by P. Creeden
She shrugged and shook her head. It didn’t matter. Her cheeks heated. “I’m sorry that we had to meet under such circumstances.”
He waved his hands in front of him. “Not at all. It’s perfectly all right. I don’t mind taking care of you, and I learned some things about making my way around a kitchen now, too. Don’t trouble yourself with worrying about me.”
His eyes were kind, and his face still kept some of the innocence he’d had when he was asleep. Though he had a scar over his eyebrow and some bruising under his eye to show he was a fighter, like Cecilia had said, he didn’t seem to be the kind to become a pugilist at all. He wasn’t a crass monster like they had a reputation for being. His hands, though calloused, were soft and gentle. He had a perfect blend of masculine strength and godly kindness. The way he looked at her now made her heart flutter a little. Then she realized she was wearing her night clothes and her auburn hair was down around her shoulders.
She pulled the blanket up toward her chin and asked in a shaky voice, “Where are my things?”
He blinked for a moment and then stood. “Your steamer trunk and carpet bag are both still out in the parlor. I can get them for you now if you want.”
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
He offered her another half-smile and then stepped out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open. Out in the main part of the house, she heard him grunt once before coming back into the room carrying the wide, heavy steamer trunk on his own, with the carpet bag settled on the top of the lid. He’d brought it all in one go. She and Cecilia had to carry it together from the wagon to the train station when she’d left, and even then, it was a heavy load. She swallowed. He was even stronger than he looked. James Fisher. Her husband.
He was handsome and strong and kind. Had she wanted anything else in a husband? Jud Howard was none of those things. But it wasn’t just his looks that had deterred her from accepting one of his many, many proposals. She had known him from the time they were both knee-high to a toad. He’d always been a cruel and selfish child, and he grew up no better as an adult. She swore that the only reason he wanted her was because she kept telling him “no.” There was no telling what kind of husband he’d have been to her if she’d ever said yes to him. She couldn’t even fathom it.
Once James set her things down at the foot of the bed, he peered up at her. “Would you like me to get anything from the trunk for you?”
Slowly she shook her head. “I just need to do whatever it takes to get better as fast as I can. I hate to be a burden.”
His face scrunched a little, and he shook his head. “No, ma’am. You aren’t a burden at all.”
Chapter Seven
James had thought Abby was pretty when she was sick and pale with fever, but now that she was awake and color had returned to her cheeks, he found her stunning. He swallowed hard as he returned to the room with a glass of water for her. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up at him. Had she fallen asleep while she waited for him?
He cleared his throat. “I found your family Bible among the things in your trunk and set it on the table next to the bed in case you feel like reading. Here’s the water. After drinking some, how about I let you alone for a while to get some rest. Sleeping is the best thing you can do for a body that’s been wrestling with sickness.”
She took the cup from his hands and nodded. While taking a drink, she peered over toward the bible. After pulling the cup away, she said, “Thank you.” and then heaved a deep breath as though the cup were too heavy, and it was too hard to drink.
His heart ached in his chest as he took the cup from her. He wanted to help her in anyway he could. She seemed so vulnerable, lying in the bed, but her eyes were full of fire and life. It made him wonder what he was in store for in the years ahead. He gripped the glass in his hand and stared at it—that was only if she remained married to him. Now that he’d seen her, he could tell she was a lady of respectability. He’d done his duty and saved her from the environment where she was, stopped the persecution, but now that she was free, she didn’t need to stay with him much longer. As soon as she was well, she could be on her way, if that was what she wanted. The thought of it pinched his heart, and he rubbed at his chest as though it could stop the sharp pain he felt there. He let out a slow breath.
When he peered back up again, he found her with the Bible in her lap, but her eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar. She’d fallen asleep while reading. It hadn’t been that long since he’d taken the cup from her. It brought a smile to his face. He never thought he’d enjoy taking care of another person as much as he was enjoying taking care of her. He took the book from her lap and helped her settle back down into the pillows. After pulling the blanket up to her chin, he watched her sleeping face a moment. He was tempted to just kiss her on the forehead. His heart raced in his chest at the thought. He imagined what her skin would feel like under his lips and the smell of her hair. Then he closed his eyes and pulled back, tightening his jaw.
He had no right.
Sure, she was his wife, but she hadn’t said yes to him yet. That was the trouble with a proxy wedding. He wanted her to look in his eyes and tell him yes. And until she did, he wouldn’t touch her in that way.
It was nearly two days more before Abby truly felt strong enough to get out of bed and walk around the small, three-room cabin that was her new home. When she woke that morning, she slipped out of bed and headed toward the kitchen. She found James standing over the stove, cooking eggs and bacon. He started when he saw her standing in the doorway of the bedroom and ran a hand through his hair. “Good morning. I was going to be coming in there with breakfast in just a moment.”
She shook her head. “No need. I’ll take it sitting at the table today, if you don’t mind?”
His brow furrowed and a smile played on his lip. “Of course, I don’t mind.”
