Tennessee, December 24, 1809
Naomi put her hand over her mouth, her stomach heaving, and she raced across the plank floor for the front door. Flinging open the latch, she stumbled out into the fresh-fallen snow, hoping to make it to the ramshackle outhouse across the clearing.
She didn't.
She collapsed to her knees, the contents of her stomach emptying across the glistening white. The sunset overhead was rich in tangerines, golds, and crimsons. Normally she would take heart in its beauty – in its sign that God's mercy still offered hope.
But not tonight.
The Blackburn Fork roiled in its wintry anger, just on the other side of a mess of brambles. The rest of the oak and maple which surrounded her small shack were barren and lifeless. The wind whistled through their stark branches as she continued to heave.
It seemed an eternity before she was done, before the last of the dried carrots and trout jerky had left her system. She picked up a handful of snow and ran it across her face, then took a fresh ball to swish around in her mouth.
A tremulous voice called from the doorway. "Mama?"
She turned, tenderness seeping into her. Johnny, her oldest child, was standing in the doorway, his dark face blending in with the shadows. He was nearly three, and already he was a handful. She could tell he would be one of those wild, willful men when he grew up.
Just like his father.
"I'm right as rain, Johnny," she assured him. "Just not feeling well, is all."
"The baby's cryin', mama."
"Go rock her. I'll be in in a moment."
His dark eyes held her, as if he might refuse out of sheer childish stubbornness - and then he turned.
Naomi sighed, braiding her long, straight, dark hair back from her face. Little Polly was almost seven months old. She was quickly becoming a toddler. She was no longer the baby of the house.
Naomi's hand went to her belly, and her throat tightened.
The child within her was.
Just the thought of that tiny life brought her both ecstatic joy and mind-numbing terror. It was the most beautiful miracle God could have given her – but could she force another child into this soul-wrenching terror of a life?
A man's voice called out from the thick woods, harsh, laced with anger.
"Naomi! You damned black injun squaw. What the hell are you doing out in the snow!"
Naomi flushed, guiltily spun, and pushed up to her feet.
Before her stood Bill Williams, the father of her children. He was a bullish beast of a man - tall, husky, with short-cropped, dirty blond hair. His skin was as white as the snow which surrounded them.
She remembered a time when his staggering strength and sharp arrogance drew her like a moth to the flame. She had been young then, barely twenty-one. She had wanted him like she had wanted nothing else on Earth. Her desire for him had blazed like the baking heat of the sun on a hot August day.
But within four brief years ...
Bill's face darkened. "Naomi!"
Naomi shook herself. "I'm ... I'm sorry, Bill. I got sick, is all. I must've eaten something wrong."
"Well, get back in the house, you fool. Are you fixin' to die? It's freezin' out here. You don't even have shoes on."
Naomi looked down. It was true. She was dressed just in her nightshift. The sickness had come on so sudden that she'd raced out, leaving the door wide open behind her.
She gingerly stepped through the snow back to the house, Bill tromping in behind her. She idly wondered if he'd gotten into yet another fight down at the tavern. Normally he wouldn't have been home for hours yet. But she didn't dare to ask him. She'd learned quickly not to question anything he did. His answer was often the back of his hand.
He slammed shut the door behind him, then pulled off his heavy boots. Naomi went to the fire to stir it into life. Their home was small – barely two rooms closed in by rough-hewn timber and a roof which leaked in the rainy season. The room they were in held a rough-hewn table, four wooden chairs, and two open shelves filled with their meager possessions. The other room held the large bed for the adults, a smaller mat for Johnny, and the crib for young Polly.
Soon they would need another.
Bile rose in Naomi's throat. She staggered to sit in the chair nearest her.
Bill snapped a look at her. "What is with you, woman? You best not be slacking off 'cause I wasn't around. You see me?"
She pulled a smile onto her face. "I'm fine. Really. Everything will be set for Christmas tomorrow."
She bit her lip. She shouldn't ask. She really shouldn't ask. But the thought of young Johnny in the other room, and his fervent pleas, made her continue. "Were you able to get that toy horse that Johnny wanted?"
Bill turned with the bottle of whiskey in one hand, a metal cup in another. His eyes flared. "What are we – in the pines? Made of money? Of course I didn't buy the spoiled brat that horse. Twenty-five cents! I could buy a quart of rum with that!"
Naomi glanced over. A pair of large eyes were peering from the corner of the bedroom.
She stood, putting herself between Bill and her young son. A note of pleading came into her voice. "Please, Bill. It's Christmas. And Johnny's been so good –"
Bill's brows came together. Deep creases shadowed his face.
For a heart-stopping moment Naomi could see clearly why the locals all called him "Devil" Bill.
Her throat tightened, and she put her hands up before her. "You're right. Of course. Absolutely right. I'll find him something else for a present for Johnny."
Bill's glower shimmered with heat. "You're damn right you will. No son of mine is gonna to grow up spoiled. He's gotta work for what he gets. That's how a man lives. He takes what he wants and he don't let no meddlin' crow-black woman tell him otherwise." He coughed and spit into the corner. His voice dropped into a grumble. "Damn crow women's all alike."
Naomi glanced behind her. The round eyes were gone.
She looked to Bill. "I gotta check on the baby." Her hand went automatically to her stomach, and she flinched.
