TO: OWEN MCDOUGALL BOSTON

FROM: CALEB MCDOUGALL OREGON CITY

TELL MOTHER I GRIEVE WITH HER LETTER TO FOLLOW

As soon as she saw Mac’s face that evening, Jenny knew he was in turmoil. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He told her about his father’s passing. “Oh, Mac,” she said, embracing him and resting her head on his solid chest. “I’m so sorry. I wish you’d gone to Boston as soon as you heard he was ill.”

“What’s done is done,” he said, sighing. “I wouldn’t have made it in time to see Father.” He laid his cheek on her hair. “I’m not leaving you now. Not until the baby comes. Not until we get Will home.”

“When will that be?” she murmured, her heart pounding as it did every time she thought of her boy with the militia.

She felt Mac shrug. “Who knows? Probably not more than another couple of months. They’ll return to Fort Klamath before winter, I would think.”

Winter. Now Jenny had a new fear—William could freeze in the Cascades. Those mountains ran right into the Sierra Nevadas, where the Donner party had starved to death so many years ago. She sighed.

“Don’t worry, Jenny,” Mac said, rubbing her back. “If Will isn’t home by the time the baby arrives, I’ll go after him. Once I know you’re well.”

“Caleb is troubled also,” she said. “He told me he and Will had a disagreement before Will left. He said he told Will he hated him. You should talk to Caleb.”

“All right,” Mac said. “Though there’s nothing we can do about it now. They’ll have to make up once Will is home.”

Jenny’s womb tightened again. She’d felt it frequently in recent days, but it was too early for the baby to come. It was only false labor, she was sure.

Chapter 49: A Present for William

Jenny went to bed right after supper, then lay in bed praying. The pains were stronger, more regular. It was too soon—the baby wasn’t due for another month. But the pains continued through the evening until she couldn’t contain her moans.

Mac heard her and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the baby,” she whispered. “It’s coming. Now.”

“I’ll get the midwife,” Mac said, already donning his coat. “And call Maria to stay with you while I’m gone.”

Jenny lay groaning and praying. Maria sat by her side. Mac seemed to be gone forever, but then he was back with the midwife.

“Go to bed, Maria,” Mac said. “The midwife and I will be with her.”

“But Mama—” Maria said.

“Go to bed,” Mac said again.

After that, Jenny gave into the pain. Wave after wave of pain. She’d been through this so many times now, how could she forget? But each time it seemed new again.

Pain. More pain. Then more waves, faster and faster.

Now, as with all her births, Mac was beside her, soothing her. “Go away,” she yelled at him in the worst of it, wanting only to be alone. But he stayed.

And throughout the ordeal she moaned, “It’s too soon.” She remembered poor Hattie Tanner and the little girl she’d borne too soon, a baby who never took a breath. Was this baby destined to return to heaven just as quickly? “It’s too soon. Please, God, it’s too soon.”

“Push, Mrs. McDougall,” the midwife ordered. “It’s time.”

She bore down. “It’s too soon.”

Mac stayed with Jenny through her labor. Shortly before midnight, as Jenny continued to moan, the midwife said, “This baby comin’ now. Nothin’ I can do to stop it.”

Jenny wailed, she pushed him away, he tried to calm her, but she cried, “It’s too soon.” Her tears mixed with perspiration, and he wiped her face.

Mac wished there were some way to remove the pain. He always wished it, each time he’d seen Jenny in labor. He cursed God’s plan, letting women suffer to propagate the species. Will’s birth was Mac’s first experience seeing a woman in labor. Will might not be Mac’s son, but he’d suffered as much through Will’s delivery as through any of Jenny’s later labors. Each one caused Jenny pain, and each time Mac vowed it would be the last child.

But he loved his wife, and so more children came. Maybe this one would be the last.

At least Jenny was strong and healthy now, unlike at Will’s birth, when Doc Tuller said she was too young. Yet now Mac feared for the child coming into the world too soon as much as for Jenny.

If the child died, he feared for Jenny’s sanity. She’d been bereaved for months after her earlier miscarriage. And also when little Abram died. Mac grieved after Abram’s death as well, but it seemed harder for a mother to cope with a child’s death than for a father.

This year, Jenny had lost Will—would she lose another child tonight?

William would never meet this little one, Jenny mourned as she bore down in pain. This baby would die before Will returned. If Will returned. She screamed and pushed and cried and prayed.

A baby’s thin cry came. Once.

“A wee boy,” the midwife announced, holding the infant up for Jenny to see. “Let me clean him up.” And she whisked the newborn away to a table across the room.

Jenny sobbed, and Mac cradled her in his arms.

Hearing nothing from the baby, Jenny moaned, “Why isn’t he crying?” She clutched Mac’s arm as she remembered Hattie’s little daughter again. Clarence Tanner had tried and tried, but the baby wouldn’t breathe.

Then a small whimper. And a choking sound. A cough.

“He’s gonna make it,” the midwife said. “At least through the night.”

Mac ushered the midwife out of the house, then returned to their bedroom and sat beside Jenny, who held his newest son. Maria crept back into the room and sat at the foot of the bed. The other children slept through the night’s excitement.

“What shall we call him?” Mac asked, touching his finger to the baby’s hand. The baby’s arm wasn’t much thicker than his finger.

“Andrew?” Jenny suggested. “We named William after my father. Let’s name this one after yours. Or would that distress you?”