by Jody Hedlund
A colorful scarf. “Wait just a moment, Mrs. Moresby.” Zoe opened the cabin door. Abe had gotten out of bed and was kneeling in front of Violet’s crate.
“Violet’s awake,” he said almost reverently, glancing at Zoe over his shoulder.
Zoe approached to find that Violet had clasped one of Abe’s fingers within hers and was staring up at him with wide, wondering eyes.
“I think she might like me,” he whispered, staring down at Violet with matching wonder.
Zoe couldn’t keep from smiling at the sight of the towering, muscular man completely mesmerized by the wee babe. “Of course she likes you. Everybody likes you.”
“Except for Bishop Hills and Dexter Dawson.”
“They don’t count.”
“Let us pray so.”
She rummaged in her bag until she found what she was looking for. She started back to the door only to realize Mrs. Moresby was peeking inside. As Zoe stepped out, the matron backed away and began to pump a fan in front of her face in spite of the cool January temperatures.
“I see Mr. Merivale is done resting,” she said.
Zoe thrust the item out, hoping to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory again. “I’ll still make you another one. But I want you to have this too.”
Mrs. Moresby fingered the rainbow-colored scarf.
“I knit it for my friend Jane.” Zoe’s chest constricted with the ache of her friend’s absence.
“I couldn’t—”
“You stepped in and were a friend when I needed one most.” Zoe pressed the scarf into Mrs. Moresby’s hands. “She’d want you to have it every bit as much as I do.”
Mrs. Moresby was silent, gently tracing the neatly stitched rows. When she looked up, tears shone in her eyes. “Thank you, Zoe. I know you’re going to make a very fine reverend’s wife.”
Zoe hesitated to accept the compliment. She didn’t know the first thing about being a reverend’s wife or what Abe or the people he served would expect from her. What if she let everyone down?
“Remember,” Mrs. Moresby said as she wrapped the scarf around her neck, “you don’t have to be perfect or have your situation all figured out to be used by the good Lord. If you have a willing heart, that’s all He needs.”
A willing heart. Was that really all that was required? Zoe wanted to believe Mrs. Moresby was right, that maybe eventually she could become the kind of wife Abe needed. But could she? Or would she be his downfall instead? After all, he’d said their marriage was a scandal. That the bishop might even send him back to England.
Though Abe had insisted he wanted to go through with their marriage, she didn’t want to see him come to ruin as a result. Did she need to set him free from his commitment to her? Should she go to the bishop for an annulment before their marriage went any further?
A part of her admonished her to do the right thing for Abe. He was a good man and didn’t deserve to suffer on account of her. But another part of her resisted. It was selfish of her, she knew. But now that she had him, she wasn’t sure she could let go, not when she felt so safe—safer than she had in a long time.
With a final hug and the promise to visit next time she was in Victoria, Zoe watched Mrs. Moresby make her exit through a side gate. Then she turned back inside, determined to make the most of her new life but unable to keep her doubts battened down.
thirteen
There.” Abe’s cheerful whistle faded away. “New Westminster.”
In the middle of the canoe, Zoe followed the direction of his pointed finger past the grassy delta to what appeared to be a town on the northern bank of the Fraser River.
So far the entrance to the Fraser River had been surrounded by low marshlands with sandbars and jagged rocks jutting up from the river. With the mountains in the background, the wild, untamed beauty of the land had taken her breath away. She’d been awed at the sight of harbor seals lounging on the bank, their bulky white bodies covered with black spots. Abe had also pointed out an eagle nesting in a cottonwood.
Without a sign of civilization since leaving Victoria and Vancouver Island, the town of New Westminster was a welcome sight even though it was small, with only a few people going about their business, mostly at the waterfront. A long wharf ran along the edge of the river, with low buildings nearby likely serving as storage facilities, as well as a host of shack-like homes that were gray and dingy.
