A Most Inconvenient Marriage

by Regina Jennings

  Jeremiah caught Abigail’s eye. He opened his mouth, but Rachel just laughed. “I don’t blame you. Dead people aren’t much fun, are they? Just lying around doing nothing? If I’m alive I’ll try to act like it.”

  “Then it’s a deal.”

  “You’d probably better go before Ma catches that thing in her house. And as much as I hate to admit it, I do need some rest. Next time I’ll try to be a better playmate.”

  Josiah held the door open for Betsy. He tipped his hat to Abigail, his chest puffed out in victory. “Another win for me,” he said.

  Abigail narrowed her eyes in what she hoped was a menacing stare. The boy was delighted, just as she’d planned.

  “It’s a miracle the thing didn’t spray any of us.” Rachel pulled the edge of the blanket over herself. She chuckled once before she closed her eyes and dozed.

  But the miracle that had Jeremiah and Abigail standing speechless had nothing to do with the skunk.

  In Abigail’s opinion, a perfect morning would begin with working the horses. After they’d been exercised Hopkins would appear and request her help with a difficult case, but just as they would step outside, he’d decide to stay and help Laurel do . . . well, whatever it was that Laurel might want to do that morning, and Abigail would go to visit the patient without him. Oh, and Jeremiah would decide that it was too dangerous for her to go by herself, so he’d accompany her.

  That would be a perfect morning.

  While this morning wasn’t perfect, it was close enough that Abigail couldn’t protest. By the time she’d finished with the horses, Hopkins had indeed called to request her help with an expectant mother, although he didn’t stay behind with Laurel—despite Abigail’s suggestion—which was probably a good thing, since her experience in a prison hospital hadn’t included delivering babies.

  Turned out delivering a healthy baby was much easier than delivering a colt. After a full day of labor, the mother was now resting with the father attending, so Abigail and Dr. Hopkins made their cautious way back to the Calhouns’. The horses, sensing their urgency, trotted through every clearing as if feeling the eyes of the forest on them. Dr. Hopkins had complimented her on her work, but once they left the cabin, they both fell silent, unwilling to draw any attention to themselves while exposed and vulnerable.

  Yet Abigail was in no hurry to return to the farm. Watching as Laurel adjusted to life at Jeremiah’s side was too painful. She hadn’t commented when Laurel moved Ma’s spinning wheel out to the porch. She’d bitten her tongue when Laurel had cleared Jeremiah’s bureau for her clothes. She’d walked away when Laurel had carelessly bumped one of Ma’s bells off its shelf. No one had noticed the crack yet, and she wouldn’t tattle.

  The only bright spot in the situation was Rachel’s change of heart. Finally Abigail had succeeded in her mission. Whether or not Rachel would survive the disease remained to be seen, but Abigail’s promise to Alan had been kept. Rachel had her family and no longer needed a stranger to encourage her to do right.

  If only Abigail had somewhere to go. Another opportunity. She kept telling herself that she’d only stay until the colt was born, but the colt wouldn’t really change her situation.

  At the sight of the Calhoun farm, Abigail urged her horse ahead. The barn door stood ajar, so she trotted into the barn and nearly trampled Laurel.

  “I didn’t expect you here in the dark.” Abigail reined the horse to the far side and ducked beneath a low beam.

  “I’m waiting on you.” Laurel darted a quick look outside. “Did you return alone?”

  Before she could answer, the subject of Laurel’s inquiry rode into view. “I’ll help you put the horse up, and then I’ve got to get home,” Hopkins said.

  Abigail dismounted. “Go on. I can certainly take care of my own horse.”

  Laurel bounced on her toes. “Jeremiah asked me to send you in as soon as you got here. I’ll help Newton with your horse.”

  Even better. And what could Jeremiah want? Abigail handed the reins to Hopkins and wondered how he could miss the lovelorn gazes Laurel continued to throw his way. She hurried to the house, her feet traveling over the grass as lightly as Josephine’s when she trotted.

  An uncomfortable silence fell as she entered the parlor. Rachel swiped her red nose with the back of her hand and shot her a curious look. Abigail unbuttoned her cloak and hung it on the peg.

