The first baby came forty-three minutes after Abigail entered the Mercer cabin.
Those forty-three minutes felt longer than the seventeen years that had come before them.
Abigail screamed until her throat burned.
She apologized.
She begged.
At one point she insisted she could not continue.
Ruth Mercer never raised her voice.
She stayed near Abigail’s shoulder, wiping sweat from the girl’s forehead and telling her when to breathe and when to push.
“You’re doing exactly what you need to do.”
“It hurts!”
“I know.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I want my mother.”
That was the only time Ruth hesitated.
Abigail saw it.
She immediately regretted the words.
“My mother doesn’t want me.”
Ruth’s face hardened.
“Then tonight she doesn’t deserve you.”
Another pain overtook Abigail before she could answer.
Behind the hanging blanket separating the sleeping area from the rest of the cabin, Daniel kept himself busy.
Water.
Wood.
Cloths.
More water.
Anything Ruth asked for appeared within seconds.
He never crossed the curtain without permission.
Abigail noticed that even while half-delirious with pain.
Respect had become unfamiliar enough that small acts felt enormous.
When Ruth finally said, “One more, Abigail,” the girl shook her head violently.
“No more.”
“One more.”
“I can’t.”
Ruth leaned close.
“Yes, you can. Your baby needs you right now.”
Abigail thought of the snow.
Of the disappearing lantern.
Of Samuel’s hand pushing her from the wagon.
Her fear turned into something harder.
She gripped the bedframe.
And pushed.
A tiny cry filled the cabin.
Abigail went completely still.
For one terrifying second, she thought she had imagined it.
Then the cry came again.
Thin.
Angry.
Alive.
Ruth laughed softly.
“You have a daughter.”
Abigail began sobbing.
“A girl?”
“A very determined little girl.”
Ruth wrapped the baby quickly and placed her against Abigail’s chest.
The newborn was red-faced and furious at the entire world.
She opened her tiny mouth and cried again.
Abigail touched one trembling finger to her cheek.
“Hello.”
The baby turned toward Abigail’s voice.
Something inside the girl broke open.
Months of shame.
Fear.
Loneliness.
All of it seemed suddenly ridiculous compared with the tiny life lying against her.
“You’re not shame,” Abigail whispered. “Do you hear me? You’re not.”
Ruth smiled.
Then her expression changed.
Abigail saw it immediately.
“What?”
“The second baby.”
Fear returned.
Ruth lifted the first infant.
“Daniel!”
He appeared at the edge of the curtain but did not cross it.
“Take her.”
Daniel blinked.
“Me?”
“You’ve held calves.”
“That seems like a poor comparison.”
“Daniel.”
He stepped forward.
Ruth placed the bundled infant carefully in his arms.
The broad-shouldered mountain man looked as though she had handed him a stick of dynamite.
Abigail might have laughed under different circumstances.
Instead another contraction tore through her.
Daniel glanced from the baby to Abigail.
“What should I do?”
“Keep her warm,” Ruth said.
“That’s all?”
“And don’t drop her.”
“Ma.”
The newborn cried.
Daniel looked down.
His entire expression softened.
“Well,” he murmured. “You’ve got plenty to say.”
Abigail heard him even through the pain.
For reasons she could not explain, it comforted her.
The second birth was harder.
The baby was positioned badly.
Ruth’s calm face became increasingly serious.
Minutes stretched.
Abigail weakened.
At one point Ruth looked toward Daniel.
“Put the baby in the basket and come here.”
Abigail panicked.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing we can’t handle.”
That was not an answer.
Daniel placed the first twin near the fire and stepped to Ruth’s side.
His face paled when he understood what she needed.
“I need you to brace her shoulders,” Ruth said.
He immediately looked at Abigail.
“Only if she says yes.”
Ruth paused.
Even in the emergency, Daniel waited.
Abigail nodded.
“Please.”
He moved behind her.
His hands supported her shoulders through the blanket.
“Lean back against me.”
Abigail did.
Daniel’s voice came near her ear.
“You’re all right.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Fair enough.”
She almost laughed again.
The sound became a scream.
“Push!” Ruth ordered.