On the hill that led up and away from the river, a few newer multistoried buildings stood out, larger, whiter, and cleaner than the rest—hotels, taverns, and a church. The rise was a dull brown of dead grass and brush and was dotted with the stumps of trees that had been cleared to make room for the town. At the top of the hill a section of evergreens still remained, almost as if a barber had given the rest of the area a trim but had forgotten to cut one section. Douglas pine. That’s what Abe had called the majestic columns that rose tall above the others.
“They are solid, straight, and thick, which makes them ideal for ship masts,” Abe had explained when she’d first pointed them out.
Zoe rose to her knees to get a better look at New Westminster, wondering which of the hotels had sheltered Herman Cox in his last moments. Now that he was dead and she didn’t have to fear his coming to claim Violet, she could allow herself to feel some compassion for him.
“Has Herman Cox had a proper funeral?” Holding Violet, she shifted to watch Abe paddle as she’d done before, fascinated by the strength and swiftness with which he maneuvered the canoe with the help of Tcoosma, the old Indian he’d hired to help them cross the Strait of Georgia to the mainland.
At the front of the canoe, Tcoosma slumped over as he rowed, his wide-brimmed hat sagging low. He wasn’t at all as fierce or imposing as Zoe had expected a native to be. Instead, he was short and wore a breechcloth and leggings, a leather shirt with strange stitching, and a wool cloak that looked like it had once belonged to an Englishman. Tcoosma had gathered his silvery-black hair into two thick braids that reached far down his back. Strangest of all, his earlobes were filled with shells, making them sag low.
When they’d met Tcoosma at a secluded stretch of Victoria shoreline, he’d greeted Abe warmly. He hadn’t done more than nod at Zoe. And he hadn’t given the babe a glance, even when Abe had explained who the child was. Zoe didn’t know whether to be irritated that he had so little regard for Violet’s life or to be relieved that he hadn’t demanded she hand the infant over.
“I haven’t heard the latest on Herman.” Abe’s coat pulled taut at his shoulders with each dip of his paddle. “Only the news of his death that the constable delivered last night.”
Zoe pulled her cloak about her more firmly, forming a tent around Violet and against the cold breeze blowing off the gray, choppy water. Even though the trip from Victoria to New Westminster had taken only a few hours, she was still chilled, her toes and fingers frozen. Once they docked in New Westminster, she wanted a chance to go inside out of the cold for a little while and make sure Violet was warm.
On the other hand, didn’t she owe it to Violet to find out what had become of her father? “Do we have the time to make inquiries? Perhaps even mark his grave so we know where to take Violet some day?”
Abe’s paddle dug low for several strokes before he flipped the dripping beam to the other side, where he continued effortlessly. The cold air had turned his face ruddy, which only made his eyes a brighter blue. As he shifted his attention to her, something warm in his eyes made her feel as though sunshine had parted through the low clouds and fallen upon her.
“That’s a fine idea. If Herman hasn’t had a proper burial yet, I’ll give him one.”
She nodded her approval, sensing his in return. Even so, the glaring bruise under his eye reminded her that all she’d done was cause him trouble since the day they’d met. “I’m sorry that we had to rush out of Victoria like that.”
He’d led her through back alleys and as far from crowds as possible. She hadn’t been sure if he was em
barrassed to be seen with her or was simply hoping to avoid Dexter and another black eye.
“Don’t be sorry,” he replied. “I finished most of my meetings yesterday—at least the ones that mattered. I have the bishop’s blueprint for the new church, and now I need to head home and start gathering the supplies.”
The previous night he’d told her a little bit about his work in Yale, the church services he currently held in taverns, and his hope to finally have a place for worship that didn’t reek of beer. Since hearing his descriptions, she had to admit she was looking forward to seeing Yale and his home. Now that she had a wee babe and a husband, somehow her trip up into the mountains was turning into more than just a need to find Zeke.
“Bet when you planned this trip, you never expected you’d be leaving with a wife and child.”
