Chapter 4 - The Night Ten Babies Came
Nothing about that night felt real.
Luke tried the telephone.
Dead.
The radio produced static.
The road was flooded badly enough that taking the truck risked stranding us halfway to the highway.
Fortunately, our medical team had prepared emergency supplies because they knew the ranch’s isolation.
Luke spread clean sheets.
Boiled water.
Checked instructions.
Tried the radio again.
I watched his hands tremble.
“You’re scared.”
“Terrified.”
For some reason, that helped.
“Good.”
He looked at me.
“Good?”
“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”
The first baby arrived before midnight.
A cry filled the cabin.
Luke stared.
Then laughed once in disbelief.
“One.”
The second came soon afterward.
Then the third.
The night became a blur of pain, blankets, exhausted instructions, and tiny cries.
Luke never pretended to be a doctor. Whenever radio contact briefly returned, he followed the emergency medical guidance we had been given and relayed what was happening.
By midnight there were four.
By two in the morning, six.
By four, eight.
I could barely keep my eyes open.
“Luke.”
“I’m here.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He leaned close enough that I could focus on him.
“One thing at a time.”
The ninth baby arrived as thunder rolled away toward the east.
Then there was silence.
I thought it was finished.
Luke thought so too.
Minutes passed.
Then another contraction came.
The tenth baby entered the world near dawn.
Ten.
Luke wrapped the tiny newborn carefully.
His face crumpled.
“All ten.”
I cried.
Not loudly.
I had no strength.
Luke carried the baby toward me.
The smallest face I had ever seen appeared above a white blanket.
“Hello,” I whispered.
Outside, the storm faded.
Pale morning light entered through the windows.
Luke placed the babies in the prepared wooden bassinets and lined drawers, each made safe according to the emergency plan.
The cabin looked impossible.
Ten tiny bundles.
Ten rising chests.
Ten lives.
I drifted between sleep and waking.
Then Luke heard something.
Hooves.
He walked toward the window.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Someone’s coming.”
A rider approached through the wet ranch yard.
Brown cowboy hat.
Dark jacket.
The same belt buckle I remembered.
Caleb.
I felt instantly awake.
“Lock the door.”
Luke hesitated.
“He’ll just—”
“Luke.”
He closed it.
Caleb dismounted.
Boots crossed the porch.
Then came a knock.
“Sarah!”
My entire body tensed.
“Sarah, open the door.”
Luke looked at me.
I nodded.
He opened it.
Caleb entered.
He saw me first.
Then Luke.
Then the bassinets.
His mouth fell open.
One.
Two.
Four.
Six.
Eight.
Ten.
His face drained of color.
“Ten.”
Nobody answered.
He stepped forward.
“They’re mine.”
I pulled the nearest blanket gently around the smallest baby.
“Stay there.”
His eyes snapped toward me.
“I’m their father.”
“You’re also the man who left their mother on a road.”
His jaw tightened.
“That was before I knew.”
“Exactly.”
He looked around.
“You delivered them here?”
Luke nodded.
“Storm cut the road.”
Caleb stared at him.
Something close to jealousy crossed his face.
“You were here?”
“Yes.”
“With my wife?”
Luke’s expression hardened.
“She needed help.”
Caleb took another step.
“Don’t touch them,” I said.
He stopped.
For the first time, I saw something in his face that might have been shame.
Then tires crossed the cattle guard.
Luke turned toward the window.
A white county truck approached.
My heart began pounding.
I knew that truck.
A woman stepped out wearing a navy blazer and carrying a clipboard.
A thick envelope was tucked beneath her arm.
Caleb looked at me.
“Who’s that?”
I knew the answer.
The county had been trying to coordinate with me because of my filings and the legal dispute.
The woman climbed the porch.
Her gaze moved from Caleb to the ten bassinets.
Then to me.
“Mrs. Walker?”
“Yes.”
She turned toward Caleb.
“Mr. Walker?”
Caleb nodded.
She removed the envelope.
A certified green card was clipped to its front.
“Before you touch a single child,” she said calmly, “you need to hear what was filed the day you left her on the road.”
Caleb went completely still.
The woman slipped one finger beneath the envelope flap.
May you like
And I realized the records I had created with my last nineteen dollars were about to become the most valuable thing I owned.
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