The sound of wailing intensified with each step, making his insides clench. What had happened? Surely Naomi was trying to quiet her. Mary Ellen must be inconsolable.
When he opened the door, the cries turned deafening, coming from the direction of the cookstove. Had she been burned? His pulse hammered. He stepped inside, kicked snow off his boots, then shut the door and squinted to see better in the dim light.
A shadowed figure moved in the kitchen area, and he stepped that direction. His eyes finally adjusted until he could see Naomi, holding their daughter and bouncing her gently, attempting to soothe her while using one hand to do something at the counter.
He raised his voice just loud enough for her to hear—buthopefully not loud enough to wake anyone else, though they surely couldn't sleep through this racket. "Naomi."
She jerked, turning toward him. She looked discombobulated, her hair pulling from its braid with little tendrils curling around her face.
Why hadn’t anyone come to help her? He’d expected at least Dinah to be there. "What happened?" He moved closer and held out his hands. "Can I hold her?"
She handed over the babe, and he took the warm weight of their daughter, fumbling for a moment before he secured a better hold.
Mary Ellen reached back for her mother, but Eric pulled her close, turning away. “There, sweet princess. You’re all right. Papa’s got you.” She sat like a stiff doll in his arms, opened her mouth, and let out another piercing, heart-wrenching wail.
He looked back at Naomi. "What's wrong?"
Naomi opened her own mouth and pointed to near the back. "New teeth are breaking through."
He cringed.Breaking through. Those words conjured a painful image of a tooth forcing its way through gum like a nail driven through wood. No wonder his baby howled.
All he could do was soothe her, then. He did the bouncing step Naomi had taught him as he meandered toward the fireplace. The dining chairs had been returned to their places, so the rug was clear enough that he could sit and play with Mary Ellen the way they often did. She didn't seem in the mood for play, but perhaps he could coax her.
He settled in a chair first, ignoring the fire in his chest, just in case he needed to stand right away. Her doll had been left in the rocking chair, so he snatched it and made his tone high-pitched in the toy's voice. "Mary Ellen, will you play with me?"
The girl's sob lost a little volume as she turned to see the source of the voice.
He scrambled for something else the dollcould say. "I like your pretty dress." He moved the figure close so she could pretend to stroke Mary Ellen's woolen nightgown.
Her cry quieted even more, turning to something more like a moan.
As he continued the silly talk, asking questions, then answering them, Mary Ellen curled into his neck, keeping one fist planted in her mouth.
The warmth of her little body against his felt so good. He'd helped. Somehow, he'd managed to distract her enough to stop the tears.
Naomi had been working, moving between the door and the cookstove. Now she approached them, holding out something. "Here, sweet one. Suck on this." It was a balled cloth. Did she just need something to gnaw on, to distract her from the throbbing?
Naomi glanced at him, as though she'd heard his thoughts. "I packed snow in it. Hopefully the cold will help numb the gums."
Ah, wise idea.
She coaxed Mary Ellen to take it, and once she raised the ball of fabric to her mouth, she seemed content for it to take the place of her fist.
Naomi eased out a long breath, then sank into the rocking chair beside him. She turned her head so she could look at them while still resting against the chair back. "I knew the molars were starting to bother her, but this is the worst she's ever been when she's teething." Weariness hollowed her eyes, or maybe that was just the shadows. Either way, she must be tired.
He nodded toward the bed chamber. "Go back to sleep. I'll stay up with her." Even as he spoke the words, he realized he didn't know how long Mary Ellen would be up, or if he should do something besides sit here with her. Should he try to put her back to sleep? Naomi would tell him what to do, surely.
The corners of her mouth lifted, but he couldn’t tell if it wasa true smile. "Hopefully a few minutes with that packed snow will help her feel better, then I can put her back to bed."
Maybe that would be better. The crib was in the room where Naomi slept, after all. If she went back to bed, then he'd have to go in there to lay their daughter down. That felt far too intimate.
A memory slipped in—the other time he'd seen Naomi lying under a blanket. He pushed that image back as far away as he could manage. But his breathing had already sped up, his insides heating.
He forced a slow, calm breath in. Then the same out. He couldn't meet her gaze. She might see his reaction and guess what he was thinking. Besides, the memories of their indiscretion were still too close to the edge.
He'd done wrong that night. So very wrong. No wonder Naomi had turned against him after he went to Washington to help his father. He'd long since begged for forgiveness from God. He'd put it behind him. That would have been harder to do if he'd known that his sin had created a daughter. But he was a different man now.
One who was doing his very best to be honorable. Honest. Upstanding.
