As soon as they stepped inside the church, an auburn-haired little girl threw herself around Ruth almost knocking her off balance.
"Mercy, child," Ruth said.
Kid smiled as she had unwittingly said her daughter's name. "Careful, Mercy. Your mother don't feel too good right now."
Mercy lightened her hold and said, "I was so worried, Momma."
"Aww, well, there's no reason to worry." She patted her head awkwardly, wishing she could take her own advice for she was extremely worried at the moment.
Mercy let go and stepped back. "I prayed though and just like you told me it's hard to worry while you're praying."
"That sounds like good advice. I'm glad you took it."
"Son, you going to come say hello to your momma?" Kid asked Isaiah, who sat on the floor with his ears covered.
"I knew she be okay," he said, not even looking up.
He grinned apologetically at Ruth. "That's our Isaiah."
They turned their attention on the pacing priest, who held a crying baby, the reason Isaiah was plugging his ears. The man came closer when he saw the reunion with the older children was over.
"Gideon's hungry," Kid explained to Ruth.
"Oh." The priest held the infant out to her and she suddenly realized what would be required of her to satisfy that hunger. "Oh."
She felt a tingling sensation that came from milk letting down as she took him from the priest. Her body seemed to know she was the child's mother even if she didn't.
"Do you need help?" Kid asked.
"I'm not stupid." She was feeling embarrassed by the whole situation and the last thing she wanted was help with something of so personal a nature.
"I didn't think you were." Quietly so that just the two of them could hear though Gideon's cries probably covered their voices well enough, he said, "I just wondered if you remembered how is all."
"It's not the hows I'm struggling with. It's the whos. Is there somewhere I can go?"
"Right. Uh, Padre?"
He knew what they were in need of before he asked. "I'll show you all to your room. I've already made myself a bed over in the corner."
Padre Andrés took them to a door hidden in the back of the sanctuary that opened to a large bedroom. "If either of you need anything, let me know. I am glad to see you are alright, my daughter."
"Thank you, Padre." She wondered if she should know him too as she watched his retreating form. He sparked no glimmer of memory, but then neither had Kid or the children.
She went into the room and Kid started to follow.
"Do you mind waiting until I'm finished feeding him?" she asked with flushed cheeks.
Kid flushed in return. "Of course, whatever makes you comfortable. I'll just go out and get the kids' bed things from the wagon."
"Thank you," she said, relieved he wasn't putting up an argument. This was going to make her uneasy enough without an audience.
She put the sheriff's blanket down and perched herself on the edge of the bed as soon as he was gone.
As she unbuttoned her blouse, a verse came to her mind. "Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee."
That was just what she had done forgotten her nursing child, she thought as her son latched on, knowing the routine better than her. She realized it meant more of a purposeful forgetting, but it still felt applicant. It was a verse that brought her comfort to think that the Lord knew and remembered everything about her even when she didn't remember herself.
She thought it rather strange she hadn't forgotten her faith when she'd forgotten everything else about herself. She couldn't say how, when, or where she'd come to know the Lord, but she knew she knew Him and she didn't feel alone as she could have right now. Her faith in God somehow went deeper than memories.
Gideon was all smiles after getting his milk and he quickly fell asleep in her arms. After buttoning her blouse back up, she opened the door to signal she was done.
Kid and Padre Andrés came in carrying a mattress that they laid on the floor. Mercy carried blankets and pillows. Isaiah brought up the rear carrying only his yellow blanket.
Kid went back out to the wagon to bring in more of their personal things. He got all three children settled for bed: Isaiah and Mercy on the mattress and Gideon in his guitar case.
Kid took off his shirt, preparing to get in bed himself, and a flustered Ruth looked away. "You need me to hold up a blanket while you get ready? I brought in your nightgown."
She needed a new dress on with her ripped sleeve, but she wasn't sure she wanted to wear a nightgown.
He noticed her hesitancy. "You still have doubts, don't you? That I'm your husband?"
"No, I believe you or I wouldn't be here, but-"
"You still don't feel at ease with me?"
"It's not your fault. I'm not at ease with anybody right now. Did you bring in a dress too?"
He lifted a blanket and pointed to the bag. He kept the blanket up and his eyes looking the other way until she was dressed.
Frown lines appeared when she came out fully dressed. She hadn't even let her hair down. He sighed but said very patiently, "I assume you'd rather not sleep in the same bed with me either?"
"If you don't mind. At least for tonight."
Kid got a short coughing spell. As soon as he was able, he cleared his throat and said, "The mattress on the floor is big enough for three. I'll sleep with the children."
"You have a cold. You should have the bed," she said, looking concerned for him.
He gave her a tender look. She might not remember who she was, but it was proof she was still the Ruth he knew, putting others before herself. "No, it's not a cold. I always have the cough. You take the bed."
"Well, at least put the girl up here with me."
"No, we'll be fine. Mercy thrashes around like a fish out of water while she sleeps and you need your rest."
He hoped her memory returned quick as he slid in between his sleeping son and daughter. It was no fun sleeping without your wife, but more than that he could see how much the memory loss was distressing her and that upset him in turn. And mostly he wanted her to remember so he could go after the cretin who was the cause of it all.
