Kendrick Page 6

  When the time is right, please tell my daughter about the mother who brought her into this world. Although it might be difficult to present me in a positive light, please assure her I loved her with all my heart.

  I have done everything I can think of to do to provide my sweet little angel with everything she needs to have a happy and fulfilling life, free of danger and disparagement by others whose hearts are cold and would lay to my daughter’s charge the consequences of my choices.

  I have one final request, frivolous in nature though it may be, but important to me. I named my daughter after my sister. We never called my sister anything but Madeline. Please do not address my daughter by a shortened nickname, but by her correct name, Madeline. Please ask others to do the same.

  And, please do not seek to find this sister, who has preceded me in death, or my other family members. The surname I am known by now is not the one I was born with and I never married.

  My daughter is now yours. Please love her and take care of her.

  With all my trust and gratitude ~

  Margaret Pearline

  As with great care he placed the letter on the table once more, Kendrick felt a surge of emotion. He was not inclined to be moved to tears, but the first time he read this letter, he had felt them threaten. Even now, he struggled to comprehend what the mother of this child he now held in his arms felt as she prepared for her own passing as well as providing for her daughter.

  He could not keep from asking himself the question, “Why me?” In the letter he read, he did not recognize in himself the man Margaret Pearline described. Yet, she either had made the biggest mistake of her life choosing him to be the father to her daughter, or she saw something in him he did not see in himself.

  As a result of spending—in retrospect, wasting—time in the infantry during the recent war with Mexico, one thing Kendrick realized was the importance of logistics. With a baby to care for, he no longer enjoyed the luxury of creating his own schedule and coming and going as he pleased. Just as an army marched on its stomach, he must organize and purchase everything necessary so this child had the food, clothes, and equipment she needed. Eva Mae Womack’s detailed notes regarding what to serve Madeline for meals and how to care for her clothes aside, he knew he must make additions to his house to accommodate her.

  While, as a bachelor, the three-room combination butcher shop and living quarters suited him fine, he needed more than the rocking chair, a trunk full of her clothes, and a goat for her. For starters, he needed to find a decent bed for the child—something with enough room and in which he could contain her so she didn’t fall out. She could use the pillow he suspected included some of the feathers from the chickens he sold to her mother two months before.

  As for the basket, he would turn it into a place to toss her clothes that needed to be washed. If the clothes she had gone through this was any indication, she would generate a lot of laundry.

  Kendrick envisioned a trip to the mercantile in his near future—tomorrow, first thing, before he opened his own business. He also needed to make arrangements for someone to care for Madeline during those times he must be away from the shop. The only thing that had saved him today had been the appearance of Mrs. Arnold, who ran the Eagle Cottage boardinghouse. He had been busy cleaning up Madeline when he heard a worried female voice in front calling out his name. It was then he recalled that Jeb had put up the closed sign and shut the door, but the door had remained unlocked.

  Not knowing what else to do with the baby, now barely out of the hip bath and in the process of being dried off, he flung her to his shoulder and tossed her yellow blanket which, fortunately, had escaped the disaster that had blown out of her diapers. Thus, he entered the front room where a wide-eyed middle-aged woman exclaimed at the sight of him carrying a baby. He laughed as he recalled her words. “Oh, Mr. Denham. When so much time passed, and you didn’t show up with my meat order, I worried there had been an accident. I thought, maybe you had cut off one of your fingers or something. I decided I better come and check on you.”

  Truth of the matter was, Kendrick probably could have dealt with a chopped-off finger better than what he went through undressing, wiping clean, and then bathing Madeline. However, after he explained an abbreviated version of that day’s events, the woman took pity on him.

  She told him she would take her meat order with her and get supper started. She also offered to watch Madeline that afternoon while he delivered the rest of his orders.

  Before she left his shop, she even risked her reputation to enter his bedroom to help him dress the baby. She showed him how to fold diapers to fit around Madeline’s bottom and explained how the knit wool outer pants helped keep things drier. Mrs. Arnold even revealed the mystery of how safety pins worked to hold everything in place.

  “Now, Mr. Denham, if the pin doesn’t want to go through the cloth, just run it through your hair a couple of times. That will slick it up just enough to slip through the fibers so you can fasten her diaper and be on your way.”

  Rocking in the chair, Kendrick scrubbed his face with a hand. This day, he had been handed a dead mother’s greatest treasure, and he had somehow managed to survive the experience. So did Madeline, if her limp body conforming to the curve of his chest while she peacefully slept with her cheek resting on his shoulder was any indication. He patted her back and turned his head far enough to gently brush the soft hair on the back of her head with his lips.

  A baby did not fit into his bachelor lifestyle. Whether he kept her, or found a better family situation for her, he now knew he must live up to the trust placed in him by her mother. He must protect this baby and provide the best life possible for her. He had yet to figure out exactly how he would go about it.

  One thing Kendrick realized was this: if—and it was a mighty big if—he was going to keep Madeline, he needed to find a woman to help out—perhaps a wife. How am I going to find a decent woman in Columbia to be a wife?

