Her Hesitant Heart by Carla Kelly Page B

of the snow. “‘I am doing my best to keep Lieutenant Bevins calm while his wife, a real trouper, labors on. Enjoy the eggs. Joe.’”
    They crossed the parade ground quickly because the soldiers were assembling there, some of them still rubbing sleep from their eyes and yawning.
    “What now?” she asked her escort.
    “The corporal calls the roll, and then they go to breakfast,” Nick said. “There’s Sergeant Rattigan.”
    She followed Nick’s pointing finger, the egg basket rocking on his arm, to see Maeve’s husband, standing ramrod-straight for his corporal to finish the roll. Too bad the army didn’t take into account that maybe Maeve needed Johnny more than some forty sleepy soldiers did.
    Since Maeve’s husband was on the parade ground, Susanna hesitated before knocking on the Rattigans’ front door. It seemed a shame to make Maeve get up from her bed. She tapped lightly, and the sergeant’s wife opened the door.
    She could tell Maeve was better. With a smile, the woman opened the door wider. Nick tried to hand the eggs over the threshold and back away, but Maeve stopped him.
    “Nick, since the major is busy, who will eat his portion of the omelet?” she asked. “Omelets don’t keep well.”
    Nick handed the egg basket to Maeve, but came no closer than the porch. “I can wait out here,” he mumbled.
    “No, you won’t,” Maeve told him, her voice firm. Susanna decided she wasn’t a sergeant’s wife for nothing. “It’s too cold.” When he still didn’tbudge, her eyes grew thoughtful. “Saint Paul, how will you even keep up your strength for another missionary journey, without an omelet?”
    “I do believe you are right,” he replied, and came indoors.
    By now, Maeve was leaning on the chair Susanna had left yesterday beside the armchair. Susanna took her arm. “Saint Paul, if you could bring that smaller chair into the kitchen, Maeve can sit down while I cook.”
    He did as she said. “I will bring in wood.”
    Maeve sat down thankfully. “I thought I could do this.”
    “I can help,” Susanna said, taking off her overcoat and putting on the apron hanging on a nail by the dry sink. “Major Randolph is delivering …” She stopped, unwilling to remind Maeve Rattigan that other women had babies at Fort Laramie.
    Maeve put her hand on Susanna’s arm. “Mrs. Hopkins, life doesn’t stop because of my misfortune,” she said quietly. “I know he’s delivering the Bevinses’ baby.”
    “You’re right,” Susanna said, struck by her words. It was true that life hadn’t stopped for her, either. Maybe she could learn something, if she chose to.
    “I doubt it’s any harder than your own situation, widowed at a young age.”
    I don’t want to continue that lie, but what can I do?
Susanna asked herself.
    By the time the omelet was ready for the skillet,Nick had brought in more wood, and Sergeant Rattigan was stamping snow off his boots on the front porch. Susanna glanced at Maeve, charmed at her sudden animation.
I want to love like that someday
, she thought.
    “Saint Paul, you’re mighty handy,” she said, as Nick put the wood by the stove.
    The sergeant helped Maeve back to the big chair. He covered her with a blanket, kissed her forehead and then opened the oven door for another warm blanket.
    “I’m staying here today, Sergeant,” Susanna said.
    “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
    “I don’t mind at all,” she replied, turning the omelet carefully and holding her breath until it was cooking, whole, on its other side.
    “Very well.” He put the warm blanket against Maeve’s back, then returned to the kitchen. The sergeant glanced toward the parlor. “Maeve tells me you are interested in teaching some of the wives to read.”
    “I am.” Susanna gestured to Nick, standing in the corner, to hold out the platter. “I’ll see how that works in with my other duties, and then we’ll begin.”
    Nick may have objected to sitting at the table when Susanna asked, but