Читать книгу Wolf Creek Wedding - Penny Richards - Страница 12

Chapter Three

With a few free moments before starting the evening meal, Abby poured herself a cup of coffee and sank into a kitchen chair. Emily’s funeral service had been held that morning, and Caleb had yet to return from town. Laura and Betsy were down for their afternoon naps, and Ben was taking advantage of the sunny afternoon, playing on the back porch with the wooden train set William had made him last Christmas.

The two days since she and the children had arrived at the Gentry farm had been somewhat stressful as they tried to adjust to their new home and responsibilities, but with the absence of any further mishaps or misunderstandings, Abby felt she was beginning to find her stride.

She took a sip of her coffee and contemplated what to fix for supper, which turned her thoughts to Caleb. In an effort to please her new employer, she had asked what he did and didn’t like to eat, and he had informed her that not liking something was a luxury he and his brother had not been allowed. He ate everything, and she soon learned he ate a lot of it, tucking into a meal as if it might be his last. So much food might have made another man overweight, but Caleb was as fit any male she’d ever seen.

She’d learned a bit about him the past couple of days. His work ethic could not be faulted. The care he took with his animals and the upkeep of the farm spoke of concern, dedication and pride in his accomplishments, which was reflected by his affluence. In fact, he worked from sunrise until sunset with an intensity she understood too well, readying the farm for winter wheat planting between visits from the few neighbors who came to offer food and condolences.

Abby was a bit surprised that there were not as many visitors as she might have imagined considering the Gentry family’s long-standing presence in the community. She was also surprised at how uncomfortable he seemed with accepting their simple kindnesses.

She understood filling your days with work in an attempt to hold the pain of loss at bay, but she did not comprehend his awkwardness in accepting well-meaning compassion from people who wanted to show they cared. It was almost as if he didn’t know how to deal with their kindness.

He seemed to be trying his best to make her job easier, always giving a polite answer to her questions about the workings of his household, and plenty of leeway to take care of Betsy in whatever way she thought was best. Still, in no way could his actions be interpreted as friendly. Sometimes she caught him looking at her with a strange expression that seemed to straddle the fence between skepticism and remorse.

She often caught him regarding the children with wary uncertainty, sometimes giving them looks that dared them to so much as breathe, but he also tried in a heavy-handed way to engage them in various ways. Despite how painful accepting their presence might be, Abby couldn’t help feeling that he was doing his best, even though his best lacked enthusiasm or warmth and more often than not fell short.

There had been one sticky moment that first evening when he had started eating the squirrel and dumplings she had brought from home, only to be halted by Ben who regarded him in disbelief and said, “We didn’t say the prayer.”

Looking somewhat abashed, Caleb had stopped, bowed his head and listened while Ben gave thanks for the food. He had never forgotten after that. It was a small thing, but one for which Abby was grateful. She was also grateful that other than to show up for meals, she had seen little of him, which made everyone’s life easier, especially the days she recalled the unexpected spark she’d felt when their fingers touched. Labeling it a figment of her imagination made it no less troubling.

The morning after her arrival, Caleb had taken Frank, one of his two hired men and a wagon to her place where they’d rounded up her few remaining chickens, the rabbits and their cages, and Nana, one in a long string of goats she and William had purchased because Ben had not tolerated cow’s milk well. They had tethered Shaggy Bear, her milk cow, to the wagon, loaded what feed she had and brought the whole kit and caboodle back to his place. When Caleb had come in for supper, she thought she’d heard him mumbling something about “milking goats” under his breath, but she could not be sure.

She was doing a top-to-bottom cleaning of the house and admitted that caring for it was much easier than caring for hers. While not a fancy place per se, the Gentry home was more than a simple farmhouse, designed not only for the convenience of a farming family, but also with an eye toward rustic charm. The house was the product of Gentry money, yet nowhere was there a hint of ostentation. The oak floors had been planed smooth and waxed to a satin sheen, as had the bookcases flanking the massive rock fireplace that was the hub of the parlor. The plaster walls throughout were painted in various colors, most of them too dark for Abby’s taste, but classic colors that somehow suited Caleb.

Though blessed with a fine house, Emily Gentry seemed to have taken little interest in putting her stamp on it. Abby understood being so dragged down by pregnancy that regular cleaning became a chore, but where were the little touches that showed care and love? Other than a quilt or two and the occasional pastel drawing Emily had done, there were few of the personal touches Abby felt transformed lumber and nails from a house into a sanctuary away from the cares of the world.

If it were her home, she would paint the rooms light colors and swap the heavy drapes framing the windows for white muslin curtains, perhaps with a crochet-and-tassel edging to brighten things up.

Shame on you, Abby Carter! How dare you presume to redecorate a dead woman’s house or think it lacked love?

