"Yes, it's me." He took her in his arms, sliding one hand under her shoulders and gathering her close. "Everything's all right. You're safe."

"Safe," Maggie repeated. Shivering, she burrowed her face into his chest.

"Hey, that's your bad side."

"I don't care." Her voice was m.u.f.fled.

Caleb smiled at the petulance in her tone. "Here, let's shift you to your other side. I'll be right here." He put gentle pressure on her other shoulder to coax her to turn.

"Wait, I want to see my baby." She sat up and leaned over the side of the bed, peering closely into the cradle. She placed a hand on Charlotte's chest. "She's breathing."

Maggie tucked the blanket tighter around the baby and then lowered herself back to the bed. She followed his silent command, letting out a small groan of pain when she moved.

Caleb spooned her close to him.

Maggie gave a little sigh and relaxed in his arms. "We shouldn't be doing this, but it feels so good."

"Sleep, Maggie. You need your rest. I will keep guard."

Gradually, her breathing evened out.

Only when she slept deeply did Caleb extract his arm from under her, rise, and pull out a wool blanket from a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. He moved back to the bed, covering himself with the blanket and curling around her, breathing in her scent-Edith's soap combined with Maggie's skin, making a fragrance that was all her own. I'll keep the gargoyles away for a bit and then leave her sweetly sleeping.

A few hours later, the baby cried.

Caleb jolted awake, realizing he was still on top of the bed with Maggie. "I'll get her," he murmured. He pulled his arm out from under Maggie, climbed out of bed, and went around the side to take Charlotte from the cradle. When he slid his hand underneath her bottom, he felt wetness. "Her soakers are damp. Change or feed first?"

"I'll change her quickly." Maggie sat up, grabbed some of the new diapers from the nightstand, and spread one on the bed to protect the covering. She took Charlotte from him and laid her down, quickly stripping off the sodden soaker and diaper.

He extended a hand for them.

"Thank you," she said, giving him the wet ones. He dropped them in a pail on the other side of the nightstand.

A few days ago, I never would have imagined accepting a wet diaper with equanimity. Caleb had to smile at the irony. He reached for the small bottle of oil on the nightstand and handed it to her. "We'll have to replenish this in the morning."

Maggie dabbed oil on the baby's skin, pinned on the clean diaper, and tugged a new pair of soakers over the top. "There you go, precious girl. All clean." She pulled up her nightgown, tossing the bottom over one shoulder to bare her chest, and brought the baby to her breast.

Charlotte latched on and suckled greedily.

"Little piggy," Maggie said with an indulgent smile. She looked up at Caleb. "You must be tired. Go back to bed."

Caleb became aware of the cold air in the room. "I really want to climb back on the bed with you."

"It's not proper, Caleb, not when we are all safe."

"I know." Yet, he lingered.

"You need your sleep. You have work tomorrow."

Soon you'll be able to walk and not need me. The thought should make him glad, but it didn't. "I'll see Charlotte back to sleep and give you a.s.sistance to the bathroom. After that, I'll head back to my bedroom."

Once Charlotte slept, he carried Maggie to the bathroom to use the toilet. He returned her to the bed, then took her hand. "Go to sleep. If you need me, just call."

"Thank you," she murmured, squeezing his hand, her eyes already closing.

He waited until her breathing deepened and her grip loosened. For a moment, he felt bereft. Then he tucked her arm under the covers and tiptoed from the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Caleb settled under the covers in his own bed, wishing for the warmth of Maggie's presence, although a little guilty to feel grateful that he wouldn't be woken up by Charlotte's next feeding. How do men who live in small cabins with several babies of stair-stepping age manage? They must barely sleep.

Maybe they take naps in the barn.

Some shiftless fathers probably did just that. But most hardworking men that he knew would have plodded on about their work-for only through their labors were their families fed, clothed, and housed. A heavy burden for an exhausted man.

Maggie and Charlotte have certainly opened my eyes. As he pulled the covers tighter, Caleb sensed he'd still had plenty more to learn.

