<< Go Back

Unwed: A Suspenseful Historical Romance: Southern Secrets (Switched Series) (Volume 2)

By Kay Chandler

Order Now!

Chapter One
May 07, 1937


A shrill cry, sounding more like a bat screeching than a newborn baby, caused Veezie Harrington’s arched back to fall flat onto the plump feather mattress. Sweat drenched the satin pillowcase beneath her head.
The doctor blew out a heavy breath, as if he’d been the one doing all the work.
She reached down and rubbed her belly. Every inch of her body ached from twelve long hours of pain, but it was over. Over? Was she loco? It’d never be over. The real pain had just begun.
Beulah, the Harrington maid, stood next to a dry sink beside the fancy-carved poster bed. Her calloused brown hands wrung a wet rag over a porcelain bowl. When she turned, her mouth flew open and an eerie-sounding groan tumbled out.
Veezie’s throat tightened as she focused on Beulah’s pinched face. She dared not ask questions for fear her curiosity might suggest the idiotic notion she was changing her mind about the fate of the child. A thousand times a thousand she wished to renege, but for the sake of her baby, she had to stick to the original plan. Boy? Or girl? Did it matter? She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to see it. It’d be easier that way.
The soaked cloth in the maid’s hands fell to the floor when she slapped her hand up to her head rag, allowing water to trail from her wrist to her elbow. Her lip quivered. “Oh my stars, doc, po’ little creature ain’t no bigger’n a wharf rat. I ain’t never seen no baby what had—”
He cut her off. “I’ve delivered a lot of babies, Beulah, and without a doubt, she’s the most beautiful newborn I’ve ever seen. You have a little girl, Veezie. Look at her.”
She jerked her head in the opposite direction. “No. Take her away.” She’d known Flint McCall since the first day he arrived to practice medicine in the Goose Hollow community, about twenty miles from Flat Creek. She supposed she knew him better than most folks and the raspy sound in his voice told her something peculiar was going on. Why didn’t he let Beulah finish her sentence? What’s wrong with my baby?
“Look at her, Veezie.” His voice quaked. “She’s perfect. Like a flawless diamond. Take her in your arms and hold her.”
When Flint made an attempt to lower the tiny creature, Veezie clinched her eyes shut. Why was he taunting her this way? Didn’t he know how she ached inside? How she longed to keep her baby? Well, she wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t. “Leave me be, Flint.”
“Veezie, I’m not asking. I’m telling you to turn around and hold out your arms. Now! Your baby needs you.”
Her hands knotted into tight fists at the roughness in his voice. She opened her eyes and glaring into his troubled-looking face, she whimpered, “My baby? Mine? I ain’t got no baby. Take her home to your wife, Flint. That was the plan. Remember?”
Beulah wiped Veezie’s sweaty brow with a cold, damp cloth and pushed a wisp of hair back of her ear. “There, there, sugar. You just got the blues settin’ in. Why don’t you do like the doc says?”
Veezie’s throat couldn’t have ached more if she’d swallowed a bullfrog. If Flint only knew how she longed to hold her baby in her arms and to count all the little fingers and toes. But how could he understand? He was a man. The tears she’d shed since that first kick inside her belly could fill a gallon drum. She dared not look for fear she’d never be able to go through with her plan.
Flint’s brow furrowed. “Veezie, I’m sorry I couldn’t administer the ether, but it would’ve been too risky for the baby. You went through a lengthy, painful delivery. You’re hurting and you’re tired. I get it. But this is not about you and your feelings at this point. The baby’s tiny and there’s a frightening chance she won’t make it. You can have all the poor-pitiful-me parties you want after today, but at the moment you have a responsibility to this little girl you brought into the world.” His voice trembled. “She may not make it, even if you hold her . . . but I’m pretty sure she won’t if you don’t.”
The tiny bundle cuddled against his broad chest could’ve fit in a cigar box. If she took one look at her baby’s face, she’d never be able to let her go. Don’t you worry, baby girl. He ain’t gonna let you die. He’s a doctor. Besides, he wants you for his own.
Flint leaned over the bed. “Veezie, you’re going to hold this baby if I have to tie your arms around her, so you might as well reach for her now.”