Abigail pushed.
“Again!”
“I can’t!”
Daniel’s grip tightened.
“Yes, you can.”
She turned her head enough to glare at him.
“You don’t get to say that.”
“Then prove me wrong later.”
Anger gave her strength.
She pushed again.
Ruth reached forward.
A second tiny body emerged into the firelight.
But this baby did not cry.
Silence descended.
Abigail stopped breathing.
“Ruth?”
The older woman rubbed the baby’s back.
Nothing.
“Ruth!”
Daniel’s hands remained steady on Abigail’s shoulders.
“Give her a moment.”
“It’s a boy,” Ruth said.
She cleared his mouth and nose.
Rubbed again.
“Come on, little one.”
Abigail began praying.
Not elegantly.
Not the way Samuel insisted prayers should sound at church.
“Please, God. Please. Please.”
Ruth rubbed harder.
The boy made a small choking sound.
Then he cried.
Abigail collapsed against Daniel.
Relief came through her so violently that she shook.
Ruth closed her eyes for a moment.
“Welcome.”
Daniel exhaled.
“I think I aged ten years.”
Ruth gave him a tired look.
“You?”
Even Abigail laughed then.
Weakly.
Painfully.
But she laughed.
By dawn, the storm still covered the mountains.
Inside the Mercer cabin, two newborn babies slept beside their mother.
The girl had dark hair plastered against her tiny head.
The boy had almost none.
Ruth insisted Abigail rest before choosing names.
Abigail refused.
“Their father should have known them.”
Ruth sat beside the bed.
“What was his name?”
“Thomas.”
Abigail expected judgment.
None came.
“He died?”
She nodded.
“Before he knew?”
“He knew we might marry. He didn’t know about them.”
Abigail swallowed.
“My father said Thomas dying was God showing me what He thought of us.”
Ruth stared at her.
“Your father says foolish things with impressive confidence.”
Abigail blinked.
Then smiled despite herself.
“What did Thomas call you?” Ruth asked.
“Abby.”
“Then perhaps there’s something of him you’d like to keep.”
Abigail looked at her son.
“Thomas.”
Ruth nodded.
“A fine name.”
Abigail turned toward her daughter.
Thomas had once joked that if they had a girl, he wanted to name her Clara after his grandmother.
“Clara.”
Daniel had been standing near the stove.
He repeated softly, “Clara and Thomas.”
The babies slept through their naming.
Morning arrived gray and bitterly cold.
Daniel checked outside several times.
The road had vanished.
Snowdrifts reached almost to the cabin windows.
“No one’s traveling today,” he said.
Abigail looked toward him.
“My family?”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“If they kept going, they may have reached the old Thompson station.”
“Will they come back?”
He did not answer.
Abigail appreciated him for that.
False hope would have been cruel.
Ruth prepared broth.
“You need food.”
“I don’t have money.”
Ruth turned around.
“Did I ask?”
“No.”
“Then eat.”
Abigail obeyed.
The broth tasted like the best meal she had ever eaten.
She slept for several hours.
When she woke, afternoon light filled the cabin.
For one frightened second she did not know where she was.
Then Clara moved against her side.
Abigail immediately relaxed.
Thomas slept in a wooden drawer lined with blankets beside the bed.
Daniel had apparently removed the drawer from a chest because they had no cradle.
Abigail touched the boy’s fist.
A knock sounded at the door.
Daniel reached for his rifle before opening it.
An older man stood outside with snow crusting his beard.
“Mercer.”
“Mr. Bell.”
“Road’s blocked east.”
Bell stepped inside.
His eyes landed on Abigail.
Then the babies.
His eyebrows rose.
“I take it there’s a story.”
Daniel’s answer was short.
“A family abandoned her.”
Bell removed his hat.
“On purpose?”
“Yes.”
“Lord.”
Abigail turned her face away.
Daniel noticed.
“That’s enough.”
Bell understood immediately.
“My apologies, miss.”
He introduced himself as Amos Bell, owner of a nearby supply station.
Then he told Daniel the news.
A wagon matching the Pierces’ description had reached Bell’s place before the worst of the storm.
“They asked directions toward Silverton,” Bell said.