  “What’s a matter?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

  Ma left Hiram’s side and came to her, bumping the center table and sending clipped articles flying. “I don’t understand, dear. There must be some mistake—”

  “The mistake is mine.” The fire illuminated the concern on Jeremiah’s face. “Abigail told me about her mother weeks ago. She probably assumed that I’d told you already.”

  Her mother. Abigail’s stomach dropped. So much had happened since she’d told Jeremiah about her family. He’d declared his love, then rescinded it. Hiram had been shot, the house attacked, Rachel had collapsed and risen again stronger than ever. Amid all the changes Abigail hadn’t thought to pull Ma aside and disclose exactly what she’d hidden.

  “I’m glad you told them, Jeremiah.” Abigail studied her boots. “I hadn’t meant to let it go, but—”

  “I didn’t tell them,” he said. “Hand her the letter, Ma.”

  A roar filled her ears. Abigail’s vision narrowed to the ivory envelope in her mother’s handwriting. A reply already? But what did it say?

  “If I would’ve known that your mother was alive . . .” Ma twisted her journal into a tight cylinder. “I feel bad about you being here with us all this time. Did she know where you were?”

  Abigail shook her head. “I just wrote her recently.”

  Ma’s forehead wrinkled. “She must’ve been sick with worry. Why wouldn’t you . . .”

  But Abigail couldn’t answer all their questions. Not yet. Her question held the greater urgency. The paper crinkled in her hand as she walked to the window. No matter how bad it was, she wouldn’t consider it the end. She’d try again, even if they gave her no encouragement.

  Abigail slid her fingernail along the ridge and broke open the seal.

  Dear Abigail,

  Words cannot express our shame over our treatment of you. . . .

  Her eyes filled with tears as she read the apology. Her stepfather’s watch had been recovered in the possession of one of the grooms. They realized too late that Abigail was innocent. Her mother had languished for years worrying about her, sick with the thought that they’d turned Abigail out when she hadn’t stolen from John. And Abigail’s first letter written during the war had never reached them.

  She pressed the letter against her chest. She’d do whatever she could to lessen her mother’s pain, but she’d be lying if she didn’t acknowledge that vindication felt good. After the accusation, she needed to hear them admit they were wrong.

  And after all this time, she finally had permission to go home. The horse really didn’t matter anymore. If Jeremiah wished, he could send it to her in Ohio. She trusted him to treat her fairly, but there was no reason for her to stay any longer. But could she leave? Was she ready to give up on Jeremiah?

  “What’s the letter say?” Ma frowned at her tears. “Is everyone well?”

  “Yes, I—” Abigail couldn’t imagine leaving Jeremiah. Never to see him again. Never to hear his voice, share his smile. But Laurel wasn’t giving him up. How long before Abigail admitted defeat? “I need to go.”

  Leaving her cloak on the peg she ran outside, stumbling through the darkness.

  “I can’t imagine Abigail being estranged from her family,” Ma said. “Whatever happened?”

  Jeremiah balled his hands into fists. He hadn’t meant to keep it a secret, but he didn’t want it to look bad on Abigail. “Her mother is alive and remarried. Her stepfather did his best to run her off.”

  “Oh, poor child.” Ma’s hands clutched before her. “No wonder she didn’t want memories so painful to be spo
ken of.”

  Someone should check on her. Not him, mind you, but someone. Jeremiah bumped his shoulder against the rock fireplace as he reached for his coat. What did the letter say? Had her mother renewed her accusations?

  When he entered the barn, Hopkins and Laurel sprang apart, but he barely noticed. He threw a bridle over Lancaster’s head as Laurel said good-bye and scurried to the house.

  “Did you see where Abigail went?” Jeremiah asked.

  “She headed up the mountain.” Hopkins climbed into his saddle. “Where are you going?”

  “To find her.”

  Hopkins raised an eyebrow. “Are you now?”

  “Yes, and you’re coming with me.”

  “Why do you need me? To keep you safe from the bushwhackers?”

  It wasn’t the bushwhackers Jeremiah needed guarding against. “No, but Abigail had a rough turn in there. She needs a friend.” Hopkins didn’t question him.

  They rode in silence through the evening forest, the critters scurrying before them. Then a larger critter was heard. Rocks clattered on the hill above them. The horse swung his head toward the noise.

  “She’s up there,” Hopkins said. “Are you going alone?”

