Lyn Cote by The Baby Bequest Read Free Book Online

changing him.
    “You know how to change a diaper?” she asked, sounding as shocked as she felt. She couldn’t help but admire his quick, deft action.
    “I raised Johann from a baby. We must get milk for this one.” He lifted the child. “We will go to Ashford’s Store, yes?”
    Glad to have direction, she blew out the candle and followed him outside. They rushed past the pony and cart and headed straight for the store. The motion of hurrying seemed to soothe the infant.
    Within a few minutes, Ellen and Mr. Lang arrived at the back of the store, at the stairs to climb to the second-floor landing. Moonlight cast the stairwell in shadow so she held the railing tightly as she hurried upward. She rapped on the door, and rapped again and again. The child started wailing once more. Mr. Lang stood behind her, trying to soothe the child. She wrung her hands. What seemed like forever passed.
    Then Mr. Ashford in trousers and an unbuttoned shirt opened the door. “What do you...” he began forcefully, then trailed into silence, gawking at Ellen.
    “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ashford, but we need help,” she said.
    He stared at them yet didn’t move.
    “We come in, please?” Mr. Lang asked even as he pushed through the door and held it open for her. She hurried inside, again thankful for Mr. Lang’s support.
    Mr. Ashford fell back, keeping them by the door, still looking stunned. “Where did that baby come from?”
    “We don’t know,” she nearly shouted with her own frustration.
    “We find him on the doorstep,” Mr. Lang said. “We need milk and a bottle. You have these things?” His voice became demanding on the final words.
    Mrs. Ashford, tying the sash of a long, flowered robe, hurried down the hall, followed by Amanda in her long, white, flannel nightdress. The two asked in unison, “A baby? Where did it come from?”
    “It is boy,” Kurt said.
    “We don’t know,” Ellen repeated, nearly hysterical herself from the baby’s crying. She struggled to stay calm as memories of her little brother bombarded her. “He was left on my doorstep.”
    “He needs milk. And a bottle to feed. Please,” Mr. Lang repeated.
    Stunned silence lasted another instant and then Mrs. Ashford moved into action. “Ned, go downstairs and find that box of baby bottles. Mr. Lang, bring that baby into the kitchen. Amanda, light the kitchen lamp.”
    Grateful to follow the brisk orders, Ellen followed Mrs. Ashford and Mr. Lang. The lady of the house lit a fire in the woodstove while her daughter lit the oil lamp that hung from the center of the ceiling. As if he sensed that help had come, the baby stilled in Mr. Lang’s arms, his breath catching in his throat.
    Mrs. Ashford began rifling through her cupboard and then triumphantly brought out a tin and opened the lid. “Horlick’s Malted Milk,” Mrs. Ashford read the label aloud. “Artificial Infant Food. It’s something new, made east of here in Racine, Wisconsin.”
    Standing beside Mr. Lang, Ellen’s nerves were as taut as telegraph wire. In contrast, Mr. Lang looked serious and determined. Having him with her had made this so much easier.
    The storekeeper entered the kitchen with a wooden box of glass bottles. With their goal in sight, Ellen slumped onto a chair at the small kitchen table. Surprising her, Mr. Lang lay the child in her arms and stepped back.
    Again, holding the baby brought Ellen the waves of remembrance. Struggling against the current, she watched Amanda scrub a bottle clean while the older woman mixed the powdered milk with water and set it in a pan of water on the stove to warm. Within a few minutes, she handed Ellen the warm, wet bottle. Ellen wanted to offer the child to Mrs. Ashford, but the little boy flailed his hands toward the bottle and she quickly slipped it into his mouth. He began sucking. Bubbles frothed into the bottle.
    Relief swamped Ellen.
    Mrs. Ashford sat down at the table near her, watching the child eat. “He’s evidently hungry.”
    “He