Abigail Adams
Sleepless, Rhys turned over atop the bedsheets, cursing the heat beneath his breath. His ire faded as he saw Mae undisturbed beside him, the faint whistle of her breath reassuring. Dawn broke through the window, outlining her flushed features and the faint shadows beneath her closed eyes as she lay on her back.
Gently, not wanting to wake her, he placed a hand on the thin linen of her nightgown where the slight rise in her middle showed. He’d memorized every curve of her, and the change was noticeable, at least to his discerning eye. Her child.Theirchild.
He’d still not written to his father and Bronwyn to tell them the news. He could only imagine their joy. His mother’s death had cast a long shadow, and then the war had brought another when Micah died. A Scripture he’d recently memorized rolled through his mind with the realization the timing of their child’s birth was no accident.
To every thing there is a season,and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born,and a time to die; a time toplant,and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill,and a time to heal;a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep,and a time to laugh;a time to mourn, and a time to dance;a time to cast away stones,and a time to gather stones together;a time to embrace,and a time to refrain from embracing.
Now was the time to be born.Lord, let me liveto see it.His full heart felt close to bursting in part anguish, part joy.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling, his hand still on her middle. Mae needed to be free of this place. He could no longer send her to Jon’s. Though the renegades roaming the Highlands had been hung, there were a hundred more dangers. Even the safety of this fort was in continual question. Nothing was a refuge along the Hudson any longer. Not with Washington withdrawing most of the army from the region, leaving only a few hundred men.
Mae stirred, and her soft fingers covered his own. “Soon you’ll be able to feel the baby move.”
He swallowed down the words he wanted to say.I hope I’m here for it.
“We’ve not talked about names.”
He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. “Names...”
“If a daughter I’d like to call her Mahala.”
“Mahala Harlow.” He liked that it echoed Maebel. “And if a son?”
Her sleepy smile brightened. “You decide.”
“Gerard after your father, mayhap. Or Charles after mine.”
“I’m unsure.” She looked thoughtful, even sad. “I’d rather something fresh as befits a new life.”
He pondered that. “Rhion.”
Her brows arched. “I’ve never heard the like.”
“Wyn ... Madoc. Welsh names, all.”
“But none so fetching as Rhys.”
He kissed her brow, overcome by the sweet herbal scent of her. “Mahala for certain.”
“You wouldn’t mind a daughter first? So many want sons.”
“I want whatever God gives us.”
She kissed him as if seconding his answer. Outside, reveille sounded, turning his thoughts from any intimacy. He was to ride out this morning on reconnaissance upriver and didn’t know when he’d return.
“If you sew with Lucy today, bring her inside our quarters instead of going to Sutler’s Row,” he said. “I don’t want you outside fort walls any longer.”
“All right. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He sat upright, running both hands through his untethered hair. “Mayhap.”
She sat up too. “Wouldn’t it unburden you to tell me?”
“Nay, it would double my burden, burdening you.” He left the bed, went to a basin on a table, and all but dunked his head into the tepid water. A clean shirt hung from a nearby peg. He began dressing as she plumped their pillows and smoothed out the coverlet.
“I should return by nightfall.”
