Chapter Five
WHEN ELEANOR WOKE,she was fully dressed and not at all certain where she was.
She sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes and quickly remembered everything that had happened yesterday. But she didn’t remember climbing into bed at all.
She pushed aside the bedcovers and felt for her shoes. There they were, neatly set beside the bed—and that’s when she noticed she was alone in the house. But a fire crackled in the fireplace, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen.
Shoes on, Eleanor ran her hands over the backs of her arms as she made her way to the kitchen. Despite the fire, a chill permeated the little house. She stopped in front of the stove. There was indeed a pot of coffee, and the remainder of yesterday’s bread was neatly sliced and waiting for her.
Eleanor was torn between gratitude that Merrick had done all of this—and guilt at not being awake to do it herself. He likely had to get to work early, and what sort of wife slept through the breakfast hour?
She resolved to do better tomorrow and reached for the tin mug he’d left on the table for her. But the second she began pouring the coffee, her stomach rebelled at the scent.
“Oh, no.” Eleanor fought to control herself as she set the coffee down and ran for the door. She’d just made it outsidebefore she became sick. Standing, she leaned back against the doorframe and pressed a hand against her now calm stomach. This truly was the worst part of expecting a child. She smiled, though, because at least now she wasn’t fighting the nausea on a moving train.
“I thought that might be troubling you.” Clara Carlisle appeared as she walked from her home to Eleanor’s. “I felt that way for a spell early on.”
“How long did it last for you?” Eleanor asked, hoping Clara might mention a shorter timeframe than Rebecca had.
“Not very long. Perhaps a couple of months?” Clara scrunched up her face as she thought. “Anyhow, I had this tea left over and thought of you. My friend Edie, the marshal’s wife, makes it. She can make a remedy for just about any ailment you have.” Clara held out a small jar, and Eleanor took it gratefully.
“Thank you. Do you have everything ready for your little one?”
“I do. I think so, at least. It won’t be much longer now.” The joy of anticipation was written all over Clara’s face. She’d shared yesterday that this was her first baby, and she expected the birth to happen some time around Christmas.
“Well, if you find you need anything, I’m happy to help,” Eleanor said.
“I’d appreciate that very much. I must get to the livery now, but brew that tea. I promise it will help.” Clara tapped the lid of the jar Eleanor held before returning back toward the livery stable.
Feeling much better now, Eleanor set the jar down on the table inside. She fetched some water to clean up outside, and then set about preparing to start the washing. By mid-day, she should feel ready to eat again. Until then, she had plenty to keep her occupied.
She’d just hung her clothing and Merrick’s previously soiled Sunday clothes to dry when he emerged from the shop. “Hello!” she called cheerfully from where she’d strung up the twine she’d found to serve as a clothesline.
He paused, seemingly surprised to see her at work. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” She turned away, embarrassed to think that he’d overheard her this morning. She’d thought the forge was loud enough to have prevented him from hearing anything else at all, but perhaps that wasn’t the case. Or maybe Clara or her husband had stopped by to inform him. “Clara brought me a tea that should help.”
His brow furrowed. “With sleeping?”
“Sleeping?” It took a moment, but Eleanor finally realized he wasn’t talking about her illness that morning at all. He was speaking about the night before, when she must have fallen asleep in the chair. “The tea is for my stomach, because of the baby,” she said as gently as possibly. “I must have been terrible company last night. I’m sorry for falling asleep.”
“It’s fine,” he said quickly, his face turning red.
Eleanor decided that thanking him for ensuring she’d made it to bed would be more than he could bear. So she kept that—and her question about where he’d slept the night before—to herself. Instead, she ran her hands down over the pinafore she’d brought with her and asked if he had discovered any information about Rebecca or Mr. Whiteside.
“I haven’t yet.” He ran a hand over his beard. “Would you want to come with me to the hardware store and the mercantile? After I wash up, of course,” he added quickly.
The simple question warmed Eleanor. “Yes, that sounds wonderful. Perhaps one of the proprietors knows Mr. Whiteside.”
