Abby sat waiting for him in the jockey box, hands folded in her lap and the color of her face a bit rosier.
“We’ve got a place waiting for us down the road by a big house near the river.” Gabe pointed then hopped back on the wagon and took up the reins. “Sounds like the place is in need of a woman’s touch. It can wait until you’re feeling better though, Abby.”
“Gabe?” Abby’s voice was soft and hesitant, her breath raspy as she drew in deeply then gazed down the road.
“Don’t worry, Abby, I’ll get the wagon unloaded. Tell me where to put the crates for you to unpack them.” Gabe whistled and the mules moved out along the rocky, rutted road. “This is a stage road, so it might get noisy now and again, but I think it’ll be peaceful most of the time.”
“Gabe, I’m sorry for what I said back there.” She put a hand over his and the intensity of the fire shooting through him caught him off guard. The heat warmed him clear down to his toes.
He smiled at her, then tucked her close to him. “We’ll talk about it later. There is a lot of work to be done before we can think about…things. I don’t want you doing more than you can if you’re not well. I’m not sure how close the nearest doctor is, and I don’t want to take any chances on you feeling ill again.”
Gabe allowed the mules to lumber down the road, passing a small river running to the south. They came to a large log cabin, complete with a lopsided door hanging off-kilter and windows with tattered curtains hanging in them.
“Looks like we’re home, Abby.”
Abby really was sorry for blaming Gabe for Robert’s death. She’d been unable to stop throwing the accusation at him or control the anger that came from the depths of darkness hidden in her. What is wrong with me? I’ve never acted so emotional before, not even with Robert’s death. Hold your head high, Abigail, and bury your grief once and for all.
She was a long way from the three-story estate where she worked as head cook to end up in a barely standing log cabin in Indian Territory. The realization was a hard pill to swallow. Abby could blame Gabe for that as well, and in a way she may have. In truth, the fault really was hers and hers alone. She could have stayed in Dodge City, but…
She’d wanted an adventure. It seemed she’d found one.
“The curtains look a bit tattered, but they’ll do, won’t they Abby?”
Abby looked down into Gabe’s eyes full of questions. He stood next to the wagon waiting for her, waiting to take her home. Wondering if she was as fragile as she felt. I’m not a fragile butterfly! I’ll prove that I’m a strong woman, Gabe.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Once we’re settled, I’ll make some new ones.” Abby put her hands on his shoulders, desire and need surging through her when his hands clasped her waist, lifting her from the wagon. Their eyes met when her feet touched the ground. She smiled, touching his cheek lightly. Lord, please let the house become a home. A home filled with love and caring. A home filled with many joys and laughter. A place Gabe wants to come home to. A place we can grow old together in.
“I think it’s time we made this our home, Mr. Hawkins.” Abby smiled then stepped out of his arms. Strolling across the porch to the door, a shiver ghosted down her spine. A warning of sorts? Pushing open the door, a breath hitched in her lungs.
“For the love of—” Abby stood in the main room which would serve as kitchen, dining, and living rooms. A stove stood lonely along the east wall near what she believed to be a sink, a single kettle on a burner sprouting plants from the seeds a critter had left behind. The floor, although rudely constructed of wooden planks, was quite dirty from clumps of dirt and leaves that had fallen through the cracks in the roof. Nothing a good sweep of the broom and a little patching can’t take care of until Gabe can put a proper roof on.
The hearth was cold, but someone must have loved this house at one time. Split logs leaned against the walls near the fireplace for the next cold night. Abby ran a finger through the dirt on the mantle, visualizing the items she’d place there.
Abby strolled slowly toward the back of the kitchen into a small, narrow room near the stove. Filled with rows of shelves, the space would serve as a pantry once Gabe moved them down to where Abby could reach their provisions. There was plenty of room for what they had left from their journey. She would make a list for Gabe of what was needed, and they’d soon be plumb full.