  Chapter 6

  Thursday, May 25, 1854

  K endrick woke up the next morning feeling like he had been trampled by a herd of wild mustangs. He could not blame it on the baby, or even on Rochester, who crowed at his usual time. True, both he and Madeline had experienced a rough afternoon and evening the day before.

  Madeline tearfully fought her way through her change in circumstances after being left with a complete stranger.

  Kendrick frantically read instructions from Miss Womack on how to care for the baby while he sorted through the items in the trunk and wood crate for what he needed to feed and clothe Madeline. However, once he did get her settled down in the wicker basket and covered with the two blankets and the quilt in shades of yellow and blue he found for her, she slept through the night.

  Without conscious thought, Kendrick tossed back his own covers and rolled to a sitting position with his feet hanging over the edge of his straw mattress. As his right foot came down on the upper edge of the wicker basket, he grunted. Coming out of the fog of sleep, he recalled that he had placed Madeline’s bed there so, in case she did wake up during the night, he could reach down and pick her up without leaving his own warm cocoon of blankets.

  Need to check with the mercantile about a decent bed for Madeline—one big enough for her that will keep her safe.

  He carefully lifted his foot and twisted to the side far enough to stand. First, he pulled on his trousers and slipped his braces over his shoulders. He then tip-toed across the floor to the rocking chair where he sat while he shoved his feet into his boots. Kendrick shook his head just before he found his slouch hat and began carefully walking toward the door leading to his kitchen, and ultimately, the door to his backyard. For the first time, he noticed how many of the floorboards creaked when he stepped on them. It had never been an issue before he had a baby in his house—one he hoped would stay asleep until he finished his morning chores—chores which now included milking Waggles.

  Need to see about a rag rug for the bedroom.

 
As soon as he opened the door, the stink from the bucket where he had tossed the used diapers the night before hit him in the face. He involuntarily took a step back. Chicken waste he could handle. The odor of blood and offal from butchering animals he could handle. The messy diapers—not so much.

  Need more buckets—lots more buckets. Maybe Mr. Magendie at the mercantile knows of something to put in them to cut the smell.

  Waggles, it turned out, was a friendly little goat who greeted him with eager bleats and shakes of her tail that sent her back half swaying side to side. She enjoyed having her head scratched. She willingly stood still when Kendrick placed the bucket under her. However, once he started milking her, he realized why she had been given the name of Waggles.

  Another bucket for my list—one dedicated to goat’s milk.

  His wire egg basket full in one hand, and his bucket of goat’s milk in the other, Kendrick used his shoulder to nudge open the door to his kitchen. He walked across the room to set them both on his table—his bare wood table now, since the oilcloth he used to keep on it to protect the wood from nicks and stains he had bunched up and tossed in the corner.

  Need more oilcloths—at least two.

  As he passed the open door to the bedroom, Kendrick turned his head. He back-stepped at the sight of Madeline, now awake. He froze in place. Half in and half out of her basket she had tipped on its side, she waved her arm and leg in attempt to roll from her back to her tummy—on his floor—the floor which, the night before, he had given a quick sweep with the broom, but had not mopped with soap. As for the broom, the tips of the bristles were a deep rusty brown from having swept up the sawdust he tossed on the floor behind his counter to help soak up any blood that dripped while he cut meat.

  Need a second broom for the back of the house.

  The baby appeared to be trying to pull herself out of the basket. As soon as she caught sight of him, Kendrick watched as her face seemed to reveal a myriad of emotions.

  First, Madeline smiled at him. Next, an expression of uncertainty fluttered across her face. Her neck sank into her solid shoulders as she looked around the room. Her rose-colored lips began to quiver and her cheeks bunched up against her eyes. He suspected what might come next. The prospect unsettled him.

  Please, don’t cry, baby.

  Kendrick shoved the two containers onto the table. He spun on his feet and rushed toward the bedroom floor to pick up the baby. “I’ve got you, Madeline. You’re going to be just fine.”

  Only, Kendrick quickly realized Madeline was not fine. As soon as he lifted her so her body was level with his shoulders, the odor of baby urine hit him in the face.

  Again?

  Kendrick shook his head. Of course, again. After all, in addition to the gruel with mashed cooked apple he fixed for her supper, she drank two healthy servings of goat’s milk, plus a half cup of water before going to bed. He had to expect all of that would work its way through her little body. Her wool outer britches sagged with dampness, so, no doubt, the cotton diapers underneath had soaked through.

  Kendrick glanced at the folded wool baby blanket in the bottom of the basket that had righted itself once he picked up Madeline. He hoped, since he’d followed Miss Womack’s written advice, the feather mattress underneath had escaped the onslaught of nighttime dampness. The instructions from her were, if either the blanket or the pillow was wet in the morning, to rinse them and hang them out to dry before using them again.

  Maybe better add another wool blanket to the list. And a piece of oilcloth to go underneath that.

  Before he worried about the bedding, he needed to change Madeline. He squatted and looked around for a clean place on the floor on which to put her. There was no place really clean, so he left her sitting next to her basket. What was that Jeb said the day before? They can’t fall off the floor? “I’ll be right back, Madeline. Let me clear a place so I can change you.”

