A Most Inconvenient Marriage

by Regina Jennings

  Not that one had to die before they became acquainted with regrets. She dumped the dough out of the wooden bowl and onto the table. On the long evenings of half light after the chores were done, Abigail had ample time to wonder if she could’ve done anything different. Perhaps when John sold her horses, she could’ve held her temper. But would it have mattered? Was he just looking for an excuse to run her off? What if she’d refused to leave? Would her mother have listened? Then again, she’d written home before and didn’t get a reply. All that was left was for her to make the best of her situation.

  A situation that was getting worse. Even through her pretended indifference, Rachel had noticed the tension between Abigail and Jeremiah that evening, and Ma had asked if either of them were coming down with something. Abigail’s medical training led her to suspect a case of regretful osculation—a horrible condition that left one feeling resentful and irrational. Hopefully she’d soon recover and be inoculated from further bouts. Until then, she blamed her moodiness on her bandaged hands.

  Tenderly she glided the wooden rolling pin over the mound, leaning her shoulders into her work until the dough spread flat on the table. Dusting more flour, she flipped it over and rolled it from the other side, an awkward endeavor considering Jeremiah’s bandages resembled mittens. According to Ma, pumpkin pie was Rachel’s favorite. Abigail hoped Rachel appreciated her gesture.

  “If she’s sweet on him, why ain’t she sitting by him on the porch?”

  Abigail’s rolling halted at Betsy Huckabee’s whispered question. She leaned toward the open window to catch Josiah’s next words. “They must’ve gotten cross at each other. Pa said Jeremiah went to see Miss Laurel today.”

  “Poor Miss Abigail. No wonder she’s staying clear of him.”

  Oh, the stories they were concocting. Ever since they’d snooped on her in the barn, Abigail had determined to better them. They weren’t the only ones who could pull a caper. She cast about the kitchen looking for something to surprise them with. A jug of water out the window? Too obvious. A sudden Boo? Not scary enough. And then she realized the answer was at her fingertips.

  Quickly Abigail gouged out two holes in the pie crust. Dragging her fingers downward she created drooping triangles, and then a horizontal gash where the mouth should be. She smoothed her hair back, although it didn’t matter. She’d be filthy, but it’d be worth it. Peeling the crust from the table she draped it over her head, arranging the eye holes and mouth appropriately. If done correctly she’d look like the ghoul of every child’s nightmare, flesh melting off the bones, eyes and mouth distorted. Even her bandaged hands looked like something from the crypt.

  Hobbling to the window, Abigail sighed dramatically. The rustling beneath the window stopped as she began her performance, surprised by the ease with which the emotion gushed forth.

  “Poor, poor me. Now that Captain Calhoun has seen my true appearance, how will I ever earn his love? No one can look at me without horror.” She’d rather he not look at her at all, but she wasn’t going to let the little pranksters get away again.

  The whispering commenced. “Shh. She’s in there. What did she say?” The peony bush rustled against the rock wall.

  “If only the fairy hadn’t cursed me.” Abigail flattened her back against the wall, thinking it better not to mention Captain Calhoun again. “If only I hadn’t promised her my youth in exchange for the love potion.” The cool breeze floated in, but her face didn’t feel it through the layer of dough. They argued in whispers until she heard them reach their final compromise.

  “We’ll both look.”

  Their bare feet padded up the wall as they hoisted themselves up. Abigail waited until she saw grimy fingers clutching at the sill, then sprang forward, thrusting her dough-covered face toward theirs.

  “AHHHH!!”

  Through the holes in her pastry mask Abigail saw their mouths stretch wide, their eyes bug, and their breathing stop. Clenching the windowsill, Betsy screamed at a pitch that’d make a dog hurt. Josiah gave a startled squeal, then dropped to the ground. He grabbed his little sister by the waist and tried to drag her away, but her fingers refused to release the sill.

  “C’mon Betsy. Let go! We got to run! Let go!” he pleaded.

  Abigail stretched her bandaged hands toward the girl. “Now that you’ve seen my true face, I can never let you escape.”

  “Let go, Betsy.” He jerked her hands free and with a thud she landed on top of him.