Why, Caleb himself had indicated that even though Abby had lost her husband, she could have no idea how he felt at his own loss. A sudden wave of melancholy for the simple, love-filled house she and William had once shared swept through Abby, but she pushed it aside. Indulging in nostalgia for the past served as little purpose as speculating on Emily Gentry’s personality and her relationship with her husband.

Caleb never so much as mentioned her name, and though Abby saw the grimness in his eyes as he approached each day with stubborn determination, she knew only too well what he must be going through.

Though she and William had not seen eye to eye the last months of their marriage, she had loved him, and it was weeks before anyone could mention his name without her tearing up. But as her preacher had counseled her, God made our wondrous bodies not only to heal themselves when overtaken with physical problems—if given care and time—He had done the same with our emotions. Time, he had told her, was the cure for her sorrow. He’d been right. There were still moments when thoughts of William brought tightness to her throat and tears to her eyes, but for the most part he had been relegated to a special place in her memories and her heart.

So, when things became tense and stilted between her and Caleb, she reminded herself of his recent loss and prayed that the sharpest edges of his pain would be smoothed over by God’s grace.

And you still haven’t decided what to fix for supper.

She was debating on whether to cook a pot of beans or fry some salt pork and potatoes and cook up the turnip and mustard greens Leo had picked for her that morning, when she heard footsteps on the front porch. Caleb must be back. Then, hearing a woman’s voice and what had to be more than one person’s footsteps, Abby leaped to her feet. It must be someone coming to pay his respects. She had been so careful not to overstep the boundaries of the duties Caleb had outlined that she wasn’t sure if she should answer the door or not.

Then again, he wasn’t here. Deciding that she should welcome his guests, she hurried through the kitchen, smoothing both her hair and her apron as she went. She was halfway to the front door when it was pushed open, and Caleb, accompanied by a rush of cool air and carrying a pot of something, stepped through the opening. His in-laws followed, each holding a wooden tray covered by a tea towel. Their eyes were red-rimmed, but their wan faces wore resolute smiles.

Abby’s questioning gaze flickered to Caleb. “The people from town fixed enough food for an army,” he told her. “We brought what was left here.”

“Indeed they did,” Mary Emerson interjected, doing her best to summon a vestige of cheer. “There’s no way Bart and I can eat it all before it goes bad, and I know Caleb eats like a horse, so we decided to share with you and the children this evening. I hope you haven’t started supper.”

“No. No, I haven’t,” Abby told her. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Besides,” Mary added, with another smile, this one faint and sorrowful, “it seemed only right that we come spend some time with Betsy. Especially today.”

Again, Abby’s gaze sought Caleb’s, hoping to gauge his reaction to the impromptu visit, but he had already disappeared through the kitchen door, and she could only nod.

“We’ll just put it in the kitchen, then.”

“That’s fine,” Abby said as the older woman followed her husband and Caleb through the house.

Not wanting her presence to remind the Emersons of their loss, Abby decided that she should stay out of sight and hopefully out of mind. She went to check on the babies and found them still sleeping. Letting herself out the front door, she rounded the house to the back porch to check on Ben. He was still playing with his train, the three open cars loaded down with green-and-black objects.

Abby’s eyes widened when she recognized the cargo for what it was: onyx-and-jade chess pieces from the set displayed on the table next to the front window. A vivid recollection of the scene with Caleb and Ben she had interrupted mere days ago leaped into her mind. Her heart dropped to her toes and she sucked in a horrified breath. While she watched, he took the kings from their respective cars and began to have them “fight” each other. Her first instinct was to yell at him to put them down, but caution prevailed. If he dropped one of them and it broke, it would be total disaster!

Instead, she sauntered over to the steps. “Hi, sweetheart. Having fun?”

Ben’s head snapped up and his wide eyes met hers. The guilt she saw there said without words that he knew he was in trouble. He swallowed and nodded.

“Aren’t those Mr. Gentry’s chessmen?”

He nodded again.

Abby sat down on the steps. “What are you doing with them?”

“Just playing sheriff and train robber,” he said in a low voice.

“I see.” She hoped her tone was reasonable. “Did Mr. Gentry give you permission to play with them?”

If possible, Ben’s eyes grew even wider. “No, ma’am.” His voice was the merest thread of sound.

“Hmm,” she said with a nod. “You know full well you are not to bother other peoples’ belongings, don’t you, Benjamin?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why did you?”

Ben stared at the now-abandoned chess pieces. “I just needed something to haul in my train. I was being careful.”

“I’m sure you meant no harm, and I’m sure you were being careful, but accidents happen. Remember Laura breaking the figurine? What if you’d broken one of Mr. Gentry’s chess pieces? What do you think he would say?”

