Homespun Bride

Jillian Hart 113Once he’d chosen a chair and hefted it up the stairs,his ears strained to keep hearing her. She grew fainterwith every step he took and by the time he’d managedto reach the Worthington’s bedroom door, he could nolonger hear her. Every bit of him seemed to strain,searching for her.Henrietta looked up from her Bible and squinted athim appraisingly. She looked exhausted and sick fromworry.His heart softened toward her. “Where would youlike this?”“Where my chair is now. You’ll have to take thewooden one back down to the dining room.”“Be glad to.” He eyed the doorway and angled thechair to wedge it through in one try. The missus seemedto watch him carefully, perhaps she was concernedabout him scuffing her fancy woodwork, but sheneedn’t have worried. He set the heavy chair downwith as much care as he could and took away thewooden one. “Will that do, ma’am?”“I’m grateful, Mr. McKaslin.”“No trouble at all, ma’am.” He stopped to take aglance at Robert, who lay ashen and motionless againstthe stark white sheets. “He’s been stirring?”“No.” The strong woman who looked as if she couldhave commanded the army now looked frail.“I’m sure he’ll be rousing soon, ma’am.” It was theonly kindness he could offer her. “I’ve seen it before.”He backtracked to the door. “You need anything at all,you send word.”“Of that you can be sure.”As he hooked the ladder-back chair over hisshoulder and headed down the narrow hallway, he had