The Dreeson Incident(190)

Inez, who was no slouch herself and fully cognizant of the general speculation about the precise nature of Missy Jenkins' and Ron Stone's intentions toward one another, drafted Missy to help with the process of cleaning up the newborn. Once that was done, she literally left her holding the baby, with Ron peering over her shoulder with great interest.



"Hang onto her until Clara is ready," she said brusquely. "God only knows where they've put the cradle. It isn't in here."



"It wouldn't be in here," Missy said. "This is Chandra's old room, here right at the head of the stairs. That's why there's only a single bed. I wonder why Clara is in here. She must have been trying to go down to Lenore and then realized she couldn't make it." Suddenly, she fell into helpless giggles. Abruptly, she handed the little pile of blankets to Ron. "Take her. Before I drop her."



"What on earth?"



"On Thanksgiving." Missy was sputtering. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. On Thanksgiving, after dinner, Gran called me 'littlest granddaughter.' I told her that I'd outgrown it. That she'd have to promote one of her great-greats. But . . ." She giggled again, a little hysterically, reacting not just to this but to everything that had gone during the past week. Death and birth "Just look. I've got another girl cousin. Gran has a 'littlest granddaughter' again."



Wes came running up the stairs, ignored the rest of them completely, and headed straight for Clara.



"She's perfectly fine," Kortney assured him, all the while muttering technical things to Inez about hard contractions, pulse rates, the baby coming faster than was ideal for an elderly primipara, pulse rates again, and a little tearing to be sutured.



He started to turn pale.



"Wes! Everything's okay. All right?"



"But?"



"She's a little out of it. I gave her a whiff. We don't have any locals anymore, really, and she's been through enough this evening. Let me get these stitches in. She'll be back with us in a jiffy. I don't want to use a second dose if I don't have to. Ether on a sponge isn't exactly scientifically measured anesthesia."



Wes wiggled himself onto the narrow bed, on the side next to the wall, and slid an arm under Clara's shoulders. Kortney spared enough time from what she was doing to give him an odd glance.



"She'll want to be held when she comes to," Wes said. "She always wants to be held when it's over. It's the only favor she's ever asked. 'Please don't go away. Stay with me.' "



Ron was distinctly feeling that he probably should not be here, that he should definitely not be hearing this, and that Missy's Uncle Wes, if he was paying any attention to anyone except Clara, would be of the opinion that he absolutely should not be here. But he couldn't really go away, because he was still holding the baby and nobody else seemed to have any interest in taking it.



Kortney snorted. "If that's the only piece of heavy baggage she carried with her out of that first marriage, you're a damned fortunate man. Okay, stay put. Her blood pressure is stabilizing nicely now."





Wes didn't care who else was there. As far as he was concerned right now, all of Grantville could be in this room, as long as Clara came through in good shape. Even if she did see things her own way. Even if she did argue with him now and then. Even if she had moved down the hall for a while. He tightened his arm around her a little. She was beginning to regain consciousness. He leaned over and kissed her.





Missy stood next to Ron, almost paralyzed. That wasn't the kind of kiss she would have expected of Uncle Wes. She wouldn't have thought him capable of it. If she had really thought about it at all. And Clara was, um, kissing him right back. Not quite awake and after everything that had been going on here. And after the big fight everyone knew they had after Bryant beat up Lenore.



They were old. Her mind went back to the birthday party. Clara was thirty-eight. That was old. Exactly twice as old as she was herself. And Uncle Wes was way older. Older than Dad. Older even than Mom.



She didn't remember much about how things had been before Mom and Dad separated. Except that Anne was always a pain. Anne hadn't ever wanted to be part of their family. Didn't want to be a big sister. Did want to go to Nani and Pop's by herself. She hated it when Chip and Missy came too.



Then Mom and Dad had separated. Gotten back together. And she had learned the why of it when she was twelve. Since the reconciliation, they had always been . . . matter-of-fact . . . toward one another. At least out where she could see them. But somewhere, way back at least, they must have, uh, done something of the sort. Mom had hinted at it, back in April. That is, she and Chip were here, after all. There had been a time when they were really preoccupied by something of the sort. That was, ah, definitely what Uncle Wes had been implying at Easter. Something like what Uncle Wes and Clara were doing right now.