Ben looked up, his freckle-splashed face draining of color.

Abby sighed. “Well, no harm done. I don’t think he knows they are missing yet. I’ll put them back, and when Mr. and Mrs. Emerson leave, you will tell Mr. Gentry what you did and apologize.”

Ben’s face crumpled. “Do I have to?”

“You do.” Abby reached out and took the chess pieces from the train, placing them in the pockets of her skirt. “Why don’t you spend some time on your reading?”

“I’d rather go fishing,” the boy said, a forlorn look in his eyes.

A sudden pain racked Abby’s heart. Fishing was a venture Ben and his father had shared and something she knew Ben missed very much. She swallowed back the tightness in her throat and forced a smile. “It would be nice for you to get in one more good fishing session before it gets too cold,” she agreed. “The next time we go into town, I’ll ask Dr. Rachel if Danny can come out one day and fish. Frank says some mighty big crappie live in Wolf Creek.”

“That would be fun,” Ben said, his eyes brightening. Rachel’s son, Daniel, was Ben’s best friend. “Maybe we could take a picnic the way we used to when Dad...”

The sentence trailed away and his smile faded.

“A picnic is a definite possibility,” Abby said, “if the wind isn’t blowing too much for the baby. It’s still pretty warm, and we could take a basket for her and a quilt for Laura, though I think she’ll be walking before much longer.”

Ben’s wide grin made Abby’s heart glad. “Yeah, she’s pulling up to everything the past few days.”

“If we had the picnic at midday, Mr. Gentry might like to join us,” Abby suggested.

Ben’s happy smile vanished. He looked up, his mouth already open to tell her that he didn’t want Caleb to come along.

Abby tapped his mouth with a gentle finger “Matthew 7:12.”

“Treat others the way you want to be treated,” he said in a disgusted tone.

“Close enough,” Abby said with a smile. “Now go find something to read for an hour or so. The Emersons have come to see Betsy and they brought supper, so there will be a lot of good things to choose from.” She winked at him. “I even saw a chocolate cake.”

Ben’s blue eyes brightened at the mention of his favorite.

“This is a sad time for them, Ben, so be extra nice, all right?”

Ben nodded. Abby bent and pressed a kiss to his white-blond hair, then ushered him through the kitchen and into the parlor. To her surprise, he went straight to Mary Emerson and gave her a hug, following suit with Bart. Abby felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids. He was a sweet boy.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze moving from one adult to the other and lingering on Caleb, whom he made no move to hug. Then without another word, he went to the room he shared with Abby.

She stifled a groan while fighting the conflicting urge to smile. The apology had not only been for Ben’s sorrow about Emily. By snaring Caleb’s eye, she somehow felt Ben had cleverly included his regret for playing with the chessmen without permission. Well, she might as well follow suit and take the coward’s way out, too. There wasn’t much Caleb could do or say with Emily’s parents in the room. Straightening her shoulders, she crossed the room to the chess set, pulled the pieces from her pocket and placed them on the board. Heaven only knew if they belonged in a special spot. She was only thankful they were undamaged.

That done, she shot Caleb a quick glance. It was no surprise to see that his pewter-hued eyes had gone a stormy gray, like gloomy, rain-drenched clouds before a summer thunderstorm, one that would no doubt hit after the Emersons left.

* * *

Bart and Mary spent the remainder of the afternoon alternating between rocking Betsy and going through Emily’s belongings, separating them into piles to keep, be given away or be tossed. Caleb had retreated to the fields, telling them to take whatever they wanted. Abby spent the afternoon taking care of the babies’ needs, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible and biting her trembling bottom lip and blinking back her own tears when the sounds of sobbing escaped through the closed door.

By late afternoon, the chore was done, and everything was packed into two trunks and loaded onto Bart’s wagon. Abby made sure that supper was warm when they finished, so that Mary, who must be emotionally exhausted, would not feel the need to offer her help.

The meal was over and they were almost finished washing the dishes when Mary said, “I understand from Rachel that you didn’t bring much with you.”

“No. We were in a bit of a hurry to get here.”

“If you’d like, I can drive out early in the morning to watch the children while Caleb takes you to gather your things. I know you’d be more comfortable if Laura had her crib.”

“I appreciate it, Mrs. Emerson, but I’m not sure that would be convenient for Caleb, and I don’t want to make any more work on him than necessary.”

“Please call me Mary,” Emily’s mother said. “I’ve already talked to him, and he’s fine with it, as long as you don’t mind my watching Ben and Laura.”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

Mary’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached out and clasped one of Abby’s hands. “Bart and I are so very glad that you’re here for Betsy and Caleb, and we want to do everything we can so that you’ll feel more at home.”

