Mail-Order Christmas Baby. Sherri Shackelford
“Her words don’t make any sense. They’re just sounds.”
“Gra.” The child spit out the ribbons. “Gra.”
“My point exactly!”
If only she could stir awake from this nightmare and have a good laugh over the ridiculous turn of events. She’d done everything right. She’d followed all the rules. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with red hair. That particular trait harkened back to a grandfather she’d never met. If she had brown hair, they’d be less inclined to suspect her.
Sterling rubbed his forehead with a thumb and forefinger. “Heather, if you say that you haven’t seen this child before today, I believe you. We all believe you. But half the town heard what she said, and the other half is going to hear by suppertime.”
His placating tone made her lift her chin. “If you believe me, then stop debating the point and get down to business. The only way for us to clear our names is to find the real parents.”
“That’s all fine and good,” Sterling said quietly. Though he spoke low, everyone in the church was listening. “But where do we even start?”
Heather lost her patience. He was lying. He didn’t believe her. She clasped her trembling hands together. Even she had to admit the proof against her was incriminating. It was her word against the writing on a piece of paper. How did one refute a scrap of paper?
“Even if you think I might betray Dillon,” she said, “Sterling would never betray his brother.”
The reverend’s chin jutted out, splaying his gray whiskers like porcupine quills. “A point to be considered.”
The observation had mollified the reverend more than her denials, a demoralizing realization. Why was she the one being judged and questioned instead of the Blackwells?
Sterling turned toward her, but she kept her gaze rigidly forward.
“She’s right,” Otto declared. “I’ve known those two brothers since they were babes. They’re thick as thieves.”
The reverend rocked back on his heels. “All right, then. Everyone in this room agrees, for the moment, that Sterling and Heather are telling the truth. How do you propose we convince the rest of the town?”
“That there is a real problem.” Otto slapped his hat against his thigh. “Folks are going to expect the two of you to get hitched, and quick.”
“Out of the question,” Sterling announced.
Heather crossed her arms. “You needn’t make it sound as though it’s a hanging offense.”
As though this day wasn’t already humiliating enough.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Sterling’s face suffused with color. “I was thinking of Dillon.”
“There is nothing between the two of us.” Heather bit her lip and collected herself. “There never was.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Enough,” the reverend interceded. “Arguing will get us nowhere. Both of you claim that you’ve never seen the child before today. That’s where we start. Where was the child before this afternoon when she arrived at the train depot?”
The emphasis he put on claim gave Heather pause, but she pushed past the doubt. “If we can both agree that we know nothing about that child, then someone falsified that Return of Birth. Who has the ability to do something like that?”
“The question is why?” Reverend Morris interjected. “Why would someone choose the two of you? There is no rhyme or reason to the lie.”
The slant of his question implied an automatic guilt that set her teeth on edge.
“Why or who? Both questions lead to the same answer.” Heather tugged on the soggy strings of her bonnet, having been recently abandoned by the babe in favor of a bit of lace on her frock. “If we’re telling the truth, people should believe us.”
The reverend clasped the inside of his elbow and rested his chin on his opposite hand. “Heather, be reasonable. You must understand how this looks. Just over two years ago, you unexpectedly left town for several months.”
“If everyone who left town for a few months had a baby, the world would be overrun with children!”
“This looks very bad for the both of you,” the reverend forged ahead. “Which is a small sacrifice when you consider what this poor child has been through. She’s been taken from her home and put in the care of strangers. We don’t know what’s happened to her family, or if she’ll ever see them again. This is more than an inconvenience we can sweep under the rug. This is a grave responsibility beyond the three of us.”
Grace grinned, revealing two lone teeth with her silly smile. Unexpected tears threatened, and Heather blinked rapidly. She’d been so caught up in her own troubles, she hadn’t even considered the child’s circumstances. Grace had been sent through the post like an order from the Montgomery Ward catalog. The child must have been cared for at one time considering her health and the quality of her clothing. What had made someone desperate enough to place her child in the care of strangers?
“If Grace’s mother made the choice out of necessity,” Heather said, “then she’ll be missing her child terribly. Perhaps we can help.”
Grace reached for her, and Heather folded her into her arms. By the looks on the gentlemen’s faces, the gesture was further proof against her. Perhaps it was the red hair, but Heather was drawn to the child. Grace appeared to be a sweet and loving girl who only wanted to be loved in return.
Sterling extended his hand, and Grace clasped his finger. She pulled the digit toward her mouth and Sterling frowned.
“No biting,” he said, his tone firm but gentle.
Grace released his finger and reached for his hat. With an indulgent grin, Sterling ducked his head and let her grasp the brim.
“You’re as pretty as a prizewinning peach at a summer fair,” he said.
Heather’s heart softened toward the child. The poor thing was powerless and at the mercy of strangers. Despite everything she’d been through, the babe appeared remarkably good-natured. Whatever her origins, she was a resilient child.
“Wells Fargo is a good place to start,” Otto said. “A baby in the parcels is memorable, which means someone must know something. I’ll speak with Nels and see what I can discover.”
Nels served as the stationmaster, ticket agent, telegrapher, and express and freight agent at the railroad. He never made express deliveries. Never. Given the turn of items people were shipping these days, he’d made a good choice.
“I’ll travel to Butte,” Sterling said. “I’ll find the porter. He seemed extremely attached to his paperwork.”
“Is any of this wise?” Reverend Morris tipped his head toward the ceiling in thoughtful consideration. “Someone has treated this child with reckless disregard for her safety. Someone left her on a train. Alone. Even if we find her mother and father, what then? What if they don’t want her back? We have to consider the child’s interests.”
Vigorously shaking her head, Heather mentally backed away. She had sympathy for the child, but none of this was her responsibility. “I’m sure there’s a charity in Butte that will care for her.”
She flicked a glance at the smiling child. There was no reason for her to feel guilty. Someone else would look out for her.
Since gold had been discovered in Montana, the population of the territory had exploded. There was an almost balanced mix of sin and salvation. Churches had sprung up in equal numbers beside saloons. There were plenty of charities in Butte that were far more suited to look after a child. Because there would be implications in keeping the child here. Grave, life-altering implications.