Free Woman of Grace by Kathleen Morgan Page A

early.
    Her lips curved in scathing disdain. Yes, a man had indeed gifted her with a beautiful child, but it hadn’t been through some loving, holy union. And no man had stepped forward to claim that child either, or offered to care for it.
    It was all her fault, after all, that she had conceived. It was her shame, and her shame alone, that she flaunted each time she dared bring Jackson with her to town.
    Her shame … her fault … and never, ever, that of the men who had paid for and used her. There was nothing beautiful about that.

6
As thou hast done, it shall be done unto thee.
    Obadiah 15
    Late that night, Hannah awoke to a pounding on the bunkhouse door. Groggy with sleep, she stumbled out of bed, threw on a wrapper, and staggered through the parlor to the front door. Evan stood there, a stricken look on his face.
    “Come quick!” He grabbed her hand and tugged her forward. “Abby’s real sick. She needs you.”
    “Abby?” Hannah’s heart gave a sickening lurch. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
    “We don’t know. Pa said she just woke up with pains and then began to bleed. I’ve already sent a hand to fetch Doc Childress.”
    “Give me a moment to dress,” she urged with a quick squeeze of his hand, “and I’ll be right over.”
    He managed a nod and lopsided grin, then turned on his heel and strode away. Hannah wasted no time slipping into a plain, blue cotton dress and her shoes. After changing Jackson’s wet diaper and dressing him warmly, she clutched her son close and hurried to the main house.
    Evan awaited her in the kitchen. Hannah’s glance immediately went to the stairs leading to the house’s second story. “Is Abby in her bedroom?”
    “Yes. Pa’s with her.”
    “Here.” She deposited Jackson in Evan’s arms. “Hold him.”
    Hannah quickly stoked the cookstove and filled the teakettle and a large pot with water. “Keep an eye on the water,” she then instructed Evan. “We might need some once Doc gets here. And keep an eye on Jackson for me, too.”
    “Uh, Hannah, I don’t know much about babies.” As if to add further credence to his words, Evan shifted Jackson from one arm to the other, then back again. “What do I do if he cries, or makes a mess in his drawers?”
    She shot him a long-suffering look. “I just changed him, so odds are you won’t have to endure a dirty diaper. And if he gets fussy, rock him and he might go back to sleep. If not, find him a biscuit or something else hard to chew on.”
    Before he could utter further protests or excuses, Hannah brushed by Evan and headed for the stairs. When she reached the top, she paused for a moment as, once again, the old panic threatened to overwhelm her. What if something was seriously wrong with Abby? she asked herself. She didn’t know what she’d do if she failed Abby, too.
    Then the memory of her friend’s words earlier in the day wafted gently through her mind. All anyone can do is try. Be there for another, do your best, and love.
    Love … Hannah knew her love for Abby was deep and strong. She also knew she’d do her very best for her friend. That was all she—or anyone else— could do.
    Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she stepped out once more, heading toward the door she knew to be Abby and Conor’s bedroom. As she passed Beth’s room, the girl’s door opened a crack.
    “Hannah?” A tawny-skinned little face with bright brown eyes peeked around the door.
    She halted. “Yes, Beth?”
    The door opened all the way. “Abby … I’m so scared,” Conor’s daughter whispered. “Is … is she going to die?”
    What could she say, Hannah wondered, when she feared the very same thing. She squatted, and took the ten-year-old by the arms. “I don’t know. First, I need to see and talk with Abby. Then I need to hear what Doc Childress has to say.”
    The girl’s lower lip began to wobble. “Don’t let Abby die. Please, Hannah!”
    “You know we’ll all do our very best for Abby,