“With all that black hair? Those eyes are brown as well. Never saw an Eddington with brown eyes—”
Comment broke off as he reached the table and picked up the blankets that had been on the floor beside a chair. Anxious to leave the room so the matrons could gossip in peace, he charged after Miss Taylor and found himself in Mrs. Warbler’s kitchen.
Miss Taylor had found a rag and dampened it with her free hand in a bucket of fresh water. “Let’s make you comfortable,” she said to Dora while she transferred the rag to her hand holding Dora and reached out to Mars for the blanket.
Dutifully, he handed the driest to her.
“Oh, dear, this is a bit damp, too.” She spoke to Dora but he knew the words were criticism of himself.
Again, with an efficiency he could only admire, she doubled the blanket with one hand and placed it on the center table. Laying Dora on it, Miss Taylor lifted the wet skirts. “We will put you in dry clothes but first, let’s changeyour clout.” She undid the strings holding the cloth contraption in place. “You poor thing.”
Dora watched with solemn eyes interspersed with soft cries of protest. She tried to roll when Miss Taylor started tying on the dry clout. Mars put a hand out so that she wouldn’t go too far.
“Her rolling is a good sign,” Miss Taylor said.
“Of what?”
“She’s strong and very healthy. Do you know how old she is?”
He frowned his answer and, at last, Miss Taylor understood. “Ah, yes, you have no idea.”
“This is not something I’m proud of,” he grumbled.
“No, I suppose not.” Her answer could have meant a dozen things, and none of them complimentary. He let it go.
“It would be nice to bathe her,” Miss Taylor said. “That can be done later.”
Bathe? He wondered how one gave a baby a bath.
He looked down at his daughter, who appeared exhausted, and he realized this was hard on her as well. “Things will become better,” he promised her.
She whimpered her response that was far more forgiving than what he deserved.
Miss Taylor changed Dora’s dress. She wasn’t cooperative. Dora chose that moment to pitch a right royal fit. Just as Mars was thinking,Oh yes, this baby takes after Deb, Miss Taylor said in that false sweet tone of hers, “Why, she acts exactly like you, my lord.”
She flipped the dress over Dora’s head and then placed the baby on her shoulder while drawing the lacings in the back of the dress. Dora turned to root on Miss Taylor’s neck and then put her hand in her mouth and chewed on it.
Miss Taylor started for the door to return to the dining room but found him in the way. He stepped to the side, just as she did. He was still in the way. He returned to his left; she her right. Blocked again—and he felt superfluous.
What he wanted was to hold his daughter. The right way this time. A comforting way. And with Miss Taylor’s confidence.
A sound came from the front door of the house. “We have the milk,” Mrs. Warbler called out. Jane walked into the kitchen with a pail. Mrs. Warbler followed with the sucking bottle in her hand.
“Just in time,” Miss Taylor said and carriedhisbaby into the other room, this time easily bypassing Mars.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Warbler and the maid filled the bottle with milk. They hurried past Mars for the dining room where Miss Taylor sat, cradling Dora in her arm. The baby latched on to the teat like any hungry lamb and the women made soft sounds of approval.
Miss Taylor informed them the baby’s name was Dora. Again the women murmured their thoughts.
From his position in the doorway, Mars felt very much out of place—and yet fascinated by his daughter.
His daughter.
Only that morning, he had lamented the lack of anything meaningful in his life and now hereshewas. And Miss Taylor had praised her strength? Her health?
Maybe hehaddone something right in his life.
Miss Taylor pulled the bottle from Dora’s mouth. Dora had closed her eyes as she ate. She didn’t bother to open them but her mouth tried to follow the nipple, sucking at air. Miss Taylor put the baby to her shoulder and patted her back. Almost immediately, Dora gave a belch that would have made an ostler proud. The ladies laughed and Dora earned the bottle back. This time, the baby placed her hand over Miss Taylor’s as if to say she was going to hold the bottle until she was done.
