Didn't know what every small sound meant.
And the responsibility frightened him.
Martha noticed.
She approached quietly.
"Mr. Morrow."
He looked up.
"Yes?"
She smiled.
"You haven't slept."
He shook his head.
"Couldn't."
She glanced toward the baby.
Then back at him.
"She'll need a father who knows when to rest."
Gabriel swallowed.
For a moment, he seemed surprised by the word.
Father.
Martha continued.
"Clara will need help. There'll be feedings, cleaning, interrupted nights, and plenty of ordinary work that isn't nearly as poetic as holding a sleeping baby."
Gabriel nodded.
"I'll do whatever's needed."
The older woman studied him.
"I believe you."
He looked toward Clara.
She was sleeping deeply.
Her face remained tired.
Gabriel felt a fierce desire to protect her from everything.
Martha seemed to read his thoughts.
Then she said quietly, "You cannot keep difficulty out of a house simply by loving the people inside it."
Gabriel looked toward her.
She continued.
"But you can make sure no one faces it alone."
For several seconds, he was silent.
Then nodded.
"I can do that."
Martha smiled.
"Good."
She gestured toward the baby.
"Would you like to hold her?"
Gabriel froze.
He looked toward the small bundle.
Then at Martha.
"Me?"
The midwife laughed softly.
"Yes, you."
He swallowed.
"I don't know how."
"Then I'll show you."
She explained how to support the baby's head and body.
Gabriel listened with the concentration of a man learning a task more important than any he'd attempted before.
He adjusted his arms.
Martha carefully transferred the newborn to him.
For a moment, Gabriel stopped breathing.
The baby weighed almost nothing compared with the tools and feed sacks he carried every day.
Yet he had never held anything that seemed so precious.
Her face was small.
Her eyelids fluttered.
One tiny fist rested beside her cheek.
Gabriel stared.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered, "Well, hello again."
The baby made a small sound.
He smiled.
For a moment, he looked toward Martha.
"Am I holding her right?"
The midwife nodded.
"Very well."
He looked relieved.
Then lowered his eyes.
The child's tiny fingers moved against the blanket.
Gabriel watched.
His throat tightened.
He had spent twenty years believing something was missing from him.
A piece of manhood.
A future.
An ability other men took for granted.