After she sat in one of the two chairs at the table, he set a plate in front of her and one at the seat across from her and then he sat in the chair. His eyes met hers, and he hadn’t yet stopped smiling. She looked down at the plate in front of her and covered her mouth when a chuckle bubbled up.
He frowned. “What is it? Is something the matter?”
She smiled up at him. “I’m sure I could eat the bacon with my fingers, but I’m not so sure about the eggs.”
Pink tinged his cheeks as his jaw dropped, and he shook his head. “My goodness. I forgot the forks.” Holding up a finger, he said, “Hold on.”
He jumped up and turned his back to her while he grabbed the silverware. His suspenders sat against the seat of his gray trousers instead of up over his shoulders, and his cotton button-up shirt was only half-tucked in the back. She’d not seen many men in the state of half-dress as he was. And besides her father or brother, she’d never been in a house alone with a man like this.
When he returned to the table with the fork and set it beside her plate, his smile faltered. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little flushed.”
She swallowed. “Oh, I’m fine. I can handle having breakfast at the table.” After taking a bite of the eggs, she said, “This is delicious.”
He beamed under her praise and smiled around each bite of food he ate, reminding her of a child. His overall posture at the table was more childlike than the men who she’d been accustomed to, as well. She blinked at him and realized that he might well be younger than her. She leaned toward him. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”
He sat up a little straighter. “I’m twenty-two this year. I didn’t spend any time in the war because I lived out west all this time, here in Kansas, under the care of the pugilist society. They kept us all out of the draft and told us to keep our battles in the ring. I feel akin to a draft-dodger, but I was young and really didn’t know better. I heard your daddy and brother were in the Union. That’s respectable. I’m sorry they passed, though.”
She nodded. “That’s all right. Thank you.”
He was three years older
than her but seemed so much less mature. That child-like innocence about his features was also displayed in his manner and his way of speaking. It seemed almost like he was stuck at a younger age in his soul while his body marched on with time.
“Cecilia said that you were an orphan and you got in with a bad crowd?” She wondered if he would be willing to talk more about his past since he’d opened up so much already.
He nodded and took a bite out of a piece of bacon he held between his fingers. “I was twelve when Mercer found me on the streets. The Kansas City Pugilist Society takes in orphan boys who are living on the street and getting into trouble. They clean them up and give them a more honest endeavor—fighting. They train them to fight and have sparing matches. The boys who do a lot of winning get prizes... a better pillow, a larger serving of mashed potatoes, gravy on them potatoes... whatever the boys seem to want the most. I lived in a dorm with six other boys. We all trained and fought together. I did a lot of winning. Fredrick did a lot of losing, but he was smart and could read and write better than most. So, they made him into a manager. And me, they made into a champion.”
She blinked at him. “But Cecilia told me that you’d had a losing streak.”
“Right.” He set the piece of bacon he’d been holding back down on his plate uneaten. “I killed a man.” He refused to look up at her but stared instead at his hands. “We was in a fight, and I was throwing the same punches, as always, but Hank was slower than usual. I don’t think he was feeling too good. He was slow, and I punched him the same as always, but thought he’d pull back or dodge or do something to temper the blow. But he didn’t. He took the full blow to the temple. A bone cracked, and he went down. Even though he woke up and shook his head and said he was all right, he wasn’t all right. He went to bed that night and didn’t wake up the next morning.”
James continued to stare at his hands. She couldn’t see his face, but his voice shook with sadness as he spoke. He regretted his actions, his part in potentially causing a man’s death. But it seemed the story wasn’t completely over. “Then you lost your will to fight?” she asked
Even though his head remained bent, he nodded. “I just couldn’t bring it on myself to throw punches anymore. But Mercer was determined to make me fight again. He kept putting me in the ring. After my third match with the opponent knocking me out, Mercer looked real mad. I started to think about how he’d threatened me before about people getting beaten to death in dark alleys. I just wanted out from under their thumb.”
“So, you married me.”
His gaze shot up. “It wasn’t just for myself. I didn’t want to put you through all this, marrying a man like me. But Fredrick told me all that you were going through out there in Virginia, and I felt that maybe I could help you while asking you to help me.”
She nodded. “I hadn’t thought of marrying someone I didn’t know, but Cecilia said that Fredrick assured her that you were kind and gentle and not at all like how most pugilists are viewed. And then she told me about the trouble you were in, and I felt the same as you.”
“This is a marriage of convenience. We may have to live together,” he assured her, “but I don’t expect anything more. We only have one bed for right now and it’s yours. I’ll sleep on a pallet out in the barn.”
She clutched her fork for a moment and watched him. Did he find her that unattractive? She hadn’t really considered that they could live that kind of marriage. She’d been hoping for a real marriage with children and making a home. Even if there might not be love between the two of them, she felt that there could, at least, be companionship. She frowned. “I don’t want to take your bed.”
“No,” he said sharply, shaking his head. “It’s not my bed. I’ve never slept in it.”
Her heart thundered in her chest. This conversation wasn’t going the direction she wanted. “Nonetheless, it’s not right for you to live out in the barn. At least make your pallet inside. Winter is coming.”
