“Well,” Tommy went on, “why didn’t we?”
“Some folks in town and at that church don’t like me very much.” Abby noticed the worried looks on the faces of the children. What would they think when they learned everything?
“Why don’t they like you?” Tommy dipped his spoon in the pottage and lifted it to his mouth.
Abby shrugged. “Who can say?”
“Do they like us?”
“I’m sure they do.”
“So why can’t we at least go to town? You said we were out of flour and things, and I’m getting tired of mush. We’ve been having it for almost every meal.”
Abby gazed down at her bowl. Thank goodness the children didn’t know her bowl was empty.
“I can’t answer that, Tommy,” she finally said. “But I am sure Pastor and Mrs. Johnson will visit us again soon, and they always bring food when they come.”
She wouldn’t tell them that Miss Betty Franklin, Ambrose’s niece from California, could arrive at any time or that she wouldn’t be bringing food but an eviction notice. The telegram said she was ready to leave for Texas, meaning that Miss Franklin could kick them out of their home at any time. Were all the bad things that happened in Georgia after their mother died happening again?
After the noon meal, she went out back to the henhouse to see if any new eggs had arrived since last she looked. She once said she would never kill an animal, but hunger changed things. Fried chicken sounded better by the minute.
She found two eggs in the henhouse and put them in the wicker basket. She supposed the wicker basket belonged to Miss Betty Franklin now.
As Abby was leaving the henhouse, she saw a flash of black out of the corner of her eye. She looked again.
A nice buggy pulled by a single bay horse was driving up to the front of the house. Folks with buggies didn’t often drive all the way out here.
Miss Franklin. Had the woman from California arrived earlier than expected? If so, the eggs in the wicker basket also belonged to her. Abby dashed inside, through the house, and all the way to the front door.
Abby hadn’t prayed in a long time, but her mother always said that Christians prayed in the name of Jesus for needs like food and shelter. She prayed, and then she opened the door before hearing a single knock.
Pastor and Mrs. Johnson stepped inside.
Relief filled every part of her, and Abby was already smiling. “Oh, it is so good to see you. Please, sit down.” She hesitated, waiting for them to take their seats on the divan. “I didn’t recognize that fancy rig y’all drove up in today,” Abby said, taking a chair across from the divan.
“The buggy is new,” Mrs. Johnson explained. “Our banker gave it to us, and he got a new one. But the horse is ours.”
A white cloth was draped over the wicker basket Mrs. Johnson held. She removed the cover and handed the basket to Abby. “This is for you and the children.”
Abby saw food inside, and a quick gush of tender feelings covered her like a warm blanket. Her lips trembled slightly, and she felt like crying. Was it normal to cry when a miracle had just happened? Pastor and Mrs. Johnson had brought her gifts before but never only moments after she prayed.
It was as if the tears now moistening her eyes had been hiding there all her life and suddenly poured out like a flood. Abby wiped them away with the back of her hand.
Mrs. Johnson got up and hastened to her side. Pastor Johnson got up, too, but not as quickly, and trudged over to join the women.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Mrs. Johnson asked.
Abby wiped her eyes again. “Nothing, now. But just before y’all got here, I prayed. God answered, and here you are with a basket of food.”
“And there’s more in the buggy,” the pastor pointed out, “and money, too.”
“Oh, no.” Abby wept audibly. “I don’t deserve this. Why, I hadn’t really prayed in ages and ages—not since I was little.”
“God loves you and the children.” Mrs. Johnson handed her a white handkerchief.
Abby buried her head in the older woman’s shoulder, holding the handkerchief and trying to stop crying before the children came in and saw her. What was wrong with her today? She almost never cried, especially like this, and here she was weeping into the sleeve of Mrs. Johnson’s blue dress. She sat up and wiped her eyes with the handkerchief.
“Thank you.” She sniffed. “Thank you for coming today. Thank you for the basket of food. Thank you for everything.”
