”

The little guy is wrapped in a blanket, and the nurse hands him to Mariska. As soon as she gets him, he nuzzles into her breast. It takes a few moments. He’s rooting and grunting like a newborn puppy. The same nurse steps up to help him find what he’s looking for, and the room falls silent.

Mariska cuddles him closer as he nurses. “He’s so beautiful.”

“He’s dark,” I say, cupping my hand over his dark brown hair. His head is so small it fits in the palm of my hand. “And tiny.”

She leans forward and runs her nose along his little forehead. “He’s perfect.”

“He seems to be.” I touch his little head again gently. “The doc would tell us if anything was wrong.”

Her slim brows pull together, and our eyes meet. “What would be wrong?”

“Just him coming so early.”

“Oh,” she smiles, leaning her head down again. “He’s not early.”

“You said that before. How do you know?”

She sighs, kissing our now-sleeping infant. “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure, but I started having dizzy spells and bouts of low blood sugar about a month after we moved back here. Around when we saw Jessie that first time on our way to the cabin.”

Sitting beside her on the narrow bed, I smooth her hair off her forehead. “That would mean he’s—”

“Right on time.” She lifts her chin and kisses my neck. “We must’ve got lucky the night of our honeymoon.”

I breathe a laugh. “It was a good night.”

“It was a great night.” Her cheek rests on my arm, which is around her shoulders.

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By the time June rolls around, the ranch is busier than it’s ever been. The additional four horses fill all ten stalls in the barn for the first time ever, and we alternate two days a week working with autistic children and with recovering adults.

Mariska is putting her graduate degree to work, the baby strapped to her body like a little kangaroo in one of those carriers. He’s an easy baby. He doesn’t cry much, and he sleeps through most of her work.

Bill returns for a visit, and as I walk him through the barn, he beams with pride at what we’ve done with the place.

“A therapy ranch.” He shakes his head, grinning under that heavy mustache. “Why didn’t I think of this?”

Will is asleep on my shoulder. A cute little brown sock hat with “Cowboy in Training” printed on it covers his head, and his tiny body is tucked in the crook of my arm. We stop at the paddock door and watch as Mariska works with three autistic children and their parents alongside Cheyenne, Dakota, and Jessie.

One of the children is blind, and as he touches Dakota’s soft mane, extending his clumsy fingers and grabbing at the soft fur, a look of rapture settles over his face.

My grip on my own little son tightens. “Mariska’s department chair is excited to develop this program. Mariska expanded her art therapy to include horses and handicapped children.”

Bill is quiet, his eyes fixed on my wife as she shows the parents how to guide their children through touching and interacting with the large, gentle animals.

“She really belongs here,” he says. “You all do.”

Will stirs on my shoulder, scrubbing his little face against the crook of my neck. I can’t help a smile. “You gave me the best advice of my life when you told me to take back what was mine.”

“I only know what I saw. Mariska loves you. You love her. Life is hard, and it dealt you a tough blow. But you’re strong. You’ve always been stronger than whatever life threw at you.”

“You always believed in me.”

“Belief, faith, love. It’s what makes a family a home.”

“I’m glad I have you.” I reach out and squeeze his shoulder.

Later that night as we settle into our bed, I think about my uncle’s words. Mariska is on her side feeding our little son. Her hair shines in the lamplight in shades of chestnut and caramel. I slide in behind her, wrapping my arm around her waist and kiss the side of her neck. The scent of jasmine envelops us.

It’s a beautiful moment, and even though time will pass, babies will grow into cowboys, and the activity will die down, I know this woman in my arms is my home. She eases my pain. She makes me laugh. She’s the only pair of arms I want to fall into when I’m in need.

“I love you,” I whisper softly, kissing her again. She smiles, and I know she feels the same. Come what may, we’ll be here, facing whatever storms arise, together.

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