Baby Marigold waved her tiny fists in the air as she stared up at her big brother.
“You’re being very gentle,” Eleanor said to Davy from where she sat next to him.
The little boy beamed up at her. His gaze moved back to his baby sister for a moment before wandering to the toy train on the floor. “Play train now?”
Eleanor laughed as she reached for the baby. “Marigold can’t play trains with you yet, but it won’t be long. Go ahead.”
Davy scooted down off the new settee, his attention entirely on his toy. Eleanor stood and rested her baby girl against her shoulder. It wasn’t long before Marigold’s eyes closed. Eleanor ran a hand over the fine golden hair on Marigold’s head and debated on whether to try to lay her down. Just as she thought she might chance it, Merrick arrived.
“I set out chicken and bread with butter. And those tinned peaches you love so much.” Eleanor gently swayed with the baby as she spoke to her husband. “Davy, time to eat lunch.”
Merrick crossed the room to drop a kiss on the baby’s head and Eleanor’s cheek. His face and hair were somewhat damp from where he’d washed up outside. “Aren’t you going to eat with us?”
“I may try.”
“She looks good and asleep,” Merrick said with a hopeful note to his voice. Unlike Davy, who’d slept anywhere at any time, Marigold had developed a tendency to sleep only in Eleanor’s arms. Eleanor could usually find a way to lay her down at night, but during daylight hours it was a different matter altogether.
“Say a prayer, then.” Eleanor moved slowly to the baby’s cradle, and ever so carefully, began to lower Marigold into it.
Halfway down, the baby started to make whimpering noises. Her little face scrunched up even though she still appeared to be asleep. Eleanor laid her down with reassuring words, but it was no use. Marigold’s eyes opened, and her cries grew louder.
With a sigh, Eleanor picked her back up. The baby hushed immediately as her mother gently stroked her back. As soon as she settled again, Merrick held out his arms.
“Let me take her so you can get something to eat.”
Eleanor shook her head. “You eat first. Go on,” she said when it looked like Merrick was about to protest. “Davy is waiting.”
He frowned. “All right. But I’m eating quickly, and then I’m holding our daughter for a while so her mother can eat in peace.”
Eleanor smiled and made a shooing motion with her hand. She followed him to join them at the table while Marigold snoozed comfortably in her lap. Merrick dished up plates for all three of them as Davy bounced eagerly in his chair. The little boy was growing fast, but he still needed to sit upon a pillow to reach the table.
True to his word, Merrick ate quickly. He reached for Marigold, and Eleanor handed the baby over with a grateful smile. She’d grown used to doing everything with the baby in her arms or lap—eating, sewing, reading to Davy, even cooking. Clara assured her it was a phase that wouldn’t last long, and Eleanor repeated those words to herself when she grew frustrated. Finding the joy of holding a baby that wouldn’t be a baby for long usually eased the daily hardship.
However, she also relished having both hands free to eat while Merrick cuddled Marigold in his lap. He gazed down at the baby with an amazed look that Eleanor would never grow tired of seeing. It was as if he still couldn’t believe the little girl existed. He’d worn the same expression when Davy was a baby, too, and it warmed Eleanor’s heart every time she saw it.
“The mayor asked if I planned to play the piano again for the Independence Day picnic,” he said, finally looking up from Marigold.
“And do you?” Eleanor hoped he would say yes. She’d had no idea of his ability with the musical instrument until that first summer after they’d married, when Mrs. Schwartz, who had volunteered to play on the piano from the Starlight Saloon, had been overcome from heat. Merrick had jumped in and taken over, and had stunned everyone in town—Eleanor included—with an unexpected, graceful touch on the keys. It was a far cry from Mrs. Schwartz, who’d treated the piano as if it were an enemy army.
Merrick’s singing voice, however, was a different story.
“I agreed, so long as Mrs. Schwartz didn’t mind.” He folded down the corner of Marigold’s blanket. “Do you think she’s too warm?”
“She may be.”
He unwrapped the blanket as Marigold continued to sleep. When he finished, he looked back up at Eleanor. “He didn’t ask if I would sing ‘America’ again, though. Do you suppose someone else plans to?”
Eleanor swallowed the bite of chicken she’d taken, hoping that was indeed what had happened. To have the man who she’d grown to know as quiet around other people burst into song—badly—in front of the entire town was a shock that Eleanor thought she’d never recover from. “Perhaps.”
“Papa sing?” Davy asked, his food forgotten as he stared up at his father.
Merrick chuckled. “Sometimes, son.”
“He plays the piano beautifully,” Eleanor said. “Maybe he’ll teach you one day.”
Merrick shrugged. “It’s not easy with hands like mine, but Davy might have an easier time of it.”
“I’ll ask Rebecca how they obtained their piano.” Eleanor finished the last bite of chicken and reached for her slice of bread. Rebecca’s husband had encouraged her to get one for the children last year.