  “Yes . . . no.” Jeremiah sighed. “Maybe you’d better take this one.”

  They both dismounted and climbed the last distance to the top of the hill. From the bald perch, the treetops below looked like dark boils of cotton swaying in the brisk wind. And there sat Abigail on the boulder overlooking the vast valley. She seemed to shrink into the rocks as they rustled toward her. Pulling her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and waited.

  “It’s cold,” Hopkins said. “Why don’t you come back to the house?”

  Abigail ignored his suggestion. Jeremiah hated to see her shivering. He fumbled through his buttons and ripped off his coat. “Here. Give this to her.”

  Obediently Hopkins passed the coat to her, holding it at arm’s length. Abigail pretended not to notice. With a shrug Hopkins handed it back to Jeremiah.

  “I said give it to her,” Jeremiah snapped.

  “She won’t take it.”

  “Then put it around her shoulders.”

  With a roll of his eyes Hopkins climbed the rocks, dropped the coat around her back, tugged it in the front so it wouldn’t fall, then rejoined Jeremiah.

  “There. She won’t freeze,” Hopkins said.

  “We can’t just leave her here. Talk to her some more.”

  Hopkins cleared his throat. “Abigail, Jeremiah thinks I need to talk to you some more, so why don’t I ask him what I should say to you?”

  Jeremiah shoved him. “Smart mouth. You know what to say. Tell her that if she wants to talk, you’re ready to listen.”

  “Abigail, if you want to talk, I’m ready to listen.”

  Jeremiah shoved him again. “Are you mocking her?”

  Hopkins turned and squared up to Jeremiah. “No, I’m mocking you. Why don’t you go up there and say what you want? She can hear you, anyway.”

  Jeremiah glared at him. He longed to speak to her, but could he without breaking Laurel’s trust?

  “Please, Hopkins. Tell her that no matter what her mother said, it doesn’t change your opinion of her. That you’ll be there for her no matter what.”

  Abigail had turned to him. No longer hidden in the trees, Jeremiah stepped forward. “Tell her that she has a place in this family, and she’s loved by us all.”

  Abigail’s chin quivered. “Dr. Hopkins, would you please notify Jeremiah that my mother wrote to ask my forgiveness. My name was cleared and they want me to come home.”

  Go home? Jeremiah shook his head. She couldn’t.

  Her navy dress was a dark stain against the white rock. With a giant step only made possible by his healing, Jeremiah joined her on the boulder, only faintly aware that Hopkins had moved away. Jeremiah backed into its wall and slid down to sit at her side.

  “I wish you would stay,” he said.

  “What use are wishes?” The light danced silver across her gentle face. “If it weren’t for the trouble here, I might not have had the courage to write my family again. Mama never got my other letter and was sick with worry about me. They caught one of the grooms from the stable with John’s watch soon after I left, and all this time she’s been waiting to hear from me. I could’ve gone home long ago.”

  “How about your stepfather? Are you sure you want to live under his roof?”

  “I don’t know how he’ll treat me, but they’re my family. They’re obligated to take care of me. You aren’t.”

  Lancaster nickered. Hopkins was nowhere to be seen. Deserted him. Jeremiah rested his arms across his knees. Hopkins might go, but he wouldn’t leave his friend.

  The first stars twinkled at them from a clear sky. Jeremiah followed her gaze up. “In the army, I’d lie on my pallet and watch the stars travel. Before each battle I released everything into God’s hands. Then, as soon as I started home I gathered up all my worries and told God I’d see to them from here. It turned out that the things I thought I could control have been a disaster. The things I’d given up on—my leg, Rachel’s disposition—that’s where God has worked.” His hand rested next to hers on the boulder. “Looks like He smoothed your path, too.”

  Yes, her path was clear. Nothing was keeping her in the Ozarks. She had to set aside her concerns over the reception she’d get from a chastened John Dennison. She didn’t have to live with them forever. After the reunion she could decide from there. Maybe they’d encourage her to return to nursing. Maybe she’d meet someone who’d fill the spot vacated by the man who currently sat at her side, his coat wrapped around her shoulders. Maybe not.

  “We shouldn’t be alone.” She pulled herself to the edge of the rock. “Is Ma terribly disappointed?”