“Better thank God first, young lady.” The pastor gave her shoulder a soft pat. “He’s the One behind the giving. He loves His people more than we can imagine.”
“We love you, too,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Why, you and the children are the family we never had.”
The pastor nodded in agreement. “I reckon you and those little ones are a part of our lives now.”
“Should we pray?” Mrs. Johnson asked.
“Yes.” The pastor bowed his head, and then Abby and Mrs. Johnson did.
Abby was so filled with emotions from all that had happened since they arrived that she didn’t hear much of the pastor’s prayer. But she knew he was talking straight to God on their behalf and that he asked the Lord to bless all five of them.
Did God hear when she prayed? She’d never thought so. But now she wondered. Maybe He did.
Pleasing scents floated out from the wicker basket. Abby leaned over and took a whiff. “Oh, this looks so good. Is that chicken I smell?”
“Fried chicken and roasted potatoes. And if you’ll have us, we’d like to stay for supper.”
“I’d love for you to stay for supper.” If they only knew how starved Abby truly was. “Let’s make it an early supper, if it is all the same to you.”
Later when the children had eaten the last of the fried chicken and only chicken bones remained on their plates, they went outside to play. Then Mrs. Johnson leaned forward in her chair.
“Did you know that your name, Abby, has a meaning?”
“No.” Abby shook her head. “I didn’t. What does it mean?”
“I read somewhere that it means ‘her father’s delight.’”
Abby glanced down at her plate. Her stepfather delighted in her, all right, but not in a good way. After a moment, she forced a smile and looked up again.
Pastor and Mrs. Johnson were looking out the west window as the sun dipped lower in the sky. She knew she should make some sort of comment, but she just couldn’t.
The pastor and his wife turned back to Abby. “It’s getting late,” he said, “and we have another stop to make. So I guess we best go.”
“Please, stay,” Abby said almost in a whisper.
“You looked a little sad just then when you said that, dear,” Mrs. Johnson put in. “Is something wrong?”
Abby looked away again, spreading out a wrinkle in the skirt of her gold print dress. “No, nothing’s wrong. If I looked sad, it’s because you are leaving.”
But it was a lie. Plenty was wrong. Her whole life was wrong.
An old saying she’d heard from her grandmother came into her mind. “Good people don’t air their dirty linen in public.”
Maybe Pastor and Mrs. Johnson didn’t know that she knew what the people at the church were saying about her, and she refused to tell them. She preferred to bear her pain in secret as she always had.
“Please, tell us what is wrong.” Mrs. Johnson reached out and hugged her again. “Whatever you tell us will be in confidence.”
Abby felt the muscles around her mouth tighten, a clear indication that more tears battled to get out. She wanted to tell all her secrets to these good people—shout so loud the windows shook. But she wouldn’t. Her grandmother said she shouldn’t, and her grandmother was always right.
At last she said, “There’s a scripture verse I knew as a child. I can’t remember it now, but it begins with ‘If any man is in Christ.’”
“That’s in 2 Corinthians,” the pastor said. “If any man be in Christ, he is a new
creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” He paused but only for an instant. “According to the Bible, Abby, God would like to be your friend. But the Lord expects you to move toward Him first. He moved toward you by giving His only begotten Son to die on a cross in your place.”
Abby had always thought of God as judgmental, like some of the people in Georgia she knew as a child. She’d never considered that the King of the Universe would like to be her friend. It seemed too good to be true. Still, she tucked the thought inside her brain, promising to think on it again in the days and weeks to come.
Luke sat on the front porch of his ranch house, gazing at the western sky at sunset. Since Mr. Franklin’s death, he’d thought about a certain scripture—the one about caring for widows and orphans. Abby was a widow now, and her brothers and sisters were orphans. Should he marry Abby to keep her from starving and keep her brothers and sisters from being placed in an orphanage?
Oh, he loved Abby, all right—had since the moment she floated inside the Frio Corners Hotel. But how could he trust her?