Holding her breath, Abby pushed through a half-opened door. She knew this was to be their bedroom, the place where she and Gabe would share each night, curled up in one another’s arms. A bed made from logs and a rather ratty mattress stood along the back wall. The room had two windows, one facing the west and the other on the south wall. Tattered lace curtains hung over the graying windows. Definitely a woman’s home at one time. Gabe will be happy I insisted our bedroom furniture be brought in the wagon once he sees this bed.
Abby stepped over to the room next to their bedroom. The door creaked on its hinges as she pushed it open and stepped in. Her hand flew to her heart as tears bordered her eyes. There had been love and laughter in this home at one time. She walked around the room half the size of the other bedroom. There was a small bed along the inside wall made of the same materials as the adult-sized one they’d replace. On the opposite wall sat a small crib, a threadbare blanket crumpled in one corner. Abby picked up the blanket and the moth-eaten rag doll hidden beneath it, hugging them to her chest.
Yes, this was the perfect place where she’d make their home. They would bring joy and laughter back to live within these walls once more.
A shadow passed over her and she smiled, the joy chasing away the despair threatening to creep over her.
“Lord, Abby. I had no idea it would be this awful. That I’d be taking you to something like this.” Gabe’s arms wrapped around her, dissolving any fears she may have had.
“It’s perfect!” She turned, gazing into the worry dimming his otherwise brilliant blue eyes. “It’s not so bad, Gabe. With only a few touch-ups and a good sweeping, it’ll be right as rain. A home in no time at all.” Abby took his hand, leading him through the front room toward to door. “Come on now, let’s get unloaded so I can get things settled while you go back to the post.”
Abby hoped she sounded upbeat, unlike the twisting in her stomach warring with the joy in her heart. It might take a month of Sundays to get this cleaned up, but it’ll be our home forever.
By the time Gabe placed the last crate in the house, Abby already had the floors swept, the pantry shelves cleaned, and the fireplace mantel wiped down. A few trinkets and pictures took up residence there, a small start in bringing the place to life.
“Would you mind fetching me a bucket of water from the river? I’d like to get these windows where I can actually see out them,” Abby called out from the pantry where she’d been filling the lower shelves with the remainder of their Dodge City provisions.
“As long as you don’t work yourself into exhaustion! Things don’t need to be done in one day, Abby.” Gabe headed out the door and down to the river with the one bucket they had in his hands.
The mules were already in the lean-to and the wagon was put up until needed. Spade chewed lazily on some grass under the shelter of a tree next to the shed. Gabe slipped down to the riverbank, scooping the bucket into the slow-moving current. The birds sang cheerfully from somewhere in the trees and the scurry of squirrels rustled in the brush. Sounds of nature he hadn’t heard in many years.
Pulling the bucket up, Gabe thought of how peaceful it was here as he leisurely strolled back toward the house. I may not miss Dodge after all if every day is like this one. The air was fresh and clean. No one was trying to shoot the other for simply looking at someone the wrong way. The only music came from nature itself. Yes indeed, Gabe could get used to this way of life mighty quick.
The sound of hoofbeats brought his head up. A lone rider approached, the white horse under him as sleek as new-fallen snow on a winter’s day. The man reined in at the front of the hous
e, a rifle hung from the saddle.
“Howdy.” The black man sat lazily in the saddle like he’d born to it. Easy and confident. His face was serious; cold, dark eyes taking in his surroundings in a quick sweep.
Gabe tipped his head, placing the bucket on the ground, never taking his eyes off the stranger. “Howdy. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Marshal Hawkins. Heard he was to arrive from Dodge City today.”
“Yes, sir, that’s what I’ve heard.” Gabe’s hand dropped near his holster and slid the corner of his jacket behind a gun grip. What kind of hell has landed at my doorstep? “And who might you be, so if I run across the lawman, I can say who is looking for him?”
The man moved the front of his vest aside, revealing the star of a deputy U.S. marshal. “Bass Reeves. Judge Parker sent me to make sure he’d arrived in one piece, and to introduce myself.”
Gabe smiled, hoping his surprise, and suspicion, hadn’t been too obvious. “Marshal Reeves, glad to make your acquaintance. Mrs. Hawkins and I arrived a few hours ago. Please, come inside. I’m not sure how much Abby has accomplished in the last few minutes, but you’re welcome at our table just the same.”