The next morning, Maggie sat in bed, her back propped up against two pillows, Charlotte sleeping in the cradle next to her. She wore her new dressing gown and had, in spite of her stiffness, managed to raise her arms to comb her hair and braid it into a long plait.

Although her bruises had turned spectacular shades of purple, blue, and green, she felt better than yesterday. Even though Charlotte had woken her up, she'd been so oddly soothed by Caleb's presence next to her in the bed that she'd slept more deeply, feeling secure-something she'd been missing since her marriage, when she had to share a bed with a man who terrified her.

And now he sleeps for eternity in a cold, lonely grave. Maggie shuddered at her own morbidity, thinking again how Oswald had paid the price for his temper. If he hadn't fought with Michael Morgan, and then been driving so fast out of ill humor, he wouldn't have caused the accident that killed him. She made a pushing motion with her hand, as if thrusting Oswald from her thoughts. Once again, she checked on Charlotte.

Her daughter slept like a sweet angel.

Maggie leaned back against the pillows and drummed her fingers on the featherbed. The house was silent with Ben at school, Caleb at the bank or hotel, Edith out making calls, and Mrs. Graves in the kitchen.

While Maggie knew her body needed the rest, now that she'd eaten breakfast, she had nothing left to do until Charlotte woke up. She wasn't used to being idle, and boredom was quickly overcoming her.

Maybe the next time I see Edith or Mrs. Graves, I can ask for a book. The thought perked her up. She'd been a good student and loved to read-something she'd sorely missed in the last year.

Maggie had owned some books of her grandparents, as well as her schoolbooks. But after a wintertime argument with Oswald about the need for him to chop some firewood because they were almost out of fuel, he'd taken the books and tossed them into the stove before stomping out of the vardo.

They'd blazed so quickly, she hadn't had a chance to rescue them. With tears in her eyes, she'd watched her precious books burn, knowing she'd probably never own such treasures again. There wasn't money to spare for fripperies, and even if she pinched pennies until she'd dented the metal, Maggie had known she couldn't trust that Oswald wouldn't destroy any other books she acquired. Even more than the beatings, the burning of her books had come close to breaking her spirit. Only the discovery of her pregnancy had given her a lifeline to hold on to while she navigated the treacherous waters of her marriage and planned her escape.

Now I'm alone like I wanted but without the vardo-the critical element to our survival.

A knock on the frame of the bedroom door made her look up to see Caleb smiling at her.

"Good morning, Magdalena Petra." He was dressed in a black suit, with a gray-and-black waistcoat. In his hand he held a small vase of purple crocuses. "Look what's blooming in the backyard."

She caught her breath at how handsome he was and couldn't stutter out words of grat.i.tude and greeting.

"May I come in?"

Maggie nodded.

Caleb strode to the bed and handed her the vase. "Since you can't go outside yet, I brought some of the outside to you."

She touched a petal still damp from the rain. "Crocuses always make me happy. Such brave flowers, blooming when others yet sleep and bringing the promise of spring after a cold winter."

He peeked into the cradle. "And how is our girl today? Look at her sleeping so peacefully. You'd never know what a l.u.s.ty yell she's developed."

"Oh, I've heard louder from other babies, so I'm sure that's what's in store for me." Maggie looked askance at him. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"And what makes you think I'm not? I happen to be paying a call on a future patron of the bank."

Maggie laughed. "From your mouth to G.o.d's ears."

"Actually, I was heading to the hotel and thought I'd stop in and see how you and the baby were doing. I knew Edith would be gone, and I was afraid you'd have needs, and no one would be near to help."

Maggie felt her cheeks heat. She'd made do with the chamber pot under the bed, instead of using the bathroom, and Mrs. Graves had brought the basin for her to wash up with. "All is well here."

He bent over the cradle. "I was hoping she'd be awake, and we could have a conversation."

Maggie laughed, remembering how earlier she'd hopped to the window to look out at the rainy day. Charlotte had demanded attention, but Maggie had taken far longer to hop back than if she could have walked. Her daughter had gotten quite upset at her slow response. "Some of her conversations are conducted at a considerable noise level, as I'm sure you'll soon hear for yourself."

