The Baby Gift

Briana gave him a rueful smile. “I was about to throw it out. Do you want a glass for yourself? A cup of cocoa?”

He waved away the suggestion, then sat down heavily on the couch. He unbuttoned his jacket but didn’t take it off. He watched her go into the kitchen, pour the wine down the drain, then rinse the glass.

She turned to face him. “Make yourself comfortable, Poppa. Can I take your hat and coat?”

He shook his head, but took off his cap and held it scrunched in his fist. “I won’t stay. Like I say, I just came to see if you’re all right.”

“Of course, I am,” she fibbed.

“He stayed a long time.” Leo said, his tone unhappy.

“Not so long. He read Nealie to sleep. Then we talked a little.”

“He made you cry,” Leo said. “I can see the streaks on your face.”

She felt shamefully caught. She put her hand up to her cheek. “It’s nothing,” she said.

“What did he do to make you cry?” Leo demanded.

“Nothing. He did nothing.”

“Then what did he say?” Her father’s face was grim.

Briana sat in the armchair, trying to look as composed as possible. “He didn’t say anything. Really, Poppa, it’s—private. It’s not easy having a broken marriage. I’m sorry for Nealie, that’s all.”

Leo didn’t look as if he believed her. “He wants you back, doesn’t he?”

“No.” She bit off the word. “He doesn’t.”

“It would never work,” Leo warned her. “He’s not a man who’ll settle down. The roaming—it’s in his blood.”

“Poppa, you don’t need to tell me that.”

“He’ll certainly never make a farmer. Not him. Not that one.”

“He doesn’t want to be a farmer,” she retorted. “He’s a photographer, a world-class one. He’s got a gift, and it’s his duty to use it.”

Leo’s face turned sad. “He’s got a family. It’s his duty to stand by them.” He paused. “He doesn’t want you to come with him, does he? That wouldn’t be good for Nealie. All that moving around. She’s a delicate child. And this is the only world she’s ever known.”

Briana clutched the arms of the chair so tightly her fingertips were numb. “He hasn’t asked us to come with him.”

“That’s good,” Leo said, nodding. “This is the only family Nealie has. Josh has none to speak of.”

“No. He doesn’t.”

Josh had no one. He had grown up in a series of foster homes in Detroit. His mother had abandoned him when he was four, saying she was too sick to keep him. She died a year later of hepatitis. He did not know who his father was.

A difficult child, he was moved from home to home. He didn’t begin to find his way until he was fourteen, when he’d traded a stolen fifth of rum for a used camera.

No, Briana thought bitterly, Josh had no family, and why shouldn’t such a rootless boy grow up into a rootless man? The camera was his real soul mate, the great love of his life.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you and Nealie left us,” Leo said. “I guess I’d have to curl up my toes and die.”

An infinite weariness sank into Briana’s bones. “We’re not leaving. And he’s not staying. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Please.”

“Well, it bothers me,” Leo said, crushing his cap into a ball. “Every time he shows up here—every time he even phones, you moon around as if your heart’s half broke.”

“I do not.”

“And Nealie.” Leo rolled his eyes. “He goes away, and you’d think the sun had fallen out of the sky forever. It takes her days to get over it. The longer he stays, the worse she gets. So how long is he staying this time?”

“I don’t know.” That, at least, was the truth.

“Sometimes I think it’d be better if he never came at all.”

“That’s wrong. He loves her. And she loves him.”

“Indeed he does, and indeed she does. But it’s a painful thing to watch, that’s all I’m telling you,” Leo said.

“Poppa,” she said, “I understand how you feel. I really do. Just be civil to him, that’s all I ask.”

“Have I ever been less than civil?” he asked, his tone pained. “Have I ever so much as raised my voice to him? No. I even asked him to stop and stay with me. Well, he’d have none of it, and maybe it’s better.”

“Maybe it is,” she said.

He rose unsteadily to his feet. His arthritis must be bad tonight, she thought. “I’ll go,” he said, buttoning his jacket. “You’ll think me an interfering old man. It was only that I was worried. He stayed so late.”

“Not so late,” she said, coming to her father and adjusting his muffler.

He pulled on his cap. She walked him to the door. He put his hand on the knob, then leaned and kissed her brusquely on the cheek.

“Maybe this time you’ll get him out of your system,” he said. “Find a different man, a real family man. Have more children. You were never meant to have only one child, you know. That’s been my prayer many a time. To see you with another baby in your arms.”

