The girl grinned, a touch of pink tinging her cheeks. But then she opened her mouth in a lovely soprano. Her voice shook a little at first but gained strength as other voices joined in. This had been one of the hymns the church in Wayneston sang often, so Eric knew the words. When they entered the chorus, he couldn't help but glance at Naomi. Did she remember standing across the aisle from him, singing this very song? If he listened intently, he could pick out her smooth cadence among the others. That clear alto harmony.
He couldn't watch her long or he'd be noticed. Besides, Mary Ellen was squirming on his lap. He turned her so she was facing him, perched on his knees. He sang directly to her, which occupied her focus for a few lines as she studied him, brows drawn in focus.
When she grew bored and tried to get away, aiming for the floor, he turned her so he could clap her hands with the beat. That engaged her for almost a whole minute before she grew restless. By the end of the second song—"Joy to the World,” which Lillian started with a confidence that made it clear this was a favorite—he'd exhausted all the ways he could think of to occupy his daughter.
He glanced at Naomi to see if she wanted to help. Not that he'd ask her to, but maybe she had a trick for keeping her silent during services.
Naomi met his look with a quiet smile, then turned forward again. Clearly he was on his own. But then Naomi glanced his way again, then pressed her palms together and laid them against her cheek.
Was it time for a nap? Yes, this might be about the time Mary Ellen had gone down the other days he’d been here. Should he take her to the crib? Surely Naomi would make that clear if she meant for him to. And he had a feeling that beingstuck in her crib, knowing all these people were out here, would make Mary Ellen restless and fussy.
Instead, he lifted her to his shoulder, and she laid her head on him. This position put extra pressure on his ribs, but he leaned against the chair back to help support her.
The last hymn ended, and Jude rose and stood before them. He held a Bible and glanced at Eric as he began speaking. "We usually each take a Sunday to share a few verses of Scripture and how God's using them in us." He sent a quick look at the others before focusing on the page in his hands. "My passage today is from Jeremiah 55."
As Jude read the first half of the chapter, he focused on the verses that spoke of God's ways being higher than man's.
Eric had read that section before, but it always made him a little frustrated. If only God would give a hint about what He was planning, it would be easier to trust that He truly was leading. That the troubles Eric faced—especially since first leaving Naomi to help his father in the business—were really leading toward an end goal, not merely obstacles in place for Eric to find a way through.
After reading the scripture, Jude spoke of his journey back from New York City and how God had used the events to prove the truth in these verses. He laid out the details of how Angela had been assigned to follow him back to the ranch, how he'd hit his head and lost some of his memories. There’d been something about pretending they were married—Jude shared a smile with his intended that showed there were a lot more stories there. Jude used the story of what he and Angela had been through to show how God had used each piece as a thread in His master tapestry, bringing Angela to faith in Jesus and creating a love between them that was, if the way they looked at each other proved anything, clearly thriving.
Eric had liked Jude ever since meeting him in Fort Benton. The man was quiet, earnest, and appeared to possess a lot ofwisdom. Angela seemed perfect for him—also quiet, as well as intelligent and kind. She fit in well with this group, too, so much so that it was hard to believe she'd arrived at the ranch the same day Eric had. They'd accepted her so quickly and easily, as if she’d always been part of this clan.
Longing wove through Eric, though he wouldn't linger on such a silly notion. He wasn't a Coulter, nor did he have any desire to live in this dangerous land, so far from his life and work back in Washington D.C. It was peaceful here, he'd grant, but there was no business. No industry. No shipping lines or means to transport massive amounts of goods. He'd spent the last two years expanding his father's export business, an accomplishment he was proud of.
When Jude finished his story, he bowed his head to lift a prayer heavenward.
Eric dipped his chin with everyone else, and the weight on his shoulder sifted into his awareness. Had his daughter fallen asleep? She'd stopped moving. In fact, she hadn’t moved or made a sound in a while.
He laid his cheek against her soft, baby-fine curls. She smelled so good, like no other aroma he could recall. Did all babies have this scent, or was it unique to Mary Ellen? He let his body relax, trying to focus on Jude's prayer. But the sweetness of holding his sleeping daughter… She trusted him enough, felt comfortable enough with him, that she could doze in his arms. The weight of that faith wrapped around him like a warm hug.
He wanted to cling to the moment, to keep her safe and close, allowing nothing else to intrude. But the prayer ended, and a scattering of "amens" signaled a return to reality. The others began to rise, stretching and murmuring.
"Look at that snow." One of the younger Coulter men peered out the window behind the large table. "It's falling so thick, bet you can't see your hand in front of your face."
Apprehension tightened Eric's middle.He should have checked the snowfall before now. Carefully, he adjusted his hold on Mary Ellen, then used one hand to push himself up from the chair. Familiar fire seared through his ribs, but he managed to keep his howl down to a grunt as he reached his feet. He paused a second to catch his breath, taking in tiny sips of air until the pain eased.
Then he moved closer to the window, standing behind the brothers clustered there. There wasn’t much to see except a solid wall of white just beyond the glass.
A knot balled in his gut. This could be bad. He had to leave immediately or he might not make it back to the village.
He turned to look for Naomi, but she was right behind him.
Worry filled her eyes. "You can lay her in the crib." She turned and started for one of the back rooms, the one they'd taken Sean into the day of his injury.
Eric followed, slowing when he stepped into the dim chamber. Two narrow beds, along with a dresser, a couple of chairs and trunks, and a crib against the far wall. Naomi stood beside it, waiting for him. He crossed to her, then eased Mary Ellen off his shoulder and laid her down, his ribs burning as he bent. As long as he didn't breathe, he could keep from showing the pain.
Naomi arranged a small quilt over their daughter, tucking it gently around her, making sure she was snug and warm. She moved with such maternal grace, her touch soft and steady, a testament to the many times she must have performed this routine. Eric lingered by the crib, watching Mary Ellen's chest rise and fall in a rhythm that pulled at his heart with strings he hadn’t even known existed.
He lifted his gaze to Naomi, who was gazing at their daughter. The love in her eyes nearly made her glow. Exactly like the angel she was.
She must have felt his attention, for she glanced at him. Those beautiful brown eyes still held a vulnerable tenderness that made something ache deep within his chest. These twofemales...they were the most important people in his life. If only this moment of connection could last forever.
But then Naomi's gaze flicked toward the open door, and her brow furrowed. "I think the weather’s turned awful." Her whisper was filled with worry.
The reminder felt like a plunge into the snow piling up outside. He didn’t want to think about what lay ahead in the ride back to the village. "I’d better go."
"It's too dangerous. I'll talk to Jericho. Maybe you can stay here."