  Madeline’s face puckered up and her eyes began to water. She held out her hand toward Kendrick and opened and closed her fingers. “I’ll pick you up in a minute, little one, but first things first.”

  As he rushed to transform his kitchen table once again into a baby changing counter, Kendrick strove to strengthen his resolve to ignore the scene that almost broke his heart. He entered the kitchen, grabbed the handles of both the egg basket and milk pail, and whisked them off the tabletop to a corner of the floor. He rushed to the corner in which he had tossed the bunched-up oilcloth, picked it up by its edges, and gave it a shake that generated a soul-satisfying loud snap. He smoothed it across the tabletop. He next adjusted his second kitchen chair that had been commandeered to become a baby carpetbag stand and pulled it to where he could easily access the diapers inside.

  Kendrick rushed to the dressing table in his bedroom where he searched in vain for a clean cloth he could use to wash Madeline’s bottom. He found the one he had used to wipe her face after her supper the night before and flung it over his shoulder. He next tipped the water pitcher to fill the bowl on his dressing stand. Less than a half cup of liquid filled the bottom of the dish.

  As if doing so would conjure up the desired water, Kendrick shook the pitcher and then held the opening to his eye to inspect the dark bowel of the vessel. He huffed in resignation. Taking care of this baby required much more water than what he had planned on when he filled his two buckets from his rain collection barrel in his yard the morning before. The level of water in the barrel was getting dangerously low. Unless they had another few weeks of intermittent rain before May was over, he soon would need to get his water from the questionable supply available in the cisterns on Main Street.

  Should have bought that second rain barrel two months ago when I first thought about it.

  Kendrick decided to save the rag and water to wash the baby’s face once he fed her breakfast. For the time being, he would allow her bottom to air dry while he changed her. However, he realized, before he let the day get too far away from him, he would be wise to bring in plenty of water before she decided to fill her diaper again.

  Yep. Need to buy plenty of buckets.

  Kendrick hiked Madeline onto his hip and, with his free hand, picked the soggy diaper up by the corner. He carried it to the bucket outside his door that held the two diapers from the night before. After he stepped back into his kitchen, he ran his free hand through his hair while he tried to figure out what he should do next. He could not put the baby back in the basket contraption. For one thing, he had not yet taken the damp blanket out to hang on a line.

  Need to buy more nails and rope. This girl is going to need lots of clothesline.

  Aware he had just run the same fingers that had changed the baby’s diapers through his hair, Kendrick jerked his hand from his head and stared at it. He shrugged. He spent his days collecting eggs and washing off the souvenirs left by the hens. He cut meat, which resulted in his hands and arms being coated with blood and fat, among other substances. What was a little baby urine?

  Kendrick sighed and looked off to the side. The realization struck that he would have to start washing his hands more. It would not do to transfer chicken poop or the blood and other substances from his butchering work to the baby. Also, his customers would begin to complain if they though he transferred the baby’s waste to the food he sold.

  Better add more soap to the list. Not all of it strong lye soap, Kendrick reasoned. Did I burn that paper wrapper from the soap in the trunk I used to bathe her last night? Better buy more of that funny, clear-looking kind for her tender skin.

  Kendrick shook his head. His simple life had sure grown more complicated. Taking care of a baby was turning out to be far more involved than he ever would have imagined. As he recalled the words of the deputy the day before, he fought back a surge of annoyance. “You placed the order. Now, looks like it’s time for you to take delivery.” Truth was, he had not experienced the enjoyment of placing the order for Madeline. However, like it or not, she was delivered to him. The hard work of raising
her had just begun. As far as the sheriff was concerned, there was no giving her back. Unless he could find a better solution, he needed to figure out how he could provide for her. Monetarily, he could afford her. However, the reality of there being so much more involved was still sinking in.

  Kendrick looked down at Madeline, who studied him with her round, dark brown eyes. He smiled at her. She rewarded him by shyly hunching her shoulders and offering him a toothless grin. Kendrick turned his head to the side and, heedless of the remnants of baby urine on his fingers, he pressed her against his chest and patted her back. Maybe a man could enjoy the hard work of raising a baby. As she tucked her head under his chin, he leaned back and lowered his face far enough to kiss the top of her head. “We’re going to figure this out, Madeline. Right now, I don’t know what to do next. Should I take your blanket outside and find a bush to toss it over so it will dry? Or should I feed you first? Maybe I better get that blanket out of there before it gets the feather mattress all wet.” He wiggled two fingers against her ribs, which prompted her to chortle. “Have you ever smelled wet feathers? Trust me, sweetheart, you don’t want to. Hmm. If I take you outside now, it’s still a little cool out there. Then again, I expect you’re getting hungry.” Kendrick took a deep breath. “What do you think I should do first?”

  Kendrick brushed his hand down Madeline’s back and straightened her nightgown, only to realize the hem was also wet. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. Of course. Deciding he better take her wet gown along with the blanket outside to rinse and hang to dry, he started to carry her toward the bedroom. “I think we’ll finish dressing you first, and, hopefully, everything will stay dry for a while.”