“Not in a million years.” Though his words were spoken lightly, something hinted at regret, something that made her pivot and face the town that was growing larger with each stroke. Of course he felt regret. She’d practically tricked him into the marriage—or at least it seemed that way now. And he was too good-hearted, too honorable, and too responsible to do anything other than carry through with his part of the bargain.
The same nagging from earlier told her she should have let him go, that he was too good for her, and that she deserved someone more like Dexter Dawson. If she’d had an ounce of integrity, she would have given Abe his freedom before trapping him even deeper into a marriage that wasn’t even supposed to happen.
“You still have the chance to change your mind.” She forced the words. “I can stay in New Westminster or even go back to Victoria.”
“No, Zoe.” His reply was firm. “I cannot leave you behind. The more I’ve contemplated the matter, the more I’ve realized how selfish such a decision would be, especially after—well, after spending a night under the same roof.”
“I’ll tell everyone nothing happened.”
He cleared his throat. “People will assume otherwise.”
Just as Mrs. Moresby had.
“And I won’t chance sullying either of our reputations.”
She hadn’t thought how this situation would affect his reputation, especially if he spent one night with her and then they parted ways. As a minister, he would probably run into criticism, not only from the bishop, but from many others as well.
Their marriage might cause a scandal, but leaving him had the potential to make things even worse for him.
“Can we agree to move forward with no more talk of splitting ways?” he asked.
“Aye, if you think it’s best.”
“I do.” As if the matter were settled, he resumed his whistling of one hymn or another, which she realized was something he did quite often.
A short while later the canoe scraped the wharf of New Westminster. Abe helped her out and onto the dock. As she swayed, he steadied her, his large hands gently gripping her upper arms. He didn’t linger or give her any indication that he desired her, as he had earlier. Rather, he was polite and respectful, treating her more like a sister than a wife.
Surely, she ought to be content with that.
Abe guided her to a nearby hotel, where she tended to Violet while he inquired after Herman Cox. They spent the afternoon making arrangements for Herman’s burial. Finally, at dusk, Abe conducted a short funeral at the graveyard at the top of the hill on the outskirts of town. With only the gravedigger and constable joining them, Zoe was all the gladder they’d taken the time to give Herman Cox a final good-bye.
Since the steamers had made their last passages up the Fraser River for the day, the hotel proprietor urged Abe to stay for the night, giving him a room free of charge and providing supper. “For you and your bride,” he’d said with a toothy grin as he’d placed steaming bowls of salmon chowder and warm bread in front of them at their table near the fire.
It hadn’t taken Zoe long to realize Abe was well liked wherever he went. And it hadn’t taken her long to understand why. Abe knew just about everyone. And when he didn’t know someone, he remedied that by making introductions. He showed genuine interest in their lives, asking them about their families and work and well-being.
She found she loved watching him interact. His face lit up as he spoke, becoming more animated in conversation. His easy laughter warmed her. And his kindness engulfed not only her, but everyone around them.
Just when he’d hinted at retiring for the night, a distressed middle-aged man burst into the hotel and asked Abe if he would come and pray with his wife, who’d barred herself in a room and was talking about taking her life.
Abe jumped up and was almost out the door before he seemed to remember Zoe. She’d started putting on her cloak as well, intending to go with him, when he turned, his expression grave. “You and Violet head up to the room.”
“We’ll accompany you.”
“It’s late and you both need rest.” He was out the door and gone before she could say anything more.
After the busy day, Violet fell into a deep sleep, and in turn Zoe slumbered longer than usual, waking before dawn only to realize Abe hadn’t returned. As she fed and changed Violet, she worried over him, a hundred different thoughts racing through her mind, mainly that he’d been hurt. She’d almost worked herself up with the need to go looking for him when the door creaked open slowly, and he slipped inside.