Bass dismounted, tying his horse to a post on the porch, then extended his hand to Gabe. “Marshal Hawkins, nice to meet you. And I could use a good cup of coffee, if there’s one available.”
Gabe shook the hand of the one man outlaws on the lam in these parts hated most. Gabe had never seen a picture of the infamous Bass Reeves, but he’d heard tales of his reputation in always getting his man and serving justice, including his own son. “No promises, Marshal, but Abby will come up with something.”
Gabe and Bass strolled across the porch and into the house where Abby already had coffee and biscuits waiting on the table. Pride soared through Gabe; Abby never ceased to amaze him.
“Abby, this is Deputy U.S. Marshal Reeves.” Gabe sidled up next to Abby, putting a protective arm around her waist. Just making sure he knows she’s mine and no one else’s, not that he has any ideas on making it otherwise. “Marshal Reeves, this here is my wife, Abby.”
“Ma’am.” Bass tipped his head, then placed his hat on the table in front of him, waiting to be invited to sit down.
“Marshal, I hope you don’t mind plain ol’ biscuits. I’m still settling things in the pantry.” Abby smiled, motioning for Gabe and their guest to sit.
“No, ma’am. I’m used to hardtack, so these biscuits are a welcome change. Thank you.” Bass took his place at the table, his back to the pantry.
“Marshal, what can you tell me about this area? I haven’t been given much information on my duties here. In Dodge, it was the usual task of keeping the gamblers honest, the gunfighters out of trouble, and the citizens safe.” Gabe slid into the chair at the end of the table where, like Reeves, he could see the door clearly.
“I don’t mind if you call me Bass, if you are so inclined. May I call you Gabe? Or is Hawkins more fitting?” Bass dunked a biscuit into his cup, then popped it into his mouth.
Gabe laughed. “Either is fine, whichever rolls off your tongue easiest will do.”
“These are mighty fine biscuits, ma’am. Reminds me of my wife’s.” Bass’s smile reached from ear to ear as he ripped another biscuit in half and dunked it into his coffee mug. “It’s pretty simple. I may need assistance from time to time when I’ve got a writ for an outlaw. It may be quieter than Dodge City, but no less dangerous. Here a man of the law never knows if there’s a gun pointed at him from behind a bush or tree, or even an outhouse.”
Gabe nodded his head, studying Reeves over the brim of his cup. Suddenly he realized Judge Parker may have had good reason to decline his resignation and reassign him to Indian Territory.
6
A Few Weeks Later
Abby was putting up the last of their belongings when there was a soft rap at the door. She froze for a moment, unsure whether or not to answer. She’d not had the opportunity to meet anyone yet. Gabe had met the owner of the trading post where he’d gone to purchase the items of her list. Other than that, Gabe hadn’t said to expect anyone, but then it seemed some people just showed up unannounced.
“Hello, is anyone home?” The soft lyrical voice filtered through the door. “Mrs. Hawkins, are you at home? I thought you might—”
Abby swung open the door and her heart melted, along with her suspicion. A woman of about Abby’s age stood on the porch with a pot wrapped in some towels in her hands. The woman’s smile was tentative at best, as if she were afraid to say anything.
Baked beans. Maple. Abby savored the sweet aroma followed by the saltiness of ham.
“Hello. Can I help you?” Abby smiled, happy to discover the possibility that another woman lived near enough to bring over a hot, or at the very least, a warm pot filled with food. Abby looked up, breathing in deeply to ease the tension in her. What to make for the supper meal resolved by the generosity of a total stranger. Thank you, Lord.
“I’m Mrs. Walter Cook. We live in the house just down the road.” Mrs. Cook turned, pot and towels in her hands, to the east than looked back again. Her bright eyes, matching the cornflower blue of her dress, sparkled. “It’s been so long since another woman has been in this house. I hope you’ve been able to make it feel like home in so short a time. I know you just arrived.”
“Yes, so far I have; but there’s a long way to go yet, I’m afraid.” Abby blocked the doorway, wiping her hands down the flour-sack apron.