He kissed her again and left. For a moment, she leaned against the closed door, hearing his last words echo in her head.

She put her hands over her eyes, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

THE BEDSIDE PHONE rang, and Josh picked it up immediately.

“Hi, Daddy,” said Nealie. “I just got up. Can you come for breakfast?”

He’d been awake since dawn, waiting for this call. He was showered, shaved, dressed, had been ready for an hour to go to her. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Panda.”

“Maybe you could take me to church.”

He set his jaw. He had never been the churchgoing sort. But he had expected this. “Sure, Panda. I’ll take you.”

“Hurry. Mama’s making something special.”

“I’ll be there in two shakes.”

“Bye, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

He hung up the phone, stood and went to the bathroom mirror. He’d tried this morning to shave off the rest of his beard. The job hadn’t been a complete success.

The upper part of his face was burned and blasted brown by the Siberian snow glare and wind. The lower part seemed city pale in contrast, and he had nicked his chin in two places and his throat in one.

He tried to adjust the collar of his white shirt to cover the scrape on his throat. He wore a black tie, as well. How long since he had worn a tie? Months. Maybe a year. Maybe more.

He put on his parka and picked up his camera case and left the spartan little room.

BRIANA’S BROTHER, Larry, was sitting in his van in the motel lot, parked next to Briana’s empty truck.

Josh swore under his breath. He knew Larry was not there by accident or coincidence. He was waiting to talk, and from his face the conversation would be grim.

Larry got out of the van slowly and deliberately. He was a big man, four inches taller than Josh’s five eleven, at least sixty pounds heavier. He wore a down jacket that made his shoulders look as wide as an ox yoke.

“Hello, Larry,” Josh said. He did not bother pretending to smile.

Neither did Larry. He wore no hat, and his curling hair was like a dull gold flame under the gray sky. “I want to have a few words with you.”

“Fine,” said Josh.

“First,” Larry said, narrowing his eyes to a squint, “I want to know what you’re doing back in Illyria.”

“I came to see my daughter.”

“If you’d stayed here, you could see her all the time,” Larry said.

That’s none of your business, you moron. But Josh tried to quench the flare of his anger. Larry was Briana’s brother, and although she knew his shortcomings, she was protective of him and loved him. He was family.

“I wish things had worked out differently,” Josh said, and this he meant.

“We all do.” Larry’s words came out in a plume like a dragon’s breath.

Josh said, “I hear your family’s growing. There’s going to be another addition. Congratulations.”

“Yeah. And my kids know one thing for sure. I’ll always be there for them. I won’t never go gallivanting off and leave them.”

You’ve got your job, bullyboy. I’ve got mine. Step aside before I want to break your self-satisfied face. Josh kept his expression impassive. “I’m due to meet Nealie. She’s expecting me. Have you had your say?”

Larry stepped more squarely in front of him. “I hear you made my sister cry last night.”

Oh, hell, Josh thought in exasperation. “She didn’t tell you that.”

“No.” Larry crossed his big arms. “My pop went over there last night to make sure she was all right. He said she’d been crying. You’ve got no right to make her do that.”

The blood banged in Josh’s temples. What could he say to this man that wouldn’t widen the breach between them, make everything harder than it already was? Once again, he tried to push anger aside. “I would never willingly hurt your sister. I would cut off my right arm before I’d knowingly cause her pain.”

“You wouldn’t have to cut it off,” Larry said. “Because I’d tear it off. I mean that. You ever hurt that girl again and you’ll answer to me.”

He put out his ungloved hand and pushed Josh’s chest. It was a slight touch, but full of warning. He brought his face closer. “Understand?”

When Josh was growing up in Detroit, if anybody had been foolish enough to push him, the guy would have gotten a mouthful of shattered teeth. Josh was smaller than Larry, but he knew he could flatten him.

What he did was harder. He held up his hands as in a sign of peace. “I understand,” he said. “And I don’t want trouble with you. You’re Briana’s brother and Nealie’s uncle.”

“You remember that,” Larry said. But he stepped aside.

LARRY’S VAN was faster than Briana’s old truck. He beat Josh to the farm by five minutes. When he walked in the door of his house, his wife gave him a disapproving look.

“Well,” she said. “Did you find him?”

“Yeah,” Larry said. “I found him, all right.”