Abby was overwhelmed by the heartfelt declaration. “Thank you, but I’m sure you’d have found someone, and actually, I’m the grateful one.”

Mary and Bart left soon after the dishes were washed and put away. Just before stepping onto the front porch, a tearful Mary pulled Abby into a close embrace. “If you or the children ever need anything, please let either me or Bart know.”

Abby promised she would and watched the carriage disappear down the lane. She drew a relieved breath at the older woman’s glad acceptance of the situation. If only she could somehow bring some of that acceptance and just a smidgen of joy into Caleb’s life, perhaps the next few months would be worth it.

* * *

Abby and Ben were in the parlor later, having their evening devotional, when Caleb came into the room. Abby looked up from the verse she was reading and found his gaze on Ben. She held her breath, hoping against hope that he would not fly off the handle.

“Ben.”

“Sir?”

Abby heard the quaver in his voice.

“That chess set was a gift to me from Doc Stone,” Caleb said in an even voice that somehow managed to fall just short of angry. “It isn’t a toy, son, and it isn’t to be played with unless you’re playing an actual game of chess. If you want to learn—”

“Don’t call me son!” Ben shouted, lifting his belligerent blue gaze to Caleb’s.

“Benjamin!” Abby cried, leaping to her feet. She was stunned by Ben’s sudden outburst, when Caleb had been trying to discuss the matter in a conciliatory tone. “You will apologize to Mr. Gentry at once.”

“I won’t!” he yelled, scrambling off the sofa and running to the bedroom. “I’m not his son!” The door slammed with a jarring thud.

Abby lifted her horrified gaze to Caleb’s, wondering if he would tell her to start packing “I—I’m so sorry,” she said in a near whisper. “I don’t know what got into him.”

His silvery eyes held a weary sorrow. “I do. I understand exactly why he’s upset. I’ve been where he is, remember?”

Abby recalled that he’d lost his mother when he was young. “You’re being very decent about this.”

“You told me yourself to expect that kind of outburst, and even though I may be short-tempered and stubborn, I like to think I am a decent man.”

“I never meant to imply—”

A fleeting sorrowful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I know.”

Abby regarded him thoughtfully and set out to try to make him understand. “Ben had no idea how expensive that chess set is, but that’s neither here nor there. He knows better than to bother other people’s things. I’m not trying to make excuses, but he just wanted something to haul in his train cars. He—”

“Leave it, Abby,” Caleb said, but the weariness of his smile took the sting from the command. “I was going to offer to teach him how to play chess in the evenings, but I don’t think he’d be very receptive to that just now.”

Without another word, he crossed the room and began moving the chess pieces, presumably where they had been before Ben confiscated them. Caleb had made no mention of sending them packing, and she wasn’t going to bring it up. She gave a rueful shake of her head, not fully understanding why he had not flown off the handle, but grateful that he had not. It was progress. Of sorts.

* * *

Bright and early the following morning, while dew still sparkled on the browning grass, Abby found herself seated in the wagon beside Caleb. Mary had arrived shortly after daybreak to take care of the children. She’d brought along a newfangled bottle from the mercantile so that she could give Betsy a little sugar water if she grew fussy before Abby returned. Frank, the older of Caleb’s two hired hands, followed the wagon on a bay gelding.

Caleb leaned forward, his elbows resting on his denim-clad knees, his tanned, callused hands holding the reins in a loose grasp. Completely and easily in control. Again, she thought that even though he was not what one might call handsome, there was something striking about him. It was no wonder that he’d once been the catch of Pike County, or little doubt that once a decent time of mourning had passed, he would be again.

It was only when it came to expressing the more tender emotions that Caleb Gentry seemed to be wanting. That and the lack of a relationship with God. She wondered why he had left no place in his life for a God who had been so generous to him, but she was far too cautious to ask. In truth, she spoke to him as little as possible, since she had the impression that he did not want anyone getting too close to him and seemed disinclined to get close to anyone, which was rather sad, even though it made her life easier.

She glanced again at his hands. They were strong hands, hands whose callused palms and scarred fingers spoke of hard work. She’d seen those hands move in unerring swiftness to soothe a nervous horse and calmly remove an adventurous kitten from the branches of an oak tree, proving he was capable of tenderness. Yet for some reason that kindheartedness was not extended to people—at least not that she had seen.

Well, that was not exactly true. Even in the few days she had been at the farm, she’d seen his softening toward Laura, who made a habit of pulling up to his legs and demanding that he hold her, something he did without hesitation or complaint. He even allowed her to explore his face, poking her tiny fingers into his ears and eyes, and once offering him a wet, openmouthed kiss. When he’d swiped a palm down his cheek and made a soft growling sound of disgust, Laura had laughed in delight, which only made his scowl grow fiercer. It was all Abby could do to keep from laughing herself, but she managed to stifle the urge, knowing it would not do at all.

