by P. Creeden
Cecilia sat down, her excitement rising. “Mr. James Fisher of Kansas City. He’s Cousin Fredrick’s best friend and a good man. But he’s gotten into a bit of trouble lately. He’s a pugilist—a fighter—and he wants to quit, but the society won’t let him out of his contract unless he dies or marries. And sometimes they arrange for the deaths of their fighters.”
Abby’s stomach flipped. “That’s awful.”
After grabbing hold of Abby’s hands, Cecilia nodded. “It is. He’s lost all will to fight and has been on a losing streak lately. It’s only a matter of time, and a short amount of time at that, before they kill him. But you can save him, Abby.”
Abby blinked and pulled her hands from her friend’s grip. “Me?”
“Yes, you. No one wants to marry a pugilist. Fighters are considered crass, unruly, violent men. And no lady can get past that part of his reputation to even consider marrying him. But you have something they don’t. Me. And Fredrick. James is a good man, Abby. Honest and kind. He just got in with bad people when he was younger. He wants to turn his life around and make a home with a good woman. A good woman like you.”
“Me!” Abby squeaked. “Why me?”
Cecilia’s eyes grew serious as her expression darkened. “We don’t have many choices or much time for either you or Mr. Fisher to deliberate. We have to decide. I heard Mr. Howard talking to the Sons of Malta in town. They are talking about starting a clan, just like out in Tennessee if you don’t marry Jud. And you can’t let him win like that, Abby. You can’t. If you give in and marry that devil of a man—”
“Language!” Momma June whisper-shouted.
And Cecilia looked rightly chastised as she whispered. “You just can’t give that man what he wants. If you do, I’d hate to see what kind of person he’d become then. And you already said you don’t want to stay here and fight. We appreciate that. As much as we would rather fight than see you go to that man, we don’t want to fight none, either.”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t want anyone to be hurt.”
“Exactly.” Cecilia nodded. “So, Mr. Fisher wants you to help him, and wants to help you at the same time. My cousin has told him about your situation as well. He’s willing to marry you if you are willing.”
Abby’s stomach twisted. This seemed like it could be the answer to prayer and to her problems. A man from out west was willing to take her away from Suffolk Virginia and all the problems she had here. Away from Jud Howard. Away from the bad memories. She let out a slow breath. “Your cousin says he’s a good man?”
Cecilia nodded. “A very good man. He’d never hurt you or mistreat you—he’s nothing like Jud Howard.”
Laughter bubbled up at that thought. “Thank God for that. One Jud Howard is more than enough.”
“That much is for certain,” Momma June said, joining in with a chuckle of her own.
Abby nodded, pressed her hands to her chest to steady her wildly beating heart. “All right. What do I need to do to make this work out?”
Cecilia smiled. “I’ll call on the pastor, and we’ll get you ready for the wedding. Tomorrow you’ll be married, and all we have to do is get you on a train.”
“Tomorrow!” both Abby and Momma June exclaimed at the same time.
Chapter Five
Abby had never been on a train. She’d never left Suffolk Virginia. All her life was spent in that one little town with those same people she saw nearly every day. She wished Cecilia could come with her, but she’d have to satisfy herself with a weekly letter, just like her best friend’s cousin, Fredrick. She’d used the savings she’d gained from pawning her things to buy the ticket. Cecilia had helped her pack her belongings in her mother’s steamer trunk and carpet bag, and they found a traveling dress among her mother’s things, as well. Luckily, cousin Derrick had saved most of what he could of the feminine belongings in the house that the sheriff had taken over and brought them over to Momma June’s. It wasn’t possible for Abby to take everything with her, so she gave most of the things to Cecilia and Momma June.
“Are you traveling without a companion, too?” a young woman in the seat across from her asked. The train had been spacious enough for Abby to find a seat to herself, and across from her a woman, only a few years older, sat with a toddler boy asleep against her very round, pregnant body.
Abby nodded, eyes wide. “I’m Abigail Lee... Fisher. I’m headed for Kansas City.”
The woman’s smile widened. “Perhaps we can be each other’s companions? I’m headed for Saint Louis, myself. I’m Mary Johnson.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Returning the smile, Abby asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of situation are you in that you’re traveling alone, in your condition?”
Mary huffed a laugh. “You’re not one to mince words, are you?”
Heat rose to Abby’s face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been told I can be a bit blunt.”
The woman shook her head and chuckled again. “No, don’t be sorry at all. I believe you and I are going to get along just fine. My husband went out to Saint Louis before we found out I was in this condition. He went alone to secure a home and work before he sent for me.”
Abby nodded, and then surprised herself by saying, “I’m meeting my husband in Kansas City as well.”
Husband. Her cheeks heated again at the thought. What would he expect from her? Would he truly be as kind and good as Cecilia said... as her cousin had said?
As the train lurched and their journey started, the two of them fell into a comfortable conversation while Mary’s young one, Ben, slept in her lap. An hour or so later, however, the boy woke, fussing. Mary looked apologetically toward Abby. “Usually he gets up earlier than this and is fine, but he’s been a bit fussy all morning, until he fell asleep in my lap.”
