Page 67 of A Rugged Beauty
"I need more biscuit."
Abigail rested a hand on baby Ambrose’s tummy. She’d laid him on a blanket after she'd finally figured out that his constant crying wasn't over the tooth his four-year-old brother Ishmael thought he was cutting but the soaking wet diaper he wore. Now he smiled at her with one brown fist in his mouth, dark eyes dancing as he gurgled.
It’d been a long day of travel. Folks were plumb worn out. These children’s parents had fallen ill, so Abigail had offered to help while the parents got some rest.
"Stay there," she told the brown-skinned Ishmael and his toddler sister Charity. The two young children sat on a crate and short barrel, respectively. She watched them for a moment to ensure they were doing what she'd said, and then went back to diapering the youngest.
Abigail hadn't realized what a miserable state the Fordhams were in. The family was quiet, never caused trouble, kept to themselves. No one in the company had noticed that their food supplies were dwindling. They needed to purchase more flour,salt, and other staples at the fort, or they would run out of supplies before they reached the mountain passes.
Keziah Fordham had been suffering from stomach pains and couldn't keep any food down; her husband was worse off. After Abigail had been called to help them, she'd spent the first part of the evening preparing a quick supper for the children, who were badly in need of baths and their clothes a wash. Abigail had been run off her feet trying to keep up with them after the wagons had circled this evening.
She hefted the baby into her arms and moved to where she'd left the biscuit pan near the fire to keep bugs away.
"I'm full," four-year-old Ishmael said when she offered him the biscuit.
The baby gripped the shoulder of her dress in one soggy fist.
"I done!" Charity, the toddler, spoke non-stop, but many of her words were gibberish to Abigail’s ears.
"She's done," Ishmael echoed.
"Let's clean up—" before Abigail could get the words out, both children had tipped their plates onto the ground, splattering what was left of their food on the ground. They jumped up and began tussling.
"Stop! You're too close to the fire!" She moved to grab one of them, her skirt swishing too near to the flames for comfort.
"What's going on here?" Hollis's voice boomed, startling her and earning a cry from the baby.
Hollis stepped between the two children and the fire, scooping Ishmael into a hold he might've used for a sack of flour, the boy pressed horizontally next to his side.
Abigail swayed gently side to side, patting the baby's back. Hollis's questioning eyes met hers.
"I came looking for you. Evangeline said you'd been over here all evening." His gaze was almost… concerned?
No doubt he'd finally gotten hungry enough to seek out his supper—he'd skipped both breakfast and lunch—only to find the fire cold and no food to be found. She felt a vague sense of satisfaction that then caused a brief flare of guilt.
"These hooligans needed someone to feed them their supper,” she said.
She'd sent word to him earlier about the Kimball family; the Fordhams were their nearest neighbors in the wagon train. He'd have heard that they were ill, too.
He raised his brows as he looked at the mess left by the two plates, now seeping into the ground. Looked at her attempting to calm the baby.
No doubt she was disheveled and probably covered with remnants of food—the baby had been challenging to feed, constantly pushing away the spoon. When she'd given in to him to attempt to feed himself, he'd flung little bits of mashed potatoes at her.
But Hollis’s eyes were warm.
"Children," he said with a pointed look at the two little ones staring wide-eyed at him, "it's time we helped Mrs. Abigail clean up."
Mrs. Abigail.
The honorific in front of her name did something twisty to her insides, and she turned away. Humming to the baby came naturally. She'd never had nieces or nephews, not even little cousins to snuggle.
Behind her, Hollis instructed Ishmael and Charity to clean up. Ambrose finally calmed, lying his head on her shoulder. Or perhaps he'd just worn himself out. He'd been inconsolable all evening. Missing his mam?
The sun was quickly heading toward the horizon. Her own stomach growled. Between feeding all three of the little ones, Abigail hadn't had a bite to eat herself.
Still humming, she turned to find that Hollis and the children had made quick work of cleaning up the mess. Hollis had found the bucket of clean water she'd stashed beneath the wagon, halfway behind one of the wagon wheels. Out of the way of small feet that would knock it over. Both Ishmael and Charity’s faces and hands were clean. That was surely good enough for tonight.
Hollis must've seen the admiration in her look, but his eyes cut away.