She saw him growing more confident with Betsy, too, as he made time for her after the evening meal and before going to his study to work on his account ledgers. Abby wondered if he saw Emily’s face when he looked down at their daughter’s delicate features. Once, he ran a strong finger over the curve of Betsy’s cheek, and remembering the little shock that had run through her when their hands touched, Abby experienced a brief, sudden stab of longing. It seemed like aeons since she had felt the tenderness of a man’s touch. Would she ever again bask in the certainty that she was so cherished?

“Are you all right?”

The sound of his voice brought her wandering thoughts back to the present. Her gaze flew to his, which held a curious gleam. “Y-yes. Why do you ask?”

“You made a strange sound, and I thought something might be bothering you.”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

She slid him a sideways glance and said the first thing that came to mind. “No offense, Mr. Gentry, but you don’t pay me enough to be privy to my thoughts.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could call them back. They were something she might have said to William. Almost...flirty, somehow. And totally inappropriate.

He regarded her for a moment, and then something bearing close kinship to a smile lifted one corner of his mouth for a heartbeat. “No offense taken, Mrs. Carter, and you’re right. It’s just that it’s seldom you’re so quiet. You’re always talking to the children about something—even Laura and Betsy, who have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I was just respecting your privacy. You don’t seem like the kind of man who indulges in idle chitchat.”

“You’re right,” he said with a slow nod. “I have little use for chitchat and gossip, but I enjoy an intelligent discussion now and again.”

Abby wasn’t surprised that he valued intelligence. Chess was not a game for dummies, and no man who handled the myriad business responsibilities he did could be lacking in intelligence. If his impressive book collection was any indication, he was well read. The shelves on either side of the parlor fireplace were filled with titles that ranged from F. H. Bradley’s The Principles of Logic to treatises on successful farming. There were many poetry and art-related books, no doubt Emily’s. Abby tried to envision the creative Emily sharing her views on art and literature with her husband.

“I suppose you miss those discussions with Emily,” Abby said, partly to keep the conversation going and partly because she was curious about his relationship with his dead wife.

“Emily and I had few common interests,” he told her in a tone that said that line of conversation had ended.

“So,” she asked after a few uncomfortable moments, “what shall we talk about?”

“You.”

“Me?” She choked back a laugh. “There isn’t much to tell, I assure you. You’d be very bored.”

“That remains to be seen. From what you said the other day, your husband valued your comments and opinions, so I admit that I’m curious to hear some of them.” He slanted a wry look her way and added, “A bit taken aback by your forwardness, but curious nonetheless. I’m also interested as to why you agreed to help me with Betsy.”

“That’s simple,” she said with her customary bluntness. “Money.”

He shot her a shocked look. “Rachel never led me to believe you were the avaricious type.”

Again, Abby berated herself for speaking without thinking. This man was not William, and should not be answered with flippancy. “Oh, I’m not. Not really. I have little use for money for its sake, but we were forced to borrow against the farm, and the wages you’ve agreed to pay me will help me get caught up at the bank.”

Caleb frowned. “I thought you bought your place outright.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Ah. Gossip?” she challenged.

This time there was no denying his dry smile or the hint of color that crept into his lean cheeks. “The good old Wolf Creek grapevine,” he acknowledged with a nod.

“The good old Wolf Creek grapevine had it right,” she told him. “When my parents died, William and I used the money from the sale of their home to buy the farm and the equipment we’d need to farm it. And if you’ve heard that much gossip, you also know that he was a teacher, not a farmer. He had to borrow against the land.”

“I know he took a job with the Southwestern Arkansas and Indian Territory Railroad Company.”

“Yes,” Abby said quietly. Neither mentioned that William Carter had been killed a short time after his daughter’s birth while trying to connect two lumber-loaded railcars headed for an out-of-state market. Neither did Abby mention to Caleb that a few days before the accident, he had confided with an air of excitement that he had a potential buyer for the farm and he was thinking of taking the offer and moving them back to Springfield, Missouri, to be near his brother and his family.

Unfortunately, William was killed before anything could come of the deal, and Abby had no idea who the prospective buyer was.

“He should never have borrowed against the land,” Caleb said into the gathering silence.

“That’s an easy thing for someone like you to say,” she told him, the memories bringing past heartache to the surface.

“Someone like me? What does that mean?” he asked, his tone mirroring his irritation.

“Someone who has money, has always had money and who never has to worry about how to buy feed for their livestock, or put food on the table or buy shoes for their children. Someone who has options.”