  “Her face,” Betsy cried. “What happened to her face?”

  Credit her with one victory for the day. Abigail grinned beneath her shroud. Who would’ve thought that a simple pie crust could be so terrifying? But her foes hadn’t fled the field. Josiah’s head popped back into the window.

  With his head slightly askew he watched her through narrowed eyes. “What is that?” he lisped between his gapped teeth, while Betsy waited a safe distance away.

  Didn’t take the boy long to find his courage. Or to figure out her trick for that matter. Abigail pinched off a piece from her chin and poked it into her mouth. “Melting flesh. Delicious!”

  The boy flashed her an ornery smile. “Maybe we’s even, but I don’t like to be even. ’Specially when Betsy’s gonna keep us awake all night with nightmares.”

  “Be careful.” Abigail hollowed her voice. “You might be the one with nightmares next time.”

  Josiah wrinkled his freckled nose at her and dropped out of sight. The warmth of her skin had melted the dough to it. It wouldn’t be easy to peel off, but Betsy and Josiah were delighted. Their laughter faded with their quick footsteps racing home to make their plans.

  But other footsteps approached and the uneven gait couldn’t be mistaken for any other. The kitchen door flew open and Jeremiah entered.

  “I heard screams—”

  One look at her face and he skidded to a stop. His crutch hit the rag rug and slid out from under him, but he caught himself on his bad leg and the doorframe. His mouth opened. He pointed. Blinked. Pointed again.

  Feeling brave beneath her mask, Abigail twirled an errant lock of hair around her bandaged finger. The dough clung and moved like a second, albeit looser, skin. “Is something amiss?”

  “Are you trying to scare the living daylights out of me?” He looked nervously behind himself before allowing the kitchen door to close. “What is this? Some kind of beauty treatment?”

  Starting at her chin, Abigail rolled the dough up, wishing he wasn’t watching so closely.

  “The Huckabee kids were spying in the window. They’ll think twice before they do that again.” The dough peeled off her face but clumped to her hair.

  “I’ll think twice before I eat another of your pies.” Jeremiah reached for a messy lock, but with a frown let his hand drop obediently to his side. “Is this a family recipe?”

  Her chest tightened at the question. She shrugged and looked at the floor.

  “Where exactly do you come from, again?”

  Her neck tensed. Why would he ask that? “Ohio.”

  “Can you be any more specific?”

  “Outside of Chillicothe. Why?”

  He took the dough out of her hand and dropped it in the slop bucket with a thud. “I really don’t know much about you, do I?”

  Usually when a man showed an interest in a lady, he had romance in mind, but somehow, even after a knee-wobbling kiss, Abigail doubted that was his aim.

  “Why bother? I’m leaving next spring, and you’ll never see me again.” The way he stared, she was certain she still had dough on her face. She rubbed her nose.

  He cleared his throat. “When I go to Pine Gap in a few days, I’d like to take Laurel. I think it’d be best for everyone involved if I spent more time with her.”

  Abigail forced herself to face him. Why should she feel slighted? Jeremiah had never hidden his intentions to marry Laurel. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she managed finally.

  “But I can’t go on my own. Hiram will insist on her being chaperone
d, and Ma doesn’t want to go. That leaves you.”

  Last choice again. “Do you think after your behavior in the barn that I’d want to be alone with you?”

  He might as well put her beneath a magnifying glass the way he studied her. “I have questions I want answered about the man we met today. I’m hoping to run into him or someone who knows him. Besides, you never know who you might meet on market day.”

  Was he trying to play matchmaker? Abigail scolded herself. She couldn’t allow her feelings to be hurt. Besides, what did it matter what this hillbilly thought of her? His opinion wasn’t worth a Confederate dollar.

  Chapter 14

  The clear morning gave promise of a beautiful journey ahead. Jeremiah broke his fried egg with his fork and scooped up the runny yolk with his toast. He dashed pepper on top, enjoying the biting scent, and practically hummed as he devoured it. Breakfast had been a disappointment lately. While the food tasted fine, the mood had felt flat. Not that there was usually any conversation at breakfast, but he had always left the kitchen feeling optimistic, looking forward to the day ahead.