  “She loves you, Abigail. You’ve treated her better than her children have.”

  She fidgeted under his watchful gaze. Without a word he slid off the overhang, gathered Lancaster’s reins, and motioned her down the hill.

  She walked by his side where the trail was wide enough, until they reached the level pasture. Abigail flipped up the collar of Jeremiah’s coat to protect her neck from the chilly wind. From the barn, Josephine called out her greeting to Lancaster.

  “I’m going home,” Abigail said. “And if I’m going, I’d better start my journey before winter sets in. About the colt—wait until it’s born, and then please forward me my half. I wish I could let you keep the whole amount, but I don’t know how reduced Mama’s situation might be—”

  He shook his head. “Don’t talk like that. Go see your family. It’s the right thing to do. But then come on back. We need you.”

  How much would she have given to hear those words that summer? But it was too late.

  “I don’t belong here. Not now. I’m not angry with you, Jeremiah, but you have to understand—I need more than you can give. There’s nothing here for me.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then his shoulders dropped. “I can’t tell you what to do. I reckon you’d be the best judge of that.”

  He wasn’t going to tell her what to do? Maybe they both had changed. And that reminded her of one last bequest she had to distribute. She pushed aside the bulky coat she wore to slip her hand inside her pocket. Her fingers grasped the cool copper penny.

  “I have something for you.” She stopped just short of the barn. Jeremiah turned, his face weary. “It’s from my father. I’ve kept it all this time, but I want you to have it. I want to leave you something to remember me by.”

  Jeremiah’s head remained bowed over her open palm. “I won’t forget you, Abigail. I won’t forget one moment of our time together, no matter how much I might wish I could.” His fingers brushed against her palm as he gathered the coin. “I’ll cherish this. I’ll hold it for you with the hope that someday you’ll return for it.”

  He pressed the coin to his lips with a wistful smile, then followed her to the house where t
heir responsibilities awaited them.

  Chapter 24

  It was the coldest day they’d had yet—drizzly and gusty, but Abigail wouldn’t be delayed. She was going home, and there was nothing any of them could do to stop her. The milk pail dug into Jeremiah’s stiff fingers as he trudged from the barn to the warm kitchen. Even Rachel had pleaded her case, insisting that without Abigail she’d return to a cranky, self-absorbed tyrant, but her arguments only proved Abigail correct. Rachel had changed. Medically, Abigail couldn’t help her, and emotionally her work was done.

  So last night he’d stayed awake, fearful that he’d miss her evening watch. He’d squirmed on his hard pallet in the parlor waiting for her appearance, lying motionless when he heard her on the stairway. The green taffeta rustled. The floorboards barely creaked beneath her bare feet. She passed and he translated every clink of tin and drip of water he heard in the kitchen into pictures of her fixing the tea.

  Then there she went again, hair tousled, eyes puffy, but at her post while the rest of the house slept. Faithful to the end.

  Now he set the milk pail on the kitchen floor and scuffed his hands together to get the blood flowing. Spotting his rifle in the corner reminded him to pray for safe passage today. He’d be glad when the threat of dangerous men was behind them so he only had to worry about catamounts, bears, and razorbacks. How he wished that Abigail could’ve known the mountains without the hatred.

  He heard someone coming down the stairs. Going to the parlor, he met Laurel lugging Abigail’s valise from the upstairs.

  “I can’t believe she’s leaving this morning,” she said. “I’ll miss her so.”

  Jeremiah’s throat tightened. He took the valise. “I’ll set it by the door.”

  Still buttoning the buttons on her wrists, Laurel followed him outside. “Jeremiah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, and it really shouldn’t wait.” Her dark braids shone in the morning light, tight and freshly tied.

  “Let’s go inside. It’s chilly this morning—”

  “No. I’d rather talk right here.” She paced across the porch. “I’ve been thinking about something Abigail said last week. She pointed out that if our parents were to marry, you’d be my brother.” Her nose was turning rosy, her eyes bright. “I know she was just funning, but it didn’t bother me like it should. In fact, it sounded right. It sounded natural. Why wouldn’t you be my brother? I’ve always looked up to you. I’ve loved you like a member of my family. You tease me and watch out for me, and I’d do anything for you, just like a good sister should.”