Larry had gone hunting for Josh Morris with a sense of righteousness. He had convinced himself the man was a threat to his sister’s happiness, his father’s health and his family honor.

His father had phoned last night, upset that Briana had been crying. Leo had fretted and dithered and worked himself into a state.

Larry loved his father, but he knew Leo was not a confrontational man. He would never be able to face down somebody like Josh Morris. Larry considered himself the real man of the family, and it was his duty to protect his father and his sister. If he didn’t, it was a blot on his manhood and a blow to his tender self-esteem.

This morning he had risen early. He had watched Briana’s house, waiting for the lights to go on. When Nealie was awake, she would want her father to come, so as soon as Larry saw her bedroom light flicker into life, he’d gone to meet Morris one-on-one.

Glenda crossed her arms over her softly swelling stomach. She was a lovely blond woman, but lately she looked worn. He supposed it was just her pregnancy, some woman thing like that.

“Well?” She said it with a peculiar edge of aggression in her voice.

“Well what?” Larry asked, hanging his jacket on its hall peg.

“What did you say to him?”

Larry turned to face her, feeling smug, the top dog. “I told him never to make my sister cry again. That if he hurt her again, I’d rip his arm off.”

She looked pained. “You didn’t really say that.”

“Yes, I did,” said Larry. “Where are the boys? I’m ready for breakfast.”

“I let them sleep late. I wanted to talk to you.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “So? Talk.”

“I told you last night what I thought. You didn’t pay any attention. I laid awake a long time thinking about it. You should stay out of your sister’s business. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

Larry bristled. “It’s got everything to do with me. It’s family, dammit. He made her cry.”

“You don’t know why she cried,” Glenda argued.

“Because he hurts her feelings,” Larry said. “He gets her all upset.”

“You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s what Pop thinks. And you know Briana. She’s not the crybaby type. She fell out of a tree once when we were kids and broke her arm. She didn’t even sniffle.”

Glenda thrust out her delicate little jaw. “Maybe she’s crying because she still loves him. She still cares for him, you know. You can see it—if you’d look.”

“She shouldn’t care. He’s no good. He went off and left her once.”

“He’s not a bad man, Larry. He loves his child, and I think he still loves Briana.”

“He’s not one of us,” Larry returned.

“That means he’s different. It doesn’t mean he’s bad.”

“She’s my sister. I’ll decide what I think is good or bad for her.”

Glenda crossed her arms more tightly. “Let them make their own decisions. In short, Larry, you should butt out.”

He blinked. This was unlike Glenda, who was usually so adoring, so compliant. “Hey,” he said. “Whose side are you on, anyhow?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m starting to think it isn’t yours.”

She turned her back and walked away.

“Hey!” he said again. “What is this? And where’s breakfast? Haven’t you even got coffee made?”

“Make it yourself,” she said and walked out of the room.

He stared at her, his mouth open in stupefaction.

NEALIE FINISHED her breakfast because her daddy told her to. Briana sat at the table across from Josh, her chin resting in her hand. He was good with the child, so good.

He looked weary but, to her, still handsome. He had shaved off his beard, and it made him look younger, but his sideburns were tipped with silver that hadn’t been there when he’d visited last.

“And now,” Josh said, “if you’ll promise to eat a breakfast like that every day, I’ll give you a present.”

Nealie’s expression was excited, yet tinged with conflict. “But, Daddy, sometimes my tummy feels funny. And I’m not hungry.”

“I know,” he said. “But you could try. You could remember your promise and try, couldn’t you?”

Nealie’s brow puckered. “Yes. But if I couldn’t eat everything…”

“The important thing is you try, okay?”

“Okay,” she said solemnly.

Josh turned to Briana. “You know where that present is, don’t you?”

She smiled and nodded, rose and went to the pantry. From the top shelf she took the tattered package with its Russian stamps. She carried it to the table and set it beside Nealie’s empty plate. “Daddy sent this. It came a few days ago.”

“Wow,” Nealie said, staring at the exotic stamps. “What is it?”

“Open it and see,” Josh said.

Nealie’s small fingers struggled with the taped box, and finally Briana helped her. She had no idea what the package held.

At last Nealie lifted the flaps of the box. She stared inside at something beautifully white and furry. “What is it?” she repeated.