“It’s all right,” Abby assured her. “I’m quite used to being around children, even when they are fussy.”
At Momma June’s house, children of all ages would come and go and sometimes the ladies needed Abby’s help. She was happy to give it to them.
For a short while, the child settled and went back to sleep on his mother’s lap. But when he woke again, young Ben grew even fussier. For a long part of the journey, the child would only settle when asleep or when walked up and down the train’s walkway in the arms of his mother. When his mother needed a rest, Abby would hold the child and rock him, too. Ben had taken a liking to Abby and would even sleep on her lap as well. After the first day of the journey, however, his head felt hot.
“I think he may have a fever,” his mother said, worry creating deep lines above her brow. They talked to the conductor and found out that there was a doctor in the next car. He only had only a bit of willow bark and suggested that the child might just be teething.
For the next two days, they kept a wet rag on Ben’s head to help bring down the fever and tried to get him to drink gruel and milk, as he wasn’t interested in eating anything. He developed a cough and began sniffling as well. The doctor then prescribed using a strong-smelling rub on his chest. By the time they reached Saint Louis, Abby couldn’t help but frown. “You’re sure you’ll be all right from here? I could stay with you a while to help until little Ben gets better.”
Mary’s eyes went wide while she shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. Your husband is waiting for you in Kansas City. Joe and I will be fine, the doctor gave us the medicines for Ben, and Joe can help me.”
“If you’re sure...” Abby didn’t like leaving them in the condition the child was in, but when she saw the small family meeting up on the platform of the station in Saint Louis, relief washed over her. She settled into her seat again, the train much less crowded for the last leg of the journey than she expected. She didn’t realize how much energy taking care of the child had drained from her until they were gone. Every muscle in her body ached and her eyelids drooped. It would be several hours more before they reached Kansas City, so she settled in and rested her head against the co
ol glass plane of the window and dozed off.
James tried to sit still on the bench at the train station in Kansas City, but his knee wouldn’t cooperate. It bounced up and down each time he’d stopped paying full attention. And occasionally he’d find his thumbnail in his mouth where he’d chew it without meaning to. He worried what his new wife would think of him when they met. A black eye still marred his face from his last fight. Without question, he was the picture of a beat-up pugilist. Fredrick had assured him that his cousin had told Miss Abby what she was getting into, and that he was a fighter, but he still worried that his face would shock the woman. What if she changed her mind? What if she wanted to go straight to the magistrate’s office and get an annulment? He’d have to go back to fighting... to losing... and to the threat of death meeting him in every dark alley.
Mercer had been uncharacteristically kind when James and Fredrick had told him that he was married to a woman from Virginia. He’d lifted a brow and assured James that the society would be generous with him and his new wife and even offered him a stipend as well as a piece of property for them just outside the city. Over the past week, the men from the society had even come out and helped him build a small, three-room cabin, outhouse, and small barn. James had been shocked and moved by the outpouring of support.
But when the buildings were finished, Mercer leaned in toward him as he left. “We’ve invested in this marriage now, too, Fisher. If it falls through, if it doesn’t work out, we’re going to be severely disappointed. You don’t want to disappoint us now, do you, Fisher?”
A lump formed in James’s throat at the thought. He’d made his marriage payment for so many debts. If it didn’t work out, what interest would he have to pay then? He swallowed it down. In the distance, a train whistle blew. James drew to his feet. The smoke from the train’s stack billowed just above the tree line. His heart raced as the black engine pulled around the bend and came into view. His short fingernails bit into the palms of his hands as he formed fists. People around him gathered, standing, murmuring, the hum of their excitement heightening his own. This was the moment of truth. Why had he told Fredrick he wanted to come alone? Right now, he’d give just about anything to not be alone while he met his future wife—no—just wife. They were already married. His stomach flipped at the thought.
The train pulled to a stop.
He swallowed again at the lump forming in his throat and then tried to remember what the photograph of Abby had looked like and combined it with the description Fredrick’s cousin had given them. Red hair, slender and medium height. She’d be alone and wearing a lilac travelling dress. He could do this. He waited on the platform and saw one woman who might be her, but then she was accompanied by a gentleman who took her by the arm. When everyone had left the train car, she still hadn’t dismounted the train. Had she changed her mind? Had she stopped somewhere else? What if something had happened to her.
The conductor stepped off the train cupping his hands to the sides of his mouth and shouted. “Do we have a doctor in the station? Hello? Do we have a doctor in the station?”
James frowned.
A man in a smart, brown suit answered and stepped over. “I’m a doctor. What seems to be the trouble?”
The conductor came over, and said, “We have a young woman who is feverish to the touch. She’s having trouble staying awake. All I know is that her name is Abigail Lee Fisher.”
James’s heart skipped a beat and his stomach twisted. He stepped forward and said, “That’s my wife.”
Chapter Six
James stood over the bed where his new wife lay in a restless sleep. His brow furrowed. “Is there nothing more that we can do for her?”
The doctor shook his head sadly. “We don’t know the source of this sickness. It could be an infection or from the cold or from traveling such a long distance. She’s a delicate woman. It could even be due to womanly issues we haven’t considered.”
