The Mail Order Bride Arrived In A Snowstorm, The Cowboy Said “I’ve Been Waiting In The Cold For You”

Chapter 8

Over the following months, as Grace’s body changed and grew round with their child, Caleb became almost comically protective. He did not want her lifting anything heavy, did not want her walking too far, worried constantly about her health. Grace found it both endearing and exasperating.

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said one day in August, when Caleb tried to stop her from carrying a basket of laundry.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just terrified.”

Grace softened, reaching up to touch his face. “I understand. But you need to trust me. Trust that everything will be all right.”

Caleb tried. Grace could see the effort it took him, but he tried. He still hovered, but he backed off when she insisted she was fine. And Grace learned to recognize when his worry became too much — when he needed reassurance that she was healthy and safe. A hand on his arm. A quiet word. A kiss that said: we will be fine.

The women of town rallied around Grace as her due date approached. They organized a gathering in the parlor of the boarding house, where they brought gifts — tiny clothes and blankets, rattles, a carved wooden cradle that Mr. Higgins had made. Mrs. Pemberton had knitted a beautiful blue-and-yellow blanket.

Grace felt overwhelmed by the generosity of these women who had been strangers only months ago.

“You’re one of us now,” Mrs. Pemberton said, hugging her. “We take care of our own.”

In late October, as the first snow of the season began to fall, Grace felt the first pains. She was in the schoolhouse, dismissing the children for the day, when a contraction seized her. She gripped her desk, breathing through it, and when it passed, she sent one of the older boys to fetch Caleb.

He arrived at a run, his face pale beneath the cold. “Is it time?”

“I think so.” Grace tried to smile reassuringly, but another contraction hit, stronger this time.

Caleb got her home and sent for Doc Marsh and Mrs. Pemberton. Then he hovered anxiously while Mrs. Pemberton took charge — getting Grace into bed, examining her, declaring that everything looked normal.

“This will take a while,” Mrs. Pemberton said. “First babies usually take their time. Caleb, you should wait outside.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“Caleb.” Grace found his hand and squeezed it. “Go. Stand guard at the door. I’ll call you when it’s time.”

He looked at her, agony and love warring in his eyes. Then he nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and went. “I’ll be right outside,” he said from the doorway. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The hours that followed were the longest of Grace’s life. The pains came in waves, each one cresting and breaking over her, and Mrs. Pemberton and Doc Marsh worked steadily beside her, their voices calm and sure. The snow fell past the window, soft and white, blanketing the world in silence.

And Caleb stayed by the door, just as he had promised. Grace could not see him, but she could feel him — his presence, his fear, his love, radiating through the thin wood like warmth from a fire. She held onto him the way a drowning woman holds onto a rope.

“Nearly there,” Doc Marsh said, his voice reaching her through the haze. “One more push, Grace. One more.”

Grace gathered everything she had left and pushed.

And then — a sound. Thin, reedy, furious. A cry.

“Boy or—” The words came out of her in a broken whisper.

“A girl,” Mrs. Pemberton said, her voice thick with tears. “A healthy, perfect little girl.”