“I’m afraid I’m a bit late on thinking you could use some home cookin’ on one of your first nights in Fred. Walter advised me to give you plenty of time to adjust to your new home.” Mrs. Cook offered up the pot, towels and all. “I’ll come back another day, when you’re settled in a bit more.”
Suddenly realizing her bad manners, Abby stepped aside. “Oh, please forgive me. I don’t know what’s become of my manners.” Abby took the offered pot, holding the door open with a hip. “Please do come in, Mrs. Cook.”
Mrs. Cook’s smile reached her eyes and Abby felt a surge of ease.
“My name is Matilda Cook. I do hope you’ll consider calling me Millie.”
Abby placed the warm pot on the stove, then turned toward her guest, folding the towels as she walked to the table.
“I’d like that, Millie, as long as you call me Abby. Abigail is such a mouth full.” Abby chuckled, pouring two cups of warm coffee. “I’ve sent my husband to the trading post for a few things. I hope you don’t mind the bottom of the pot coffee today.”
“Heavens, no. I’d drink whiskey if it meant having someone other than Walter to talk to.” Millie sipped her coffee like a woman born on the wealthy side of the street—dainty and slow. Abby wondered what could have brought such a refined lady to the middle of nowhere.
“Where are you from, Abby?”
Matilda Cook, regardless of her friendliness, was a stranger. Abby hesitated about how much to say regarding Gabe and herself.
“Of late, Dodge City by way of Wisconsin.” Abby slid onto the chair across of Millie, then took a sip of the lukewarm coffee.
Millie nodded, setting her cup back on the table. “We came here from Kentucky a few years back. Walter and his brother decided to come out here and open a store. Well, a trading post really. What they call a store is far from what I did my shopping at back home. Anyway, they have grand ideas for a thriving business, thinking this wilderness will be populated with people from the east. Personally, I don’t see it. All I’ve seen are men dragging their families here and then hightailing it back to where they came from.” Millie tsked, gazing at Abby with a hopeful glint in her soft eyes. “Do you have any children?”
The one empty spot in Abby’s heart pinched and warmed slightly. All resolve regarding Mrs. Matilda Cook vanished. “Gabe and I were just married a few months ago. Neither of us are expecting children so late in our lives. We have each other; it’s all we need.”
Millie’s eyes bore so deep into Abby that she ha
d to look away. She didn’t want a stranger to see the desire she’d never have fulfilled. Did the sadness, the emptiness of being childless show in her eyes? Had her heart betrayed her and revealed the secret wish for something Abby would never have?
“Hmmm, well. I really must be going before little Charlie comes in from the store.” Millie smiled, then pushed away from the table. “It’s been real nice chatting for a minute with another woman. The family who lived here before left before the heat of summer rose. The place has been empty for over a year now. It needs a family to love it.”
Abby walked her new friend to the door. Millie paused for a moment then shuffled across the porch.
“I do hope you’ll come and visit soon. Once the cold weather sets in, the road can be dangerous. Sometimes ice and snow cover the path, making it treacherous.” Millie reached out, pulling Abby so close she could feel the woman’s breath on her cheek. “Be careful, Abby. You don’t want to lose that little one before he gets to meet his papa.”
Millie lighted down from the porch, then turned, giving Abby a bright, wide smile and wave of a hand as she strolled back down the road, humming a lullaby.
Abby stood, mouth gaped open, unable to respond. Mentally she ticked off the days since she’d last had her monthly. “No, it can’t be” The world began to sway, and she grabbed a post to steady herself. Joy and knowing spread its warmth clear through her heart straight to her tummy where a hand covered it protectively.
“A baby! We’re having a baby!”
Gabe scanned over the list Abby had written for him. Spade lumbered along at a leisurely pace on the road leading to Cook’s. It felt good—the peace and quiet. Soothing. Relaxing. Reflective.
“I hope they have all these things Abby says we need. How does she think I’m going to get a couple of sacks of flour and cornmeal home? And what are fancy plums anyway?”
Brides Along the Chisholm Trail Boxset Page 16