At the realization that she was awake with Violet, he shared the details of all that had transpired. Apparently he’d prayed for a while before he’d convinced the suicidal woman to open the door and give the gun to her husband. Then he’d stayed and talked with them afterward for hours and had left hopeful.
Abe finally dropped into bed and slept for a few hours. Zoe did her best to keep Violet quiet and even dozed for a little while in the room’s only chair. By the time Abe awoke, they had to rush to board one of the few paddle-wheel steamships in operation at that time of year.
The soot billowing out of the funnels and the low-lying clouds obscured the distant range out the window of the enclosed deck where Zoe had taken refuge, but anticipation surged through her as the steam engines rumbled to life beneath her feet.
By tonight she’d be up in the Fraser River Valley. She’d soon see Zeke. Her heart both thrilled and quavered at the thought. How would her brother react when he realized she was standing in front of him? Would he be able to forgive her for not defending him when he’d most needed it? Or would he want nothing to do with her?
She stuck her hand into her pocket and retrieved his pendant, the one he’d received at ragged school after he’d made his profession of faith. She traced the image of the engraved crucifix, the black lines against bronze.
“You should wear it on a chain.” Abe’s voice came from beside her. Since boarding, he’d been busy greeting and speaking with the captain, deckhands, and other passengers. She’d hovered near him for a while, but when Violet had protested the cold and wind, she’d retreated inside, where most of the other passengers were already sitting on benches or lined up at the windows.
Abe bent and examined the pendant more closely. “The details are incredible.”
“It was my brother’s.”
He straightened, allowing her a view of his face, of his windswept hair, the color in his cheeks, the brightness of his eyes. After so little sleep, how did he have the energy to reach out and continue giving of himself to every person he met? Even now he regarded her with interest, as if he really cared about the pendant, her brother, and what she had to say.
“Our teacher, Mr. Lightness, not only taught us to read and write and do sums, but he encouraged us, like Mum always did, to make our belief in God personal and real, not just a tradition. When Zeke stood up in class and made a public profession of his desire to follow God, the next day Mr. Lightness gave Zeke the pendant to help remind him of his decision.”
“Mr. Lightness sounds like he was a devoted man of God.”
“Aye, and Zeke admired him.” Their teacher had b
een a fatherly influence when their own father had struggled to be present and loving.
“But . . .” Abe gently prodded.
“But Zeke gave up his faith when he left home. He threw the pendant on the floor and said he didn’t want anything to do with a God who could allow such heartache to happen to our family and to him.”
She could still picture Zeke as he’d stood in their apartment, feet spread, shoulders stiff, his handsome face clouded with bitterness toward her and God. His impassioned words filled with such anger echoed in the dark corners of her heart. “This is all your fault, Zoe. I don’t need you or God anymore.”
Next to her Abe was quiet, contemplative, staring out the window at the rocky riverbanks thick with pine, hemlock, fir, and other evergreens. They’d left New Westminster behind, and now the paddle steamer was chugging eastward, upstream against the swiftly moving current.
She’d heard the captain tell Abe they were sailing at five knots at low tide, which would allow them to make good time to Fort Langley, where they would stop for refueling before moving on to Yale. Although the Fraser River continued north up into the mountains for hundreds of miles, the ships couldn’t navigate the narrow gorges or shallow depths beyond Yale.
“I don’t want to pry,” Abe said, “but if you want to tell me more about what happened, I’m a good listener.”
She’d already noticed he was a good listener, that he didn’t just hear what people told him, but he engaged in the conversation. Even so, how could she share the truth about Zeke? Already she was inferior to Abe in so many ways. He’d think less of her if he learned her part in driving Zeke away.
At a shout and commotion behind them, they spun to find a young woman chasing after a toddler. The woman was wearing a scarlet gown that dipped low in the front and revealed cleavage that was bouncing enticingly. “Get back here, Lil’ Man.” She bunched her silk skirt as she attempted to maneuver around bags and the legs of other passengers.