The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,59
her back, sweat tickling her hairline. “Thank you, Lord. Thank you.”
“Congratulations, Mrs. Paxton,” Dr. Adams said. “It’s a girl.”
“I know.” Leah grinned and laughed.
The nurses and doctor moved in choreographed motion. So much activity for such a wee person.
“I want to see her.” Leah glimpsed a tiny red foot, toes splayed wide. “I want to see my baby.”
“All in due time,” Nurse Simmons said, her back to Leah.
A young redheaded nurse came over and massaged Leah’s belly. “She’s a good size for being two weeks early.”
Dr. Adams’s gray-eyed gaze darted to Leah. In this room, only he knew Leah’s story and knew she was actually two weeks late. “I’m not surprised. Mrs. Paxton followed my instructions and took good care of herself.”
Why wouldn’t they turn around so she could see Helen? The baby’s cries spoke to a part of Leah’s soul she didn’t know existed, now awakened and alert and attuned to this young person. “Please. I want to see her.”
“Do you have a name picked out?” The redhead kneaded Leah’s belly like bread dough. Freckles dotted her round cheeks.
“Her name is Helen Margarita Paxton.” Leah smiled at the lovely, appropriate name. Helen, a Greek name that meant light. Margarita, after Clay’s grandmother on the Ramirez side, and it also honored Rita Sue. And Paxton, a precious gift from Clay.
“We’ll help you send telegrams to your husband and in-laws.” Nurse Simmons flapped open a little blanket.
“Thank you.” But they were trying to distract her from her dearest and only desire. Helen’s cries were gentling but still called to her. “How much longer?”
“You’ll see your baby in the morning,” the redhead said. “We need to take her to the nursery, and you need to rest.”
Dr. Adams held up one hand to the nurse and gave Leah a solemn and momentous look. “Are you sure you’re ready to see her?”
Leah swallowed hard. What if something about Helen reminded her of the wolf? Although Leah hadn’t seen his face, what if she’d met him and recognized some feature in her daughter? But would that change her love? Never. “I want to see my baby.”
Dr. Adams nodded to Nurse Simmons.
“Here she is, Mrs. Paxton. Please stay flat on your back. It’s very important.” Nurse Simmons laid a blanketed bundle beside Leah on the mattress.
Helen’s face peeked out, set like a jewel in the folds of white flannel, red and wrinkled and capped with black hair.
“Hello, baby.” Leah laughed and stroked that sweet face, seeing her daughter for the first time, yet knowing her better than she’d ever known another human being. “My Helen. My daughter.”
The baby’s face softened, and her eyes opened, dark and bright and soulful.
“Hello, baby. Hello, sweet girl.” Leah stretched to kiss her baby’s warm, firm cheek. Her love swelled and strengthened and deepened until it filled every corner of her being.
“She’s beautiful,” the redhead said. “She has your mouth.”
Did she? Leah studied her, touched her, and memorized every detail.
“Do you see your husband in her?” Nurse Simmons asked.
She shouldn’t . . . and yet. “Her eyes. They’re Clay’s eyes.”
It couldn’t be, yet it was. How sweet of the Lord, and how fitting. Every time Leah looked at her daughter, she’d see the man she loved, the man who’d allowed them both to live.
28
SWANAGE, DORSET, ENGLAND
MONDAY, APRIL 17, 1944
“Mail call!”
Silence fell over the mess hall. As hungry as Clay was after a day of training, he craved letters more than food.
Names rang out, and Rangers got up from benches. A week earlier, three of the six assault companies had transferred to Swanage on the south coast between Weymouth and Southampton. The other three companies remained at the British Assault Training School in Braunton, not far from Bude. Clay had enjoyed his week at Braunton, which had focused on taking out fortified positions. Like the pillbox in his recurring dream.
“Paxton!”
Clay forked the last bite of mutton into his mouth and retrieved an envelope addressed in Daddy’s strong script. He worked his finger under the lip and headed back to his seat.
“Paxton!”
Two in one day. He grinned and reversed course. A smaller envelope this time—a cablegram. From Tennessee!
Clay ripped it open. “HELEN MARGARITA PAXTON BORN APRIL 12 STOP 7 POUNDS STOP MOTHER AND BABY WELL STOP YOURS LEAH.”
He whooped. “It’s a girl! I’m a daddy!”
Clay laughed and read each word again. Of course it was a girl. Hadn’t Leah known from the start? His funny mystical bride.
His pals crowded around, congratulating him.
“Too bad our rations don’t come with cigars,” Ruby said.