Josh gave her a cryptic smile. Nealie opened the box. Inside was a pair of boots like none Briana had ever seen. They were white as cream, with dark leather soles and ornamental insets of brown fur at their tops.

“They’re from the Khanty-Mansiysk district in Russia,” Josh told Nealie. “They’re made of reindeer hide, sewn with deer sinew. A white hide like that is special. It’s for someone specially loved.”

Nealie held the boots and looked at them with pleasure and awe. But then a shadow crossed her face. “This was a reindeer?”

“That’s how the Khanty people live,” Josh said. “They herd reindeer. For over five thousand years they’ve taken care of the deer, and the deer take care of them. The deer are grateful so they give them food and clothing and hides to make shelter. A woman named Vika made these for you. She said they’d keep you warm all winter long. That the spirit of the forest would protect you from the cold.”

“They’re beautiful,” Nealie said, stroking the thick white hair. She kicked off her slippers and pulled on the boots. “Can I wear them to church?” she asked Briana. “Please? Can I?”

“Yes,” Briana said, smiling at how the girl wriggled her feet and stared at them in admiration. “But run and change your clothes. Wear your brown pantsuit. They’ll look good with that.”

“Wow,” Nealie said, sliding out of her chair. “Nobody I know has boots clear from Russia. Thank you, Daddy.”

She gave Josh a smacking kiss on the cheek then clomped happily up the stairs, enjoying the sound of each boot step.

Together they watched as she disappeared into her room. Josh gave a sigh of mock relief. “For a minute, I thought I’d goofed. I’d become a purveyor of murdered reindeer.”

“She has leather shoes,” Briana said. “So do I. I thought you explained it nicely.”

“Spend a few months in Siberia, you forget about political correctness.”

She rested her chin on her hand again and studied him. “You never were a great one for political correctness, as I recall.”

“I don’t want to make her unhappy.”

The only way you make her unhappy is when you go away, Briana thought, but she said nothing. Instead she rose and said, “I’d better clear this off and get ready for church.”

She reached for his empty plate, but he clasped her wrist gently and held it. “Briana?”

She looked into his eyes, which were serious. “Yes?”

“Larry came to see me this morning. He doesn’t want me to make you unhappy, either.”

She made a sound of exasperation. “Oh, why does he have to put in his two cents? This is none of his business. Not at all.”

“No. It’s ours.”

“That’s right,” she said, feeling a surge of defiance. “And it’s only ours.”

“Other people won’t feel that way,” he said, stroking her wrist with his thumb. “Not when they find out there’s a baby on the way.”

“I don’t care what people think.” She believed this. She had convinced herself of it.

“You’ll stand against them all if you have to?”

“Yes.” She spoke without hesitation.

“And you’ll do it alone?”

“I can handle it. I know I can,” she said. She prayed that this was the truth and that she had the strength.

He stood, sliding his hand down to lock with hers. He took a step nearer. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I’ve thought about it.”

Her flesh tingled at his nearness, but she did not move away. She felt she must stand her ground. “I’ve thought about it, too. I can do it.”

“You don’t have to face it alone,” he said, his voice quiet. “Briana—marry me. Marry me again.”

CHAPTER FIVE

HIS WORDS struck her like numbing blows, and his nearness overwhelmed her.

“No,” she said, her throat constricted. “I’d never ask you here for that. Never.”

“I know that,” he said. “But think about it. It’s best for everyone.”

She shook her head to clear it. “No. We didn’t get it right before. We—we just can’t live together.”

He bent so close she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips. “We don’t have to. Who says it has to be a conventional marriage?”

She stared at him, bewildered. “You mean it wouldn’t be real?”

Something flashed deep within his eyes—something he immediately shuttered. “Sham? If that’s how you want it.”

“I can’t—” she began.

But Nealie came stamping importantly down the stairs in her new boots. “I love these,” she declared. “I feel like I’ve got big furry rabbit feet. Like Bugs Bunny.”

Briana wrenched her hand from Josh, and he took a step backward.

But Nealie had seen. She stopped halfway down the stairs. Behind her big glasses, her eyes widened, and her face looked both hopeful and perplexed. “You were holding hands. Do you like each other again?”

“I’ll always like your mother,” Josh said. “I hold her hand once in a while. Like she was—my sister.”

“Oh, Nealie,” Briana said, desperate to change the subject, “you’re sweater’s buttoned all crooked. Let me fix it.”

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