Abigail stared.
“They’re alive?”
“As of last night.”
Hope and pain collided.
“Did they mention me?”
Bell’s silence was answer enough.
Abigail looked down.
Daniel’s mouth tightened.
Bell continued carefully.
“They said their daughter had stayed behind with acquaintances.”
Ruth stopped stirring the pot.
“What?”
Abigail’s face burned.
Of course.
Samuel would not admit what he had done.
He would make Abigail’s disappearance respectable.
Bell frowned.
“The father seemed mighty eager to keep moving.”
Daniel looked toward the window.
“Storm’s shut the pass. They can’t have gone far.”
Abigail suddenly understood his expression.
“No.”
Daniel turned.
“No what?”
“Don’t go after them.”
“I didn’t say I would.”
“You were thinking it.”
Daniel gave Ruth a look.
His mother shrugged.
“She’s observant.”
Abigail sat higher despite the ache in her body.
“I don’t want you confronting him.”
“Why?”
“Because I know my father.”
“So do I, apparently. He throws laboring girls out of wagons.”
“He carries a gun.”
“So do I.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Daniel studied her.
There was no fear for herself in Abigail’s expression.
She was afraid for him.
That realization seemed to quiet something in him.
“All right,” he said.
“You promise?”
“I promise not to ride into a blizzard looking for Samuel Pierce today.”
“That wording was suspiciously specific.”
Ruth laughed.
Daniel stared at his mother.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
That evening, Abigail woke to Clara crying.
Before she could push herself upright, Daniel appeared from near the fire.
He stopped several feet from the bed.
“Need my mother?”
“She’s asleep.”
“I can wake her.”
Abigail looked toward Ruth, who had been awake nearly two days.
“No.”
She tried to lift Clara.
Pain shot through her.
Daniel stepped forward and stopped.
“May I?”
Abigail hesitated.
Then nodded.
He lifted Clara with surprising gentleness and placed her in Abigail’s arms.
The baby immediately quieted.
Daniel stared.
“She likes you better.”
“I’m her mother.”
“Unfair advantage.”
Abigail smiled.
For a while, neither spoke.
The fire crackled.
Outside, snow fell silently.
Finally Daniel asked, “What will you do?”
Abigail looked at him.
“When the road opens.”
She had been avoiding that thought.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have relatives?”
“None who would take me.”
“Friends?”
“My father stopped letting me see people months ago.”
Daniel nodded slowly.
“You can stay here until you figure it out.”
Abigail’s eyes widened.
“No.”
“No?”
“I can’t impose.”
“You nearly froze to death yesterday.”
“That doesn’t make me your responsibility.”
Daniel leaned against the table.
“No. It makes you someone who needs time.”
Abigail looked down at Clara.
“People will talk.”
“People always do.”
“About you.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“And your mother?”
From her bed near the wall, Ruth’s voice emerged.
“I am not asleep, and I vote yes.”
Daniel smiled.
Abigail stared toward the older woman.
“You barely know me.”
Ruth opened one eye.
“I know enough.”
“What?”
“I know you protected your babies when the people responsible for protecting you did not.”
She closed her eye again.
“That tells me quite a lot.”
Abigail’s throat tightened.
She looked back toward Daniel.
“You really mean it?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as you need.”
No one had offered Abigail anything without conditions in months.
She did not trust herself to answer.
Daniel moved back toward the fire.
“Sleep.”
She watched him add another log.
“Daniel?”
He turned.
“Thank you.”
He nodded once.
But before either could say more, Thomas began crying from the drawer.
Daniel looked at the improvised bed.
“Your son seems unhappy with the accommodation.”
“He has standards.”
“Already?”
“Apparently.”
Daniel picked him up.
The baby quieted against his chest.
Abigail watched the rugged stranger holding Thomas in the firelight.
She should have been frightened of the future.
Instead, for the first time since Thomas Reed’s death, she felt something dangerously close to hope.
Neither Abigail nor Daniel knew that three days later Samuel Pierce would return.
And this time, he would not come because he wanted his daughter back.
He would come because he had learned she was alive.
And he believed the twins could still be taken from her.