After washing his hands at the outdoor pump, Gil carried the platter of trout into the kitchen. His eyes were immediately drawn toward the baby sleeping peacefully in the roasting pan near the oven door. She was covered with a pale blue blanket.
"Look at this little cherub," he murmured softly. Bending over, his hands resting on his bent knees, Gil peered down at Minnie. "Sheâs grown, Miss Dale, since the last time I saw her. Indeed she has."
"Mr. Snow and Jerry think so too." Her voice sounded husky with emotion.
"Iâm sure of it. Her colorâs good too." Reaching out, he took the babyâs small hand in his own. It was so tiny compared to his, but perfectly formed. "Sheâs one of Godâs miracles," he said with certainty. "Has her mother given her a name yet?"
"Weâre still calling her Minnie for now."
Gil stroked the babyâs silky cheek with one finger. "It seems to suit her."
Amanda nodded. Glancing up, he noticed her tender expression. Again, he wondered why such a woman didnât have a husband and children of her own. She would be an excellent mother; he felt sure of it. Doctor Morgan sang her praises. Most of the concerned community members realized Amanda Daleâs loving kindness had kept the premature infant alive this long. Should the child thrive and Ella Stewart recover her health, it would be due in no small part to Amandaâs tireless efforts, as well as Godâs mercy.
Rising to his full height, Gil cleared his throat. "One day your sister will be thankful for all youâve done for Minnie. Iâm glad Mrs. Stewart has you to help her during this difficult time. Rex couldnât have managed on his own."
Amanda blushed and focused her attention upon the stove. "How about a cup of coffee?" She poured him one before he could decline. When she brought it to him, their hands nearly touched. Her proximity made his pulse race. He took a sip. The coffee was hot and strong, just the way he liked it. When she sat down at the kitchen table, he did the same.
"Did you send the telegram to your friend, Mr. Phillips, back in Indiana?" she asked.
Gil nodded. "Made it to the telegraph office just in the knick of time. Old Hiram Lister was none too pleased. He was getting ready to close up for the day."
"Do you think he will come to see the ruins?"
"If heâs in the States, Iâm sure heâll come right away. If heâs in a foreign country somewhere, like Egypt or one of the Greek islands, he wonât be able to get away so easily." He shook his head at her offer to refill his cup. "Still, he may make the journey anyway. Archeology is such a new scholastic pursuit, compared to botany or medicine, for instance. Every man hopes to make a unique discovery of his own. Our ancient Indian settlement could make Nate famous."
Amanda laughed and shrugged a shoulder. "Funny to think of those old crumbled down walls and the pottery jars and baskets buried inside making anyone famous." After a brief pause, she asked, "Do you want to be famous too some day?"
"No," he replied with prompt certitude. "I want to be happy and content."
A flash of understanding passed between them. Gil seized his opportunity to learn more about this intriguing woman who made his pulse quicken. "Miss Dale, you were living in Las Cruces, I believe, before coming here to help out," he prompted.
"I lived at home with our father. He was a blacksmith, but heâd become quite ill more than a year ago. He died just a few weeks before Randall had his accident."
"Iâm sorry. I didnât realize youâd lost your father so recently. Is your mother still living?"
"No," Amanda told him. "She too was an invalid for many years. Mother suffered with pain in her back and legs. In the last months of her life, she couldnât walk at all. Iâve been taking care of one parent or another since I was quite young."
Her tone was matter-of-fact, her face a portrait of tremulous courage. After a
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