Caleb didn’t comment for long moments. When he turned his head to look at her, there was genuine concern in his eyes, but Abby, who was looking out over the dew-drenched fields, didn’t see it. “So you did decide to take the job because of the money...because you had no other option.”

Her gaze flew to his. “Oh! You make it sound so mercenary. Yes, I needed the money, but I wanted to help, too. Believe it or not, I do not pull wings off butterflies, nor am I greedy and avaricious.”

Confusion filled his eyes. “I never thought you were. How have you managed these past months?”

Sensing that he was not angry, she gave a little shake of her head. “Though I hate to admit it, I’ve sold nearly everything I had that would bring a decent price.” When he made no comment, she added, “Your offer was the answer to my prayers.”

“Really?” he asked with an arched eyebrow of his own. “What took Him so long?”

“I beg your pardon,” Abby said, not following or understanding the sarcasm in his voice.

“God. What took Him so long to answer your prayers? Why didn’t He provide some sort of help sooner? Where was He when your husband died?”

Abby looked at him, taken aback. “It isn’t for us to question His plan for us,” she told him in an even tone. “Through faith, we believe that all will work out the way He wants it to, and for our benefit. And as for where He was when William died, I would imagine God was where He was when His son died.”

Caleb had the grace to look bowled over by that answer. Though he wanted to ask if she dealt with William’s loss by trusting that everything would come out all right and that something better was around the corner, he was silent.

“Surely you believe in God.” The statement was simple and to the point.

“I suppose so,” he said with a negligent lift of broad shoulders. “It’s just that my brother and I were taught to rely on ourselves, so I haven’t had many dealings with God.”

“On the contrary,” she argued, wondering how he’d lost his mother. “You deal with Him many times a day. Every day. Just look around you! It’s beautiful!” Abby spread her arms wide, encouraging him to look at the world around him, to see and acknowledge the glory of it all.

But Caleb wasn’t looking at the fallow fields or the red and gold of the changing leaves. He was looking at Abby. Bonnet-free, she had thrown back her head and lifted her face to the soft shine of the sun. A capricious breeze had tugged tendrils of blond hair from the coil at the nape of her neck and whipped delicate rose color into her cheeks. For the first time, he realized that Abigail Carter was a very pretty woman.

Caleb forced his eyes back to the road. “Yes. It is beautiful,” he said in a husky voice.

Abby glanced at him, saw the set of his jaw and decided that she’d said enough on the subject for the moment. She knew from past experience that the best way to teach was by example. There would be plenty of time to show him in small ways that God was present and working in his life.

* * *

Almost a week had gone by since she and Caleb had made the trip to her place. The intervening days had passed quickly, and things had been going as well as could be expected. Abby’s new routine had taken on a familiar rhythm as she grew accustomed to her new station in life and her new home. So far, neither Ben nor Laura had done anything else to antagonize the prickly Mr. Gentry.

As was her custom, Abby spent thirty minutes each night with Ben in Bible study. On two separate occasions, she had looked up and seen Caleb leaning against the doorjamb of his study, arms folded across his chest, listening as she read or questioned Ben about certain verses. He never commented, and on both occasions, he had quickly shut the door, bade them good-night and headed for the bunkhouse.

Today he was going into town for some feed and to pick up some pantry items Abby needed. When he came into the kitchen to tell her he was leaving, she said, “If you have time, I was wondering if you’d deliver a message for me.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he only nodded. “I’d be glad to.”

“I’m not used to dealing with this sort of thing, but I can. It’s just that William always did, and you’re familiar with business, so I thought...” She drew in another breath and rushed on. “I know it’s an imposition, certainly beyond what most employers would do, but it will be so hard for me to get away with the babies, and—”

“Stop dithering, woman, and spit it out,” Caleb said, scowling at her.

Abby’s eyes widened and she bit back a sharp retort. Dithering? Woman? She lowered her gaze to his shirtfront and struggled to keep her tone pleasant. “It’s just that...would you mind stopping at the bank to let Mr. Haversham know that I’m working for you now, and that I’ll start making up the back payments as soon as possible?”

Some emotion she couldn’t place flickered in Caleb’s gray eyes. “I’d be glad to,” he told her. “Anything else?”

“No. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She watched the wagon disappear down the lane with a sigh of relief. He had agreed readily enough, and didn’t seem to mind any inconvenience it might cause. But it was business, after all, and business was something he understood well.

* * *

“How are things, Caleb?” Emily’s mother asked as he glanced over the list Abby had given him after making a thorough check of his pantry shelves.

What could he say to his dead wife’s mother? He suspected that neither Mary nor Bart suspected the true circumstances of his marriage and how even though he had more money but was self-educated, he had always felt intellectually inferior to Emily, who had received her education at a fancy girls’ school in St. Louis. He doubted they knew that Emily had taken far more joy from her drawing, reading and poetry writing than in making a home, or trying to build a marriage, so that when she had announced she was expecting a baby, it had come as a bit of a shock to them both.

