Sunset Embrace Read Online Free
Author: Sandra Brown
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Historical
shoulders. "Seems another babe is 'bout to be born."
Chapter Two
M a hadn't returned by the time the wagons pulled out the next morning. Word filtered through the camp that Mrs. Coleman was still in labor, and that she had insisted the train not lose a day's travel on account of her. Bubba offered to drive for Mr. Coleman while Zeke drove the Langstons' wagon.
In Ma's absence, Anabeth, as eldest daughter, took over the cooking and care of the younger children. She tended Lydia with the same detached competence that her mother had. Lydia was amazed at the girl's knowledge of the birthing process.
"I'm sorry you have to do this for me," she apologized as Anabeth wadded up one of the soiled pads.
"Shoot, I done it for Ma her last two babies and I been having my monthlies since I was ten. It ain't nothin'."
When the train stopped at noon, Ma came back to inform them sadly that Mrs. Coleman had died only a half hour earlier after giving birth to a son.
"She was such a dainty little ol' thing. 'Course Mr. Colemans acting like a madman, blamin' hisself for bringin' her on this trip. She'd told him she wouldn't be due until September, long after we reach Jefferson. It ain't his fault, but he's not takin' it too well."
"The babe?" Zeke asked around a dried, hard biscuit left over from breakfast.
"Puniest tyke you ever saw. Barely has enough in him to cry. Wouldn't surprise me none if his little soul departed this earth today." She heaved herself up into the wagon to speak to Lydia, who had overheard the family's conversation. "How're you doin', Lydia?"
"Fine, Mrs. Langston."
"Please call me Ma. Anabeth takin' care of you proper? I'm sorry I can't be here, but that little boy is in a bad way."
"Of course," Lydia murmured softly. "I'm fine. As soon as I'm able, I'll be off your hands."
"Not if I have anythin' to say about it. You sure you're feelin' all right? You look a mite flushed." She lay a calloused hand on Lydia's forehead. "Still feverish. I'll tell Anabeth to keep a cool cloth on your head this afternoon."
Lydia had a new discomfort, but didn't want to add to Mas burdens, so she didn't mention her swelling, aching breasts. She dozed throughout the day, the train having stopped out of deference to Mr. Coleman. Anabeth fed her a hearty, if hasty, supper. Everyone was to gather after the evening meal to bury Mrs. Coleman.
The camp became quiet. Lydia lay in her bed, staring up at the canvas ceiling. She heard nothing of the gravesite ritual except the singing of "Bock of Ages." Surprising herself, she mouthed the words. How long had it been since she had been to church? Ten, twelve years? Yet she could remember the words to that hymn. That made her glad. She fell asleep smiling and didn't awaken even when the Langston clan trooped somberly back to the wagon.
The next day passed much as the previous one, but Lydia didn't feel as well. Her breasts had ballooned underneath the nightgown, and she tried to hide them whenever Anabeth tended her or brought her food or drink. They throbbed and felt full to bursting. She peeked into the nightgown and was alarmed to see that her nipples looked red and chafed. They were so sensitive, even the weight of the nightgown aggravated them.
Ma was still caring for the Coleman baby and didn't return until long after the children and Zeke had spread their sleeping rolls beneath the wagon. Anabeth, Marynell, and Atlanta were all sleeping soundly on the other side of the wagon. Lydia was awake, restless and aching. She was moaning softly when Ma climbed wearily into the wagon. "Lord have mercy, Lydia, what's wrong? You poorly?" Ma bent over the young woman.
"I'm sorry. I ... my bosom."
Ma wasted no time in opening the buttons of the nightgown and examining Lydia's milk-swollen breasts. "Land o' Goshen. I don't know what I've been thinkin' about. 'Course you got milk and it hurts if there's no babe—" She broke off abruptly and tilted her head to one side with the quick movement of a
Chapter Two
M a hadn't returned by the time the wagons pulled out the next morning. Word filtered through the camp that Mrs. Coleman was still in labor, and that she had insisted the train not lose a day's travel on account of her. Bubba offered to drive for Mr. Coleman while Zeke drove the Langstons' wagon.
In Ma's absence, Anabeth, as eldest daughter, took over the cooking and care of the younger children. She tended Lydia with the same detached competence that her mother had. Lydia was amazed at the girl's knowledge of the birthing process.
"I'm sorry you have to do this for me," she apologized as Anabeth wadded up one of the soiled pads.
"Shoot, I done it for Ma her last two babies and I been having my monthlies since I was ten. It ain't nothin'."
When the train stopped at noon, Ma came back to inform them sadly that Mrs. Coleman had died only a half hour earlier after giving birth to a son.
"She was such a dainty little ol' thing. 'Course Mr. Colemans acting like a madman, blamin' hisself for bringin' her on this trip. She'd told him she wouldn't be due until September, long after we reach Jefferson. It ain't his fault, but he's not takin' it too well."
"The babe?" Zeke asked around a dried, hard biscuit left over from breakfast.
"Puniest tyke you ever saw. Barely has enough in him to cry. Wouldn't surprise me none if his little soul departed this earth today." She heaved herself up into the wagon to speak to Lydia, who had overheard the family's conversation. "How're you doin', Lydia?"
"Fine, Mrs. Langston."
"Please call me Ma. Anabeth takin' care of you proper? I'm sorry I can't be here, but that little boy is in a bad way."
"Of course," Lydia murmured softly. "I'm fine. As soon as I'm able, I'll be off your hands."
"Not if I have anythin' to say about it. You sure you're feelin' all right? You look a mite flushed." She lay a calloused hand on Lydia's forehead. "Still feverish. I'll tell Anabeth to keep a cool cloth on your head this afternoon."
Lydia had a new discomfort, but didn't want to add to Mas burdens, so she didn't mention her swelling, aching breasts. She dozed throughout the day, the train having stopped out of deference to Mr. Coleman. Anabeth fed her a hearty, if hasty, supper. Everyone was to gather after the evening meal to bury Mrs. Coleman.
The camp became quiet. Lydia lay in her bed, staring up at the canvas ceiling. She heard nothing of the gravesite ritual except the singing of "Bock of Ages." Surprising herself, she mouthed the words. How long had it been since she had been to church? Ten, twelve years? Yet she could remember the words to that hymn. That made her glad. She fell asleep smiling and didn't awaken even when the Langston clan trooped somberly back to the wagon.
The next day passed much as the previous one, but Lydia didn't feel as well. Her breasts had ballooned underneath the nightgown, and she tried to hide them whenever Anabeth tended her or brought her food or drink. They throbbed and felt full to bursting. She peeked into the nightgown and was alarmed to see that her nipples looked red and chafed. They were so sensitive, even the weight of the nightgown aggravated them.
Ma was still caring for the Coleman baby and didn't return until long after the children and Zeke had spread their sleeping rolls beneath the wagon. Anabeth, Marynell, and Atlanta were all sleeping soundly on the other side of the wagon. Lydia was awake, restless and aching. She was moaning softly when Ma climbed wearily into the wagon. "Lord have mercy, Lydia, what's wrong? You poorly?" Ma bent over the young woman.
"I'm sorry. I ... my bosom."
Ma wasted no time in opening the buttons of the nightgown and examining Lydia's milk-swollen breasts. "Land o' Goshen. I don't know what I've been thinkin' about. 'Course you got milk and it hurts if there's no babe—" She broke off abruptly and tilted her head to one side with the quick movement of a
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