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“If you sleep out in the barn, I will be uncomfortable.”
He sighed, shaking his head and showing his displeasure. “All right, then.”
Chapter Eight
James spent every morning chopping wood in preparation for winter, so after breakfast, he headed outside to get started. He wanted to make sure that whatever might happen, they had enough to keep their wood stove going in the case of a snowstorm. His thoughts returned to Abby. She’d pulled her hair back into the bun he’d seen her in when she’d been sick and asleep on the train. Her long thin neck and collarbone were exposed in the dress she wore. He’d need to take her to the mercantile and make sure she had enough warm clothing for the winter. He was certain winters in Missouri were harsher than the ones she was used to in southern Virginia. But she wouldn’t be ready to go for another day or two. In the meantime, she needed rest.
A horse snorted in the distance, and James’s brow furrowed in response. Who could be coming down the path to visit his house nestled just inside the woods? They were nearly three miles away from the south side of town, so it wasn’t terribly often that they should expect a visitor. He slammed his ax into the tree stomp to the side of his working area and adjusted his suspenders. Then he started the direction of his walkway so that he could greet the visitor part way. By the time he reached the front of the house, the black horse trotted around the bend with Mercer in the saddle. James’s jaw clicked as he clenched his teeth. He turned and headed toward the porch now that he knew who it was. When he reached the top step, he turned about and faced the man in the saddle a few inches taller.
Mercer leaned over the horn of his saddle. “Good morning, Fisher. Came to see how you and the new wife are doing. She still alive?”
“Very much so,” James said, narrowing his eyes at the man. “She’s feeling much better. Thanks for your concern.”
After throwing a leg over the back of the saddle, Mercer dismounted and hitched his horse to the rail out front. “Is she up and about? Would she be willing to see a visitor, then? I’d like to see that she’s doing better for myself.”
As Mercer started to make his way up the porch steps, James sidestepped to block his path. “My wife is just getting over her fever. She may be up and about, but she’s likely not presentable or prepared to see a visitor. It’d be best if you called on her another day.”
Mercer sneered and stepped forward so that he was nose-to-nose with James. He growled as much as he whispered, “You’d best get out of my way. I’m not sure how legitimate this marriage might be, and until I see Mrs. Fisher for myself, I’m not going to leave.”
“James, honey,” Abby drawled from the front door. “Do we have a visitor?”
At being called honey, James’s face flushed and the skin along his arms and shoulders prickled. If he had been struck by lightning, it might have been less shocking. He turned around and blinked at his lovely wife, who came directly to his side and looped her arm into his. She leaned a head against his shoulder, while his heart pounded in his chest so hard it felt like it might break through his skin and escape.
Mercer stared at her open mouthed.
She looked sweetly up at James and batted her eyelashes. “Won’t you introduce me to our guest?”
After blinking at her, he turned back toward the other man on the porch and cleared his throat. “Um... this is Mason Mercer. And Mercer, this is my wife, Abigail Lee.”
Her laughter sounded as beautiful at the twinkling of a wind chime. Then she offered Mercer a hand. “Actually, it’s Abigail Fisher, now.”
Mercer nodded, his jaw still slightly gaping as he took her hand in greeting. James could have been mistaken, but he was pretty sure that when Abby looked in Mercer’s direction, there was an extra bit of fire in her narrowed gaze. The dichotomy of her sweetness to him and venom to Mercer was disorientating. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one taken off-guard by Abby’s actions.
“I’m sure we’d both love to o
ffer for you to come inside and get a cup of tea, Mr. Mercer, but I’m afraid that I’ve been terribly ill and feel a bit tired.” At the end of those words, Abby patted her face and her knees buckled a bit so that she leaned harder against him.
James’s chest tightened, and he reached over to grab her, pulling her against his chest. She leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her as she fell limp in his grip. As he looked up toward Mercer, he felt a mixture of confusion and anger, but Mercer had already stepped back off the porch. He waved his hat in their direction. “It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Fisher. It was lovely to meet you and see that you’re doing better than when you first arrived. I’m sure we’ll see each other from time to time. Have a lovely day and get some rest.”
Without so much as a pause for response, Mercer mounted his horse and turned it about, heading back down the path.
Abby’s limp body suddenly straightened, and she pushed away from James’s chest with a smile on her face. “Was that too much? I’m not really much of an actress, but it’s not hard to put on some southern charm. And southern women are always feigning the vapors.”
He blinked at her. It was all an act? Slowly, the tension in his shoulders released He was happy to see she was all right. A wee bit of disappointment pinched his heart. He’d wanted her to call him honey again. Just thinking about the possibility renewed the prickles he’d felt along his arms. Then he realized his hands were still on her hips and her hands on his forearms. She continued to smile up at him, even though they were so close. His heart began to beat against his chest again in another bid to escape.
Then she stepped back and spun from his limp grasp as she headed back into the house, fanning her reddened cheeks. “I honestly feel a bit tired, though. I do believe I should go lie down.”