Bill's eyes lit up in a leer. "My seed take a'hold again so quick? I done waited the three months before I mounted you. My mammy always said three months is what she needed to gain strength for the next one. Kept her from dying in childbirth, like all those weak women do. But you can't keep a man off forever." His grin grew. "Ain't healthy for a man to go too long without."
Naomi's hand tensed against her belly. He couldn't know. Not when her soul was already twisted with worry.
She shook her head. "I'm not pregnant," she insisted. "I'm just sick."
He looked her over, then spat again. "Sick," he growled.
She half-thought he would come at her, to force his way past her feeble resistance and use her as he always did. It seemed a lifetime ago that his touch brought pleasure. Now she just prayed for him to be brief.
His eyes glowered ...
At last he slugged back his whiskey and turned to pull his boots on.
She took a tremulous step forward. "Are you going out again? But Bill, it's Christmas Eve."
He turned, glaring at her. "That's right. And I'm a-gonna go celebrate."
He pulled open the door, stepped through, and yanked it shut behind him.
Hollowness settled on the house. Naomi wrapped her arms around herself, trembling. With effort, she drew herself together. She had two young children who relied on her for protection.
Her hand slipped to her belly.
Three.
She looked again at the door, at where the Devil Bill Williams had left her. Undoubtedly he was trudging the three miles into town to seek out a woman who craved his fiery heat. Once, long ago, Naomi had been that woman. The one whose heart pounded with anticipation when she heard his heavy footstep. She had taken great pride that he had chosen her – out of all the women in this wild part of Tennessee – to be his.
Now she knew better. Now she prayed for the day that she and her children could escape – to somehow, against all odds, be safely free.
There was a movement at the bedroom door. Johnny's dark eyes were on her again, bright and large. "Mama, Polly's hungry."
"Of course, sweetie. You're such a good boy to help your little sister like that. Come on, let me tell you both a story."
His gaze lit up. "A story? After bedtime? But Papa will be mad."
She stood and moved to take his hand. It seemed so small and delicate within her own.
She smiled down at him.
"It'll be our little secret. Okay?"
He nodded, his eyes intent.
She moved into the relative darkness of the bedroom, the only light coming from a flickering candle in a tin canister. It sat on the lone dresser at the foot of the bed. She moved to the rough-wood crib. Polly lay there, a dark raisin against the tumble of brown blankets, her dense, curly hair tight against her tiny head. Naomi lifted out Polly and brought her to a breast. Polly latched on hungrily, settling down to suck, one hand gently resting on the curved skin.
Naomi sat on the bed, leaning back against the lumpy pillow. She pulled the quilted blanket up, and in a moment Johnny had wriggled his way in against her. He nudged her in her side. "The story!"
"Yes, yes, the story," she reassured him. "Just give us all a moment to get settled in."
Polly contently sucked away, and Naomi shifted to account for the weight of both of her children. At last she found the sweet spot between the lumpy mattress's edges and sighed with contentment.
The candle flickered, sending spots of light across the ceiling.
Naomi looked down at her son. "Ready?"
He nodded, his eyes pinned on hers with eager anticipation.
She smiled fondly. "All right, then. Let's begin. Tonight is Christmas Eve ..."
The horse toy for Johnny sprung to mind, and she flushed. She would have to make something new for him once he went to sleep. She had no idea how she would do it, but she'd find a way.
She could see similar thoughts going through his young mind, but he stayed quiet, his eyes shining with trust. He seemed to be sure that somehow his mother would make Christmas all right.
His trust in her staggered her.
She found strength growing in her voice. "It's Christmas Eve. Many, many years ago, and far, far away, there was a quiet town called Bethlehem. It was very cold out that night, and all the taverns and inns were full. But a pair of visitors came into the town. Joseph and his wife, Mary. They needed a place to stay, but they were very poor, like us, and Mary was pregnant."
Naomi's hand slipped to her own belly.
Johnny's brow scrunched. "But Mama, we're not poor. We have a big house!"
Naomi drew him in close, pressing a tender kiss against his forehead. "You are right, little one. We have so much to be grateful for."
Polly squiggled, and Naomi moved her to the other breast.
Johnny yawned. "And then the mama and papa went into the barn with the chickens and the sheep and the goats. That way they could be warm and dry."
Naomi smiled at her son. "You know the story well."
"And then the baby Jesus was born, in the straw. And that's why we go to church tomorrow."
"That's exactly right, my darling. We go to celebrate his life. He taught us to be kind to others. To care for each other."
Polly had settled down now to just gently mouthing Naomi's nipple, half-asleep.
Johnny gave another yawn, this one larger. His voice was a mumble. "Mama, do you know what I want for Christmas?"
Naomi closed her eyes. Her young son deserved so much in life. So much. And she would do her best to see that he got it.
Her voice was tight when she spoke. "What, my love?"
He draped his tiny arm across her waist. "I want Daddy not to be mad any more."
She drew him in against her, tears welling in her eyes.
"I know, sweetie. Now, go to sleep. Santa will be visiting us soon, and I'm sure he'll bring you something nice."
Johnny nodded his curly head, and then his breath eased into an even rhythm.
Naomi looked down at her two sleeping children, then her hand went to her belly.
Strength crept into her spine. Whatever it took, she would make a better life for them.