Mary Ellen held Lenore while she finally cried. Not for Bryant, not for Weshelle, not for herself, not for her injuries, but for a young man left up-time, for whom she had never let herself grieve because no one else had even known he existed.
"I'm sorry, Lenore," Jeff Adams said. "But what you were thinking is right. You're pregnant."
She looked at him. "February," she said. "I didn't want a second baby. I really didn't."
"It's a little late. But I can deal with it, if you want me to. Under the circumstances."
She sat there.
Then she shook her head. "It isn't the baby's fault what Bryant did."
"Under the circumstances . . ."
"Would you go out and shoot Cory Joe and Pam and Susan, just because Velma Hardesty is the pits?"
Adams looked at her again. That was where the spirits divided. For Lenore, this fetus fell into the same category as those three young adults. Was just as much a person. He'd known that the minute she referred to it as a baby.
He hoped that she knew what she was doing. But, given that viewpoint, if she was to come through this sane . . .
"I've learned something, though."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Sometimes the proverbs we were brought up on are wrong. Sometimes stoical endurance isn't the right response. No, 'you made your bed and now you have to lie in it.' No, 'no use crying over spilt milk.' I've learned that Clara has a point, the way she approaches things. Sometimes it makes sense to run away. But sometimes the right thing to do is to scream and scream and scream until someone comes to help you deal with it."
Lenore stood up and picked up her purse.
"I hope it's another girl," she said. "I think I'd have trouble dealing with a boy. Especially when he started to get older. Under the circumstances."
Apparently she did know what she was doing. At least she had the kind of family that would rally around her.
He sighed. It was her call, after all. No matter what he thought about the wisdom of her decision, it was her call.
Frankfurt, May 1635
Lola climbed off the freight wagon, asked the postmaster for directions, and walked to Nathan Prickett's office.
She was the last person Nathan had expected to see. Except, of course . . . funeral arrangements. She was Bryant's sister, his nearest kin inside the Ring of Fire. Except for his cousin Shannon, and Lenore and Weshelle, of course, about his only kin.
Bryant was on ice, in a cave not far from town, waiting for someone to do something about him. It was just as well she had come.
"For public consumption here in Frankfurt," she said, "Lenore hasn't recovered from her 'accident' yet. Not that everyone in Grantville doesn't know what actually happened."
"Ah, yes. I'll take you over to the mayor's office. That's where you will need to pick up permits and such."
"I'm not paying to take him back," Lola said. "And I'm not dumping a bill for it on Lenore, either. It's not as if there's a traditional family cemetery or anything. Our parents were still alive in Clarksburg when it happened. Uncle John and his wife were left up-time, too. Our grandparents are still alive. They agree with me. There's no reason to take him back."
"So why did you come?"
"To make arrangements here. To do whatever is necessary to get him into the ground, given that he doesn't belong to any church that prevails around here."
"There's a kind of potter's field. For beggars and vagrants. People they don't know what religion they are."
"Okay. That'll do. Take me to the mayor."
"For that, I think the city clerk will do. And the sexton at the church. He's in charge of the cemetery. Grave digging and such."
"Take me to the city clerk, then. You know your way around Frankfurt. I don't."
"Where are you staying?"
"With you. If you think I'm paying for a room when you have space, you're crazy. Jim McNally pays a reasonable wage, but I've got two kids to feed."
"Doesn't Latham pay support?"
"When he's in the mood. Which he rarely is, now that he's moved to Magdeburg and doesn't have to look me in the face. He's not been what you could call an involved father since I threw him out. It's not anything I can rely on. When it comes, I put it in savings. For emergencies. Medical expenses and things. The regular bills come out of what I earn and I make sure there aren't more than I can cover."
"I'm not sure it will look right, having you stay with me."
Lola glared at him. "I have news for you, Nathan. I don't care how it looks. Either you let me in your front door and provide me with a place to sleep or I'll crawl down through the chimney like old Saint Nick. I have had it about up to here with this whole mess."