Did she come to Texas to marry an old and rich man that was on his deathbed, and was she only pretending to be surprised when she learned he was ninety years old? He wanted to believe that she was innocent of all charges.
He saw a buggy in the distance. The pastor and his wife had said they might stop by for a visit, and they would be driving the new rig the banker gave them. At last, the buggy stopped in front of the house.
“Brother Conquest,” the pastor said as he helped his wife up the front steps, “it’s great to see you again.”
“Thanks for coming.” Luke indicated his front door. “Shall we go inside?”
When his guests had settled onto the faded brown divan and Luke was seated across from them, he leaned forward and tilted his head at an angle. “I’ve been reading scripture verses in the Bible about caring for widows and orphans,” Luke said, “and Mrs. Franklin is a widow now. The children are orphans, and they will all be out in the cold when that lady from California gets here. Somebody has to help them. Like you said in your sermon this morning, we should treat others like we would like to be treated. If I were in a fix like she is, I’d want somebody to step forward and help me. As a pastor you know that sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the better good.”
The pastor grinned. “Would marrying a beautiful woman like Mrs. Franklin be considered a sacrifice, Brother Conquest?”
Chapter 8
Luke froze for a moment. “Well, now.” He hadn’t expected the minister to ask a question like that, and he certainly couldn’t tell Pastor Johnson how he really felt. Or did he already know?
Luke scratched the back of his neck when it didn’t itch. “Maybe I should up and marry her then—Mrs. Franklin, that is. Not that I actually want to marry her. True, she is a fine-looking woman and all, but as I see it, it’s my Christian duty.”
Pastor Johnson chuckled. “As you say, sometimes Christians have to make sacrifices to prove their faith,” the pastor said. “They must become brave. Look at Daniel. He faced lions because he thought it was the right thing to do. And what about David? He didn’t put on armor before facing that giant, Goliath. Did he?”
Was Pastor Johnson joking with him? It sure sounded like it.
“So when do you plan to marry her, Brother Conquest? My thoughts are, the sooner the better. As you said, that lady from California could be here at any time. I don’t have anything planned for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Luke swallowed. “That’s mighty soon, don’t you think? I haven’t had time to ask Mrs. Franklin for her hand in marriage yet. Besides, that young mare I bought from you is as wild as a hurricane one day and as gentle as a spring breeze the next. I never know what to expect from that filly, and I need to break her before she gets so out of control I can’t ever rein her in.”
The pastor leaned back in his chair, putting his feet on the footstool in front of him. “I know what I would do if I were a young man like you.”
“And what is that, sir?”
“After breakfast tomorrow morning, I’d clean up real nice and go knocking at Mrs. Franklin’s door. I’d asked her to marry me, and that would be it.”
“And then what?” Luke asked.
“Well, I’d clean up my house real nice. Women like clean houses. And then I’d prepare to meet my bride up at the church.”
“And what time tomorrow will this wedding take place?” Luke asked.
“I think four o’clock tomorrow afternoon sounds good. Is that all right with you, Brother Conquest?”
“I guess so.”
“Then I’ll see you and Mrs. Franklin at the church tomorrow at four. And bring the children. We love those little ones.”
Luke nodded. He would marry Abby. It was what he’d wanted all along. But he still didn’t know why she left the hotel without telling him.
Luke and Abby were married the very next day just like the pastor said they should be. Abby insisted on a marriage of convenience—no love involved. Under the current circumstances, what choice did Luke have but to agree?
Pastor and Mrs. Johnson insisted on keeping the children at their house for the first few days after the wedding. Abby didn’t seem to like the idea but finally agreed to it. At last Luke and Abby got in his wagon and headed for the ranch.
“I’m hoping you’ll like my ranch as much as I do,” he said. “And I want to show you around the place. But it could be too dark to see by the time we get there.”
Abby smiled, but her eyes didn’t.