She glared at the way his throbbing temples pumped in and out when he gritted his teeth. The cold eyes and unfamiliar gruffness in Flint’s voice reminded her of the scene from the picture show, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when Jekyll claimed all human beings are made up of both good and evil. With Flint’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his shirt tail hanging out and his trousers crumpled, there seemed to be two people living inside one body. There was nothing about the rumpled, hateful-talking doctor that hinted of the neat, gentle friend she knew as Flint McCall.
With a toss of his head, he slung a shank of brown hair away from his bloodshot eyes. “You idiotic, bull-headed woman,” he bellowed. “I won’t allow you to lie here and let this precious baby die, simply because you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Get over it, Veezie.”
Beulah crossed her arms over her plump bosom. “Begging yo’ pardon, doc, but that kinda talk ain’t getting us nowhere. There’s a heap o’ truth in the ol’ sayin’, ‘honey draws more flies than vinegar.’ Reckon we ought to send for the preacher? I ’spect Brother Shep Jackson over at Flat Creek Fellowship Church can pray a body into doing most anything. Seems to have a knack for it. Understands troubles, he does.” She shook her head gently. “God bless him, he’s had his share. Want George to hitch up the wagon and go fetch him?”
Veezie burst into sobs. “A preacher? You crazy? Y’all might as well announce it in the newspaper that Veezie Harrington gave birth to a little—” She bit her lip. Couldn’t say it. “No! I don’t want nobody to know. Nobody, ya hear?” She pulled the covers over her face and rubbed the soft satin comforter between her fingers, comparing it to the moth-eaten woolen army blanket she’d slept under for twenty-one years. Yet, she’d gladly give up all the silks and satins and go back to the way it was, if only. . . But there was no going back. “I’m tired and sleepy.” Her chin quivered. “Get that squalling young’un outta here, Flint.”
“I’ll be happy to when she’s stable. I’m gonna try to save her but I can’t do it alone.”
He jerked the sheet back. Veezie bit the inside of her mouth. The warmth of her baby’s skin against her bare chest caused her body to go into tremors as she struggled to keep from crying. She didn’t fight Flint when he picked up her arms and gently crossed them over the infant. Hot tears seeped from the corners of her tightly closed eyes. You’ll always be on your mama’s heart, sweet thing, but I gotta let you go. People talk...
###
The Reverend Shepherd Jackson tucked a 4x6 picture of his late wife under his pillow, as he’d done every night for almost two years. Silly, he supposed. Yet, he continued the nightly ritual because the bed seemed less empty, somehow.
Nothing could take the place of his sweet Jenny’s warm body next to his—the fresh smell of Palmolive shampoo in her hair and the faint scent of Jasmine toilette water behind her ear. As crazy as it seemed, he slept better with the photo under his head. He considered asking the church to allow him to move out of the parsonage, where he and Jenny had shared their last days together. The house seemed too large and empty without her and there was a small deserted farmhouse a couple of miles down the road that he’d be willing to rent. He shrugged. The notion was preposterous. To suggest such an idea would send Cora Dobbs and Eunice Watts into a telephone frenzy. Anytime a motion was made to change church procedure, the two women busied themselves by calling disgruntled members who hadn’t attended a service in years, urging them to come cast a negative vote.
It was only eight-thirty, but Shep yearned to fall asleep and shut out the pain. Minutes after settling into bed, a point he failed to include in his sermon notes came to mind. He sat up, switched on the lamp beside the bed and picked up his journal. He wrote: We serve a great God who cares for the poor, sets at liberty the bruised, heals the brokenhearted and sets the captives free.
Shep could preach it because he believed every word to be truth. He’d prayed for countless hurting people and seen God set captives free and heal the brokenhearted. Consumed in his grief, he prayed, “What about me, Father? I pray for everyone else, but my heart is bruised and broken, too. Who’s going to pray for me, Lord?” After turning out the light, he eased his hand under the pillow and touched Jenny’s picture.
Rain pelting the tin roof usually helped him fall asleep, but tonight it’d take more than a heavy rain to quiet his restless spirit. Some days were worse than others. Today ranked at the bottom on the bad-day scale. It never took much to trigger the memories. Sometimes, the smell of a rose, Jenny’s favorite flower. Or the words to a song that she used to sing. Other times, out of nowhere the painful longing to see her—to hold her once more—would leap on him like a tick on a hound dog’s back. An itch he couldn’t scratch.

Order Now!

<< Go Back