Excerpt of The Redemption Of Micah by Beth Williamson

December 1872,
Plum Creek, Colorado

The moon hung low in the winter sky, a strange yellowish orange color. Micah stared at it through the window of Eppie’s bedroom, wishing the nightmare would end.

The last five months had been hell on earth and he’d endured it, as he endured everything else in his life. There wasn’t another choice to be made.

“You need to come down to supper.” Orion stood in the doorway, his stooped figure casting a shadow across the silent room.

Micah turned to him, thankful to have the older man in the house to help out. In fact, there was an overabundance of help around the house. No one wanted to leave him alone again.

“Be there shortly.”

Orion appeared not to believe him. He stepped into the room shaking his head, the tight white curls nearly glowing in the moonlight. “Sitting up here brooding isn’t going to help Miss Eppie. She’s surviving and so is the babe.”

Micah wanted to snarl, scream and shout at the old man to shut up. He knew exactly what Eppie and their unborn child were doing, every second of every day. He didn’t need a reminder.

“Surviving isn’t living.” He pushed away from the window. “But since you won’t leave me be, I’ll come downstairs and eat.”

“That’d be a good thing.” Orion nodded. “Miss Candice brought by some right tasty vittles.”

Micah wondered how he’d ever stumbled across people who would give without expecting something in return. Candice had been friends with Madeline Brewster, the woman who had gifted the house to him and helped with Eppie’s medical care. Although Madeline now lived in Denver with her husband, others had taken on what she started. Candice now helped with the cooking while Orion helped with the house.

Any man would be grateful for such assistance.

Micah, however, wasn’t just any man.

He leaned down and kissed Eppie’s forehead, the skin cool from winter’s chill. Then he pressed his ear to her burgeoning stomach, and was rewarded with a kick to his ear. The baby was strong, like its mother.

“I’ll be back soon, darlin’.” He squeezed Eppie’s hand and forced himself to walk away from the bed.

As Micah followed Orion out of the room and down the stairs, he barely saw anything but the other man’s back. Life was colorless, meaningless without Eppie there beside him. God had seen fit to make her sleep like that princess in the book he’d seen once in Denver. She was sleeping away her life while he endured his.

The smell of beef filled the kitchen and Micah dutifully sat down to eat. Orion frowned at him across the table.

“You know, for a man who has a nice house, a beautiful woman, and everything he could want, you are pitiful.”

Micah had to smile at the old man’s honesty. Once upon a time, when he’d first come to live there, Orion had acted like the former slave he was. Quiet, reserved, and quick to obey. Now however, free from the yoke the Websters had forced on his neck, Orion had discovered how to use his voice and wield his opinions.

“I know. I’m the most pitiful man in Colorado. Now eat.” Micah shoveled the meat and potatoes into his mouth, never tasting a bite. He should have been grateful, as Orion said, but he wasn’t. Instead, he felt cheated, resentful, and angry, a perfect combination for misery.

“You plan on drinking your way to the grave?” Orion frowned, a potato halfway to his mouth.

“None of your business, old man.” Micah pushed away from the table, unable to eat another bite.

Orion stopped him with a hand on his arm. “She wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Micah knew a lot of things about Eppie, more than most folks could even imagine he knew. However, Orion was right. She would blister his ears if she saw him wallowing, but he couldn’t seem to do anything else.

“But she’s not here to stop me, is she?” he snapped. “I’m done eating.”

Micah stalked away from the kitchen, heading for the parlor. He had an appointment with a bottle and intended to keep it. Keeping watch over his woman was a hard business and a man had to do what he needed to do to survive.

Much later, he made his way up the stairs, mostly on his hands and knees. The house was eerily silent, Orion long since retired to his room at the end of the hall. Micah crept into Eppie’s room, her scent immediately calming him.

He wiped his sweaty face and runny nose with a sleeve. This time when he pressed his ear to her stomach, he didn’t get a playful kick from the baby. Her belly was hard, harder than a block of wood.

In his inebriated state, Micah didn’t know what it meant, but he figured it couldn’t be good. When he put his hand on her belly, it came away wet. He stared at his hand and wondered if he’d forgotten to put the pisspot beneath her.

However, his hand didn’t smell like piss at all. It had a unique odor, one mixed with blood and something else. In his limited experience as a man, he hadn’t had much occasion to be around women who were expecting a child.

It might have been the whiskey, or it might have been the lack of sleep over the last six months that made him slow to catch on. In either case, he stared at his hand in befuddlement for several minutes. The truth finally slammed into him like a brick wall.

Eppie was going to have the baby. Right then.

Micah almost blacked out for a moment as panic raced through him. When he finally was able to get hold of his senses, he poked his head out of the room and started shouting for help. He couldn’t lose Eppie this time; she had survived for so long, had nurtured the baby and stayed as healthy as any woman would be in her situation. Birthing a child was as old as mankind. There was no reason to think she couldn’t do it.

Of course, most women weren’t in a coma when they gave birth. Micah’s heart beat so hard, he could barely catch his breath. Orion poked his head in the room.

“What’s all the racket?”

“The baby’s coming. Go wake Doctor Carmichael.” Micah sat beside Eppie and decided to pray for the first time in a long time. He’d ignored God for years, never trusting Him to help when needed. However, he was willing to try anything.

He fell to his knees beside the bed and pressed his closed hands to his forehead, a penitent pose.

Save her, save the baby.