His ranch was in a big valley with hills all around as if protecting the land from intruders, and there were a lot of trees. Most of the trees in the valley stayed green even in winter, but the leaves on some of the trees wore fall clothing. Trees in rusty red and gold, brownish orange, and shades of warm brown dotted the hills with color.
“Are the beautiful trees I see up in the hills maples?” she asked. “A woman I met on the train from Georgia said that maple trees grow around here.”
“They do, but I don’t have any on my place. We call the fall-looking trees in all those pretty colors Spanish oaks.”
She smiled. “Spanish oaks. I like that.”
He wanted to show her his barn and especially the round pen where he was training his mare. But it was almost dark by the time they arrived at the ranch. He would have to show her around on another day.
On the first morning after they married, Abby prepared a wonderful-tasting breakfast for the two of them—eggs, bacon, biscuits, and hot coffee.
“This is the best meal I ever ate,” he said.
She smiled when he said that. But again, her eyes showed a kind of fear he was unable to define.
Abby’s skills in the kitchen continued after her brothers and sisters arrived, and Luke was impressed with the way she cared for the house. She was also a good mother to her brothers and sisters and would make an excellent mother to their children, if they ever had any.
He tried to work his young mare in the round pen every day, eager to get that wild and half-crazy animal broke so he could ride her, and sometimes when he worked his filly, she pitched him. He remembered the tender way Abby ministered to Mr. Franklin the one time she visited him at his farm before he died, and Luke pictured her nursing him back to health if he ever got really hurt during the taming process.
Luke had thought what just about everybody in Frio Corners thought—that Mr. Franklin was hiding a lot of money he’d made from a silver mine. But now he knew the truth. Mr. Franklin never got any money from that one share he owned. All he had when he died was his house and the little farm it sat on.
He’d misjudged Abby, too, with regard to Mr. Franklin. She didn’t know he was old or rich when she came to Texas to marry him. She’d expected a nice man about Luke’s age or maybe a little older. Still, the more he got to know her, the more Luke thought Abby was hiding something. Nobody smiled all the time.
He tried to gentle Abby as a
man gentles an unbroken horse—a friendly grin here, a pat on the shoulder there, and hugs as often as possible. But Abby kept pulling away. The warm smiles she was so capable of looked forced and unreal. He made other mistakes in his quest to tame Abby—like when he said something funny, meant to make her laugh, and his jokes turned sour. He knew because she never laughed at any of his jokes. In fact, she never laughed at all.
Why didn’t he ever learn? It was said that a smart person never made the same mistake twice. Now they had been married going on three weeks, and he was still making some of the same mistakes he’d made the day after their wedding.
One day Abby was ironing one of Luke’s shirts, and he was watching her. It was a warm day for December, and the woodstove was all fired up in order to warm the iron she used to remove the wrinkles from the batch of clothes she was ironing. The kitchen was hotter than a cook oven on the hottest day in summer.
Abby looked cute all bent over with a hot iron in her hand and a stray curl falling across her forehead. He just had to say something.
“I like the way you look right now, even with sweat rolling down your face like that.”
Abby frowned—like she thought his friendly remark was insulting.
In hindsight, it probably was, and Luke wanted to make things right. So he tried to ignore the strong clue she was sending. He got up from his chair at the kitchen table and moved toward her. He grinned; she didn’t.
She was pressing out the wrinkles from one of his blue work shirts, and he wanted to remember the way she looked forever. He moved around behind her, and putting his hands on her tiny waist, he gave her a big hug.
“Stop that!” she shouted.
Sharp fingernails cut into his fingers and hands.
“Hey, that hurts.”
“Then leave me be.”
He’d hoped for a different outcome, and when he removed his hands, part of his heart went with it. He stepped back then, holding his hands above his head like he was under arrest.
She turned around, glaring at him and holding the hot iron in front of her like a shield. In that instant, he knew she hated a man’s touch, even a loving one, and he wondered what could possibly have happened in her past to cause such a reaction.
The Secret Admirer Romance Collection Page 18