"Well, I'd best be getting on. Is there anything you need before I go?"

"How are my horses?"

"Jed informs me that they are cared for. Pete's leg shows improvement, and he should be completely back to normal in another day or two."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Good to hear."

His smile crinkled the lines around his eyes.

She bit her lip. "I'm going to have to sell my horses. Without the vardo, I can't afford to keep them. Do you know anyone I could approach?"

The smile fell away from his face. "I'll make enquiries."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Do you need anything else?"

"I'd love to borrow a book."

"We have plenty. Do you know what you'd like to read?" Caleb sent her a teasing, even flirtatious, grin.

Her heart fluttered, and she couldn't think to list some choices.

"Jane Austen? The Bronts? Louisa May Alcott? Lucy Maud Montgomery? Let me think of some more of Edith's favorites." He tapped his chin, obviously thinking.

An abundance of riches. "No need. Those will do nicely."

"Which ones?"

"All of them."

Caleb laughed. "I'll be right back." He turned and left the room.

She heard his footsteps recede and waited with antic.i.p.ation for his return.

Only a couple of minutes pa.s.sed before she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He must only have stopped to grab one book instead of hunt for several. Maggie tried not to feel disappointed. She had to laugh at herself. I'm already spoiled, and I've only been here less than two days.

Caleb's armload of books surprised her. "Surely you didn't have time to select all of those."

"No." He eyed her with a cheerful grin. "But Edith has her own shelf of volumes, and I just stole the whole bunch."

Maggie bit her lip, imagining how Edith Grayson would react when she saw her books were missing.

"I'll leave her a note. My sister won't mind. She seems to have taken a liking to you."

He sounded far more optimistic than Maggie felt. She didn't want to feel beholden to the woman, but then Caleb piled the books on the bed, and she coveted them far too much to object. Her fingers itched to explore each volume and select which one to read first. "You've brought me a treasure trove," she said softly. "While Charlotte sleeps, I'm going be in the lap of luxury, living in this beautiful house, wearing my new dressing gown, and reading books. What pleasures you've given me!"

He stood in silence for a few seconds, looking down at her. "I'm glad, Maggie. After all you've been through, you deserve these small pleasures."

"These are not small to me." Her cheeks heated, and she had to look away.

Downstairs, they heard the sound of a knock.

Caleb c.o.c.ked his head as if listening.

The faint sound of a female voice drifted up.

"My sister must have a caller," he said. "Or perhaps someone has come to make your acquaintance. Are you up to seeing her?"

Maggie cast a longing look at her books. But she'd also like to meet the woman who'd come to call. The sooner I can make new friends and find work to support us, the better. "I'd like to meet her."

"No need to show us up, Mrs. Graves," said the woman, her voice echoing up the stairs and along the hall. "We know the way."

"Mrs. Norton," Caleb told her.

"You go on up," said a second woman. "I want to ask Mrs. Graves for a recipe that was a particular favorite of my father's."

Caleb stiffened.

Before Maggie could question his odd reaction, she saw an older woman poke her head into the room.

"Ah, Mr. Livingston. We've come to see how Mrs. Baxter is doing."

"Better than before, Mrs. Norton." Caleb waved a hand to usher her into the bedroom. "Mrs. Baxter, may I present Mrs. Norton?"

"h.e.l.lo," Maggie murmured.

Mrs. Norton was short with gray hair tightly pulled back into a bun. She had blue eyes and a sweet wrinkled face. Without acknowledging the introduction, she moved to the bed and stopped next to the cradle, peered in, made a noise of approval, and then gazed into Maggie's face. "My dear Mrs. Baxter, you have been through the most dreadful ordeal." She extended her hand. "Thank the good Lord you and your daughter are well. You're from Morgan's Crossing, I hear."

"Yes," Maggie leaned forward and took Mary Norton's hand. "I'm delighted to meet you. Mrs. Morgan spoke so highly of you."

Mrs. Norton squeezed Maggie's hand before releasing her. "You must tell me how dear Mrs. Morgan is doing, for I see her so seldom. I hope we'll have time to chat when she comes to my son's wedding."