A frown tugged at James’s lips as he wrung his hands. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
After shaking his head, the doctor said, “Keep her under blankets. Keep a cool rag nearby. Get her to drink soups and gruel as you can. We just need to let the sickness run its course. It could be a few days, or it might be weeks. The only thing that’s going to keep her going are the soups, so keep them coming.”
James had only ever learned to cook bacon and eggs, but he was willing to learn what he needed to do to make his new wife better. With a sigh, he nodded and showed the doctor to the door in his small cabin. When the door opened, the one person in the world he least wanted to see stood on the other side.
Mercer stepped aside to let the doctor pass and nodded a greeting to the gentleman. “Thank you for your time and expertise.”
“Not at all,” the doctor said with a smile as he headed to his wagon.
Then Mercer’s attention turned to James. He tilted his head and lifted a brow. “Your new wife is sick, I understand... of fever.”
As much as James wanted to be friendly and offer a smile, to even say a word, his lips remained thin and tight, not allowing either falsehood past.
Mercer shook his head. “I’m afraid to tell you that if this turns south and your new wife happens to die from this sickness, we’re going to have to consider the marriage null. I hate to put on the pressure, but you’ll need to make sure you take good care of her and that she comes through this all right.”
Through a tightened jaw, James answered, “I don’t need you to tell me that. I don’t rightly care what happens to me. She will wake up and she will be fine. I will make sure of it.”
Pushing off the wall with his shoulder, Mercer took a step back and nodded, replacing his hat on his head. “Good to hear. I’ll be back in a few days to see how the two of you are doing. Have a good day.”
James couldn’t answer. He had nothing nice to say to the man and had no choice but to keep his mouth shut. His jaw muscles were too tense.
Abby wavered in and out of the darkness of sleep that felt like a blanket too heavy for her to lift. It suffocated her. It blinded her. It kept her from being able to fully understand what was going on around her. Someone had picked her up from the seat of the train. His strong arms had held her close, but delicately, as if she was something precious and fragile. He had held her hand on a long ride in a cart. And then he carried her again and lay her on this soft wool-stuffed bed. She’d been sleeping on a pallet for more than a month with Cecilia. In that time, she’d missed her bed more than just about anything else in her parents’ house.
Unfortunately, she could barely keep her eyes open for more than a moment, and even then, her vision was somewhat blurry, and disorientation seized her and kept her from truly even understanding what it was she saw. Then her foggy mind couldn’t even retain the information—she forgot what she saw almost as soon as it left her vision.
Still, she remembered his presence. The kind presence of the man who didn’t leave her side for more than a moment. He held her hand. He placed a wet cloth on her forehead. And he helped her eat some gruel when she didn’t feel like eating. Somewhere deep inside her, she understood that he was helping, and she needed to eat, but the baser part of her still fought with him each time he brought a meal to her and tried to wake her from the peace of sleep. It was too painful when she was awake. Everything hurt. At least when she was asleep, the pain would be nothing more than an echo of itself.
But still, he would pat her head and smooth her hair whenever she remained still and quiet.
How long was she like this? She didn’t know. She couldn’t keep track of how many meals she’d been fed or how many times the man had held her hand. But when she finally gained complete consciousness, she woke with a start and sat upright in the bed. One small lantern lit the room from the table at her bedside. And on the other side of her, a man sat in a chair, his body folded over so that his head lay on the bed in the empty space beside her, and he was asleep.
Even through her fog
gy brain, she knew. It was him. The same kind presence who had been there throughout her sickness. The feeder, the caretaker, the affection giver. His closed eyes seemed kind and his features were hard enough to be masculine, but soft enough to show the innocence and kindness there. His cheek and chin were covered with a few days’ stubble of growth that was strikingly similar in hue of sandy blond as the rest of the dense waves on his head. She reached out a hand tentatively and softly pat his head in the same manner as he had done her the last few days... however long she’d been sick.
He woke, blinking and lifting his head. His eyes met hers and he sucked in gasp. “You’re awake.”
She nodded. “I am.” After rolling her shoulders, she added, “Still quite sore and tired, however.”
He swallowed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his sandy curls. “Are you thirsty? Can I get you anything? Maybe some gruel?”
She smiled at him, and her dry lips cracked a bit under the pressure. “Thank you so much for taking good care of me. May I ask how long I’ve been here? When did my train arrive?”
His brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t worry too much about that. Just worry about getting better. But if you must know, you arrived three days ago.”
She gasped. “Three days? I’ve been sick for three days?”
He nodded slowly, his brow still furrowed.
She flung the covers back in one smooth motion and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
His eyes went wide. “No, don’t overtax yourself. You need to rest, or you could have a relapse.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
But when she attempted to stand, her knees buckled out from underneath her, and he stood quickly to catch her and help her back down into the bed. He smelled of pine and earth, like the outdoors, but deep in the woods. She whimpered as the pain returned to her shoulders and back. He settled her into the bed. “You really shouldn’t try too hard. The doctor said that it could be weeks before you make a full recovery. It was a bad fever what struck you. Do you know how you got it?”