  Maybe it was his time working with Abigail that he’d looked forward to. He dared a glance toward the tall woman. Dressed as she was in a fancy pink getup, he found it hard to believe she lived in his house. Why would a city lady like her help him? Well, she wasn’t anymore. Ever since he’d gone and smooched her, she’d come nearer to sitting on a beehive than being in the same room with him.

  Which was why she wouldn’t help him through his exercises anymore. Which was why breakfast wasn’t the cheerful event it used to be. Which was why Jeremiah was itching to go to town with Laurel.

  He shoveled in his last bite of egg. The part about needing a chaperone was as true as Ole Blue’s nose, but maybe seeing how pretty Abigail was would remind Laurel that she wasn’t the only choice around. She shouldn’t pass up a fella that other gals would give their eyeteeth for.

  They needed an early setout if they were going to get the best trades. His saddlebags were already loaded with bags of shelled beans, padded jars of honey, and some beets. They hadn’t raised anything uncommon, but neither did they need anything. Just some extry that might mean some nice lace for Ma or new shoe soles for him in case his didn’t last until tanning season.

  He met Abigail’s gaze. Barely disguised impatience. That’s about all she gave him now. Well, it was his own fault. He missed her friendship and was working toward gaining it back, but it wasn’t easy when she kept him at a distance.

  “You be careful, Jeremiah.” His mother said as he stood. “Don’t forget there’s a dangerous man in those woods.”

  “That’s why I’m going to town, Ma. And I’m not likely to let my guard down.” He swooped in to kiss her forehead. “Not while Laurel’s with me.”

  His mother patted his cheek. “That’s exactly when you’re most likely to be distracted.”

  Abigail cleared her throat. As if he’d forgotten her. He straightened. “Let’s go.”

  She followed him to the barn without saying a word. He gestured to the gelding, and she set to saddling it while he went to work on Lancaster. Did she notice that he didn’t need his crutch here in the barn? With his leg nearly straightened, he could now take enough weight on it to stand steady, even while handling the heavy tack.

  She didn’t notice.

  With a swift hop, Abigail sat astride the big horse. From her satchel, she pulled out gloves. Their existence surprised him out of his silence. “Where’d you get those?”

  “I’ve had them all along.”

  “I’ve never seen them.”

  “I’ve never ridden to town before.” With a tug to pull them smooth, she clucked to the horse and directed him out of the barn. The dress was new, too. Proof that she’d taken particular care with her appearance. And why shouldn’t she? Maybe if she caught the eye of some old bachelor or widower in town, she could go on and leave. It’d be for the best.

  He got in the saddle, easiest time yet, and loosened his pistol in his belt. Nobody better get in his way when he was heading to Laurel. She wouldn’t spend another day by the window wondering where he was. And he wouldn’t share that sentiment with Abigail, for likely Abigail would question whether she ever had.

  Abigail didn’t know her. She didn’t understand how it was for a girl like Laurel, whose blood ran thin and swift in the summer but could barely move in the winter, almost hibernating like the little creatures she loved. Laurel’s decisions were based on instinct. All she needed was a steady hand, and that’s what Jeremiah offered. They’d be good for each other.

  Not a word was said the entire journey over the mountain, and the closer Jeremiah got to the Wallaces’ farm, the less aware he was of his riding companion. The chickens scattered as they approached the door and the wagon parked before it. Laurel stepped outside and pulled on a poke bonnet. She tied the thick ribbon beneath her chin.

  “Good morning, Jeremiah. Good morning, Abigail.” Her bright eyes sparkled.

  “I’ll take my horse to the barn if you don’t think he and Napoleon will bicker.” Jeremiah nodded as Hiram joined his daughter on the porch.

  “Leave him in the barn. He’ll come to no harm,” Hiram said. “And since we have two bags of cotton, I hoped you’d be agreeable to driving the wagon.”

  “Absolutely.” Plowing, hoeing, all those tasks that took two good legs were coming along slowly, but driving a wagon he could do.

  “And I didn’t realize you were bringing Miss Abigail. I’d already sent out for another escort.”