Throughout the following months, her inability to come to terms with the whole idea of motherhood had left Caleb feeling as if he were solely to blame for her miserable pregnancy...and now her death. Thus the daily guilt he suffered.

Her dying had ended the steady ebb and flow of his life. Though Abby had a hot meal waiting for him when he returned to the house each evening, it was difficult for a man who liked the status quo to walk into the house and find strangers there. Being unable to enjoy the quiet peace and comfort of his home in the evenings made him nostalgic for the uncomplicated life he’d grown accustomed to during his marriage. Being with someone for six years forged habits and rituals that, when they ceased to exist, were missed nonetheless.

“I miss having her around,” he told them truthfully.

The smile on Mary Emerson’s face told him that his answer had pleased her, and that was all the thanks he needed.

Consulting Abby’s list, Mary helped him select some just-picked apples and a small tin of cinnamon. He had a hankering for an apple pie, and so far, Abby hadn’t balked at anything he’d suggested she fix, which, he had to admit, was a pleasant change.

“How is the arrangement with Abby Carter working out?” Bart Emerson asked, as if he could read his thoughts.

The troubled expression in the older man’s eyes warned Caleb that something was wrong. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” he said, eyeing the older man thoughtfully. “What is it? I can tell something’s wrong.”

Bart cleared his throat. “I hate to mention it with everything you’ve been through lately, but you’ll find out soon enough, I reckon.”

“Spit it out,” Caleb said, leaning against the counter.

“Well, uh, there are some folks in town making a terrible fuss about Mrs. Carter staying at your place.”

Caleb’s dark eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, fuss?”

“They don’t think it’s right, both of you being single and living under one roof.”

Caleb swore beneath his breath. Though he was far from perfect and couldn’t claim to be religious, the maliciousness of some so-called Christians never failed to astound him.

“Don’t they know I just lost my wife, and I have a baby who needs to be fed every few hours?” he demanded. “Besides, Abby is newly widowed. And just for the record, I’m staying in the bunkhouse.”

“I know, I know,” Bart soothed. “You’d think they’d be more understanding what with Emily—” he cleared his throat “—and all. I’m thinking the problem is that Abby Carter is young and pretty. Maybe it would be different if she was old and ugly.”

“And if she was old, I wouldn’t need her, would I?” Caleb countered. He pinned Bart with a hard look. “Who exactly is ‘they’?”

“Several in town,” Bart hedged. “But the main one is Sarah VanSickle.”

“The biggest gossip in three counties,” Caleb muttered. He slapped his list onto the counter. “When I leave here, I have some business to see about for Abby, and then I’ll go have a talk with Sarah.”

“It won’t do any good,” Mary said. “She’d just make something of that. She’s like a spoon, Caleb. She likes keeping things stirred up. The best thing to do is ignore it.”

“Ignore it? That’s easier said than done. I don’t fancy being grist for the town’s gossip mill, and I suspect Abby won’t like it, either.”

“I suppose not,” Mary said, frowning. “Will you tell her?”

“No!” Caleb said in near panic. “She might decide to leave, and there’s no way I could manage without her just now.”

“I see your predicament, son, but you really ought to tell her before she finds out from someone else,” Bart reasoned. “It’s just a matter of time before Sarah’s poison makes its way through the whole county.”

Caleb hadn’t thought of that, but knew Bart was right. He couldn’t let Abby come to town and face the gossips without even preparing her, but how would he tell her? What would her reaction be? Furious and fearing he already knew the answer to that, he ground his teeth. Was anything in life ever easy?

* * *

It was almost dark when Caleb pulled the wagon to the rear of the house. The temperature was dropping since the sun had gone down, and he shivered, dreading the conversation to come. The feeling of trepidation vanished somewhat the moment he opened the back door and felt the tide of warm, cooking-scented air rush out to meet him. Breathing in the delicious aromas, he shifted the heavy sack of flour from his shoulder to the floor. Venison. Purple hull peas. Cornbread. Every night since Abby had come to stay he’d come in at suppertime to find something simmering on the back the stove.

Never much of a cook, Emily had stopped all attempts to do so when she’d announced her pregnancy, complaining of nausea, backaches and a general malaise. Soon she declared she was unable to do anything but knit and read, and in the subtle way she had, she made him feel like pond scum for putting her in her delicate condition. Rather than let the whole town know the situation, Caleb himself did what cooking and cleaning was to be done. Coming in and finding dinner waiting was nice, cooked by a stranger or not.

“How were the Emersons?” Abby said, setting the plates on the round oak table.