  “That’s unnecessary. I’d planned so that your daughter would be properly—”

  “No matter. Newton is already stabling his horse.”

  “Newton?” His stomach dropped. Laurel refused to look him in the eyes. Lancaster snorted, sensing his frustration.

  Newton ambled out of the barn. “Good morning, Mrs. Calhoun.”

  Jeremiah turned in his saddle to glare at Abigail. She smiled, obviously tickled by his discomfort. “Good morning, Dr. Hopkins. I hear you’ll be accompanying us this morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And it looks like it’s going to be a fine morning for a trip to town.”

  He hitched up his straight-legged trousers and climbed right up to the wagon bench.

  “You can’t ride in the wagon,” Jeremiah sputtered. “There’s only room for three on the bench.”

  “I thought I’d save you the trouble of getting off your horse.” Newton tilted his hat back to smile at Jeremiah.

  He wouldn’t be replaced so easily. “I’m riding in the wagon. I asked Laurel’s pa if I could take her to town, and by george, I’m taking her to town.”

  “Then I’ll be right here, too.”

  “But you can’t leave a lady on horseback.” Suddenly finding a use for Abigail, Jeremiah motioned toward her. “Surely you don’t expect Abigail to ride just so you can sit in the wagon?”

  “Why don’t you give up your seat for her?” Newton asked.

  “Really, boys,” Laurel said. “The way you’re carrying on gives me half a mind to stay home. How could either of you expect Abigail to ride—”

  “I’m riding.” Abigail stretched her long fingers in their fitted gloves and lifted her reins. “I won’t ride in a wagon when I can be on a horse.”

  Well, that was just dandy. The day had already soured. Jeremiah urged Lancaster to the barn. He’d find some way to get Laurel alone before they returned, but it wouldn’t be easy—not when Newton Hopkins guarded her like she was his pet bone.

  Served him right. Jeremiah Calhoun pushed people around like chess pieces, all pawns sacrificed in the pursuit of the enemy’s queen. Abigail enjoyed seeing him taste his own medicine while crowded in the wagon with little Laurel smashed between him and Hopkins. Riding behind them, Abigail had a perfect view, but with her favorite dress pushed up around her calves, she must stay behind them, or they’d get more of a view than they bargained for.

  Two suitors. A blessing or a curse? L
aurel seemed embarrassed by the situation, but Abigail didn’t think her cruel. She’d tried to reject Jeremiah, and when he persisted, Laurel had agreed to give him a chance. How could anyone fault her for wanting to be sure of her heart? If Jeremiah would bow out, Abigail suspected that Laurel would embrace his decision enthusiastically or, more likely, embrace Dr. Hopkins. On the other hand, if Dr. Hopkins bowed out, would Laurel be just as content? Abigail thought it possible.

  No, Laurel couldn’t be faulted. Any hurt that Jeremiah incurred was the result of his stubborn pursuit. It’d take a much stronger woman to reject Jeremiah when he was determined. Even she’d weakened when he’d turned his attentions . . .

  Abigail cleared her throat. Better to thank her stars that he had another victim to trap. Otherwise she might find herself being hounded by the arrogant cad. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but if Laurel kept another innocent woman from trouble, then God bless her.

  She rode all morning, dallying behind the wagon, preferring to listen to the birdsong rather than the occasional caustic conversation ahead. The longer she stayed in the mountains, the harder it was to imagine leaving them. God hadn’t forsaken her but had led her to a nurturing home where she’d be loved. Now, if she could only convince the rest of the family that she belonged.

  The valleys they traveled through remained cool despite the strength of the late-morning sun. The rugged green mountains, so foreboding at first acquaintance, had grown familiar. The gelding’s hooves slid occasionally on the loose rocks dotting the hills, but he gamely carried on up and over the mountains.

  They stopped at a spring to let the horses drink. Laurel hopped from the wagon to kneel at the spring’s edge and scoop the cold water to her mouth. Abigail dismounted, but before she could join Laurel, Jeremiah intercepted her.

  He took her by the arm and propelled her away from the others. “Are you tired?”