“Fine.”

“Did you get the apples?”

He nodded. “Just picked.”

“Wonderful.” They sat down to eat, Ben said the prayer and after a few more questions that received short answers, Abby deduced that Caleb was not in the mood for any type of conversation and stopped talking except to ask if she could pass him any more food.

When the awkward meal was finished, she put Laura in the square, quilt-lined “pen” William had made for her and gave Ben a piece of butterscotch Mary had thoughtfully sent. Abby told him to eat it on the porch and to get ready for bed as soon as he was finished. Caleb helped clear the table, something he’d gotten used to doing while fending for himself and continued to do for Abby.

He was setting a glass into the dishwater when she turned suddenly, a frown on her face. She was so close that he could see the almost-purple flecks in her blue eyes. So close he could smell the faint scent of the gardenia-scented soap she used for bathing. The sudden rush of awareness that jolted through him caught him off guard. Bart was right. Abby Carter was pretty. Very pretty. The revelation was swept away on another tidal wave of guilt. He took a sudden step back. What was the matter with him? His wife dead not two weeks, and he already found himself responding to the nearness of another woman!

“You seem distracted, Caleb. Is something wrong? Did Mr. Haversham refuse to discuss the farm?”

“No,” Caleb said, thankful to turn his thoughts to something else. “As a matter of fact, he said he’d drop by on Sunday afternoon on his way back from his daughter’s.”

“Good,” she said, but the worry stayed in her eyes. “Do you think he’ll be open to what I have to say?”

Careful not to look at her, he wrapped the leftover cornbread in a flour-sack dish towel and lifted his wide shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t get into things with him, but Nate’s a fair man, so I’m inclined to think he’ll listen with an open mind.”

“That’s a relief.” Neither spoke for several seconds.

“Abby, I—”

“Caleb, what—”

They both started to speak at once.

“Ladies first.”

“It’s just that something’s wrong,” she said, her blue eyes worry-filled. “I can tell. Did Ben—”

Caleb’s first thought was that it was amazing that she could read his mood after less than two weeks, something Emily had never been able to do. “Ben’s done nothing that I know about.”

“Then what?”

He drew a deep breath, crossed his arms over his chest and plunged. “There’s gossip in town.”

“Gossip? About what?”

“Us. It seems Sarah VanSickle and some of the others in town think it’s morally indecent for us to be living in the same house.”

“But I go to church with Sarah,” Abby said, as if the statement would negate the whole affair.

“If that old battle-ax is a Christian, I want no part of it.”

“None of us is perfect, Caleb, and you’d do well to think twice about throwing out the baby with the bathwater.”

Though she said the right thing, in her heart, she wanted to go to Sarah, confront her about her vicious character attacks and demand an accounting. Had the spiteful woman given any serious thought to her actions? Did she have any idea of the harm she was causing two innocent people—even more if you considered the children? Abby blinked back the sting of tears. As much as she might want to confront her accuser, she knew she wouldn’t.

A sudden thought occurred to her. “Caleb, we aren’t living in the same house! If we make that clear, everyone will understand.”

Caleb set the towel-wrapped bread in the pie safe, rested his elbow across its corner and regarded her with angry gray eyes. “Believe me, that was the first thing I pointed out to Mary and Bart, but they reminded me that a trifling thing like the truth does not matter one bit to Sarah. As a matter of fact, she’s notorious about never letting facts get in the way of her maliciousness.”

Abby cradled her hot cheeks in her palms. While the unwarranted accusations infuriated Caleb, the tears swimming in her eyes said she was more hurt and embarrassed than angry. He thrust his hands into his front pockets and stared out the window at the darkness, wondering what he could do to fix the mess they found themselves in.

“Do you think there are other people in town who feel the same way?” she asked.

He shot her a look that said he couldn’t believe her naïveté. “Count on it.”

“Well, then, I’ll leave first thing in the morning,” she said firmly, as if the decision would put an end to the whole matter.

“You will not!”

Shocked by his vehemence, she shook her head and said, “It’s the only thing we can do. My reputation is at stake. So is yours.”

“I’m not worried about my reputation,” he said, a muscle in his lean jaw tightening. “People have been talking about the Gentrys for years. But I am concerned about you. And I’m very concerned about my daughter.”

He took a breath and let it out slowly, as if he were trying to release the tension holding him. The fierce look in his eyes softened a bit as they met Abby’s. “Look, we’ve already been through all this and decided this is the best way.”

“But that was before Sarah’s accusations.”

“I understand, but we don’t need to let her wreck a perfectly good partnership. Why don’t we both sleep on it tonight. Things always look better in daylight. Maybe we’ll dream up some way to resolve things that even Sarah VanSickle can’t argue with.”