by Janet Dean
Her breath caught. Cora was referring to Wade and his sister Regina. Abigail had heard about Wade’s mother’s desertion. The entire town knew. When a traveling opera company hit town, Ernestine got acquainted with the actors. When the troupe moved on she went with them, leaving her children behind.
Abigail loved her nephews and couldn’t conceive of such a thing. “Do you know why Mrs. Cummings left?”
Cora sighed. “I’ve thought on it and thought on it, but I’ll never understand her leaving.”
“You don’t think her husband’s conduct drove her off?”
“The mister treated Ernestine just fine. Gave her this grand house, every comfort, but I could see she wasn’t happy.”
“If she was treated well, how could she leave her children?”
Cora’s cup clattered to the saucer. “The day Ernestine left, I watched some lackey haul out her trunk while she stood by wringing her hands, fretting about her children. But no matter what she said, she was giddy too, as if she’d found something exciting she couldn’t live without.
“I pleaded with her to wait for the children to get home from school. Those younguns loved their mama and I knew her leaving would break their hearts. But she wouldn’t wait. Said the opera company had to make their next performance and she couldn’t bear saying goodbye. Said to tell her babies she’d only be gone a little while, a week at most, only long enough to fill in for the leading lady who’d taken sick.”
She and Wade had lost a parent, difficult anytime, but especially when the parent made the choice to pull away.
“I sent word for the mister to get hisself home.” Cora’s voice broke and she swiped at her eyes. “But those younguns got here before he did.”
Wade had dealt with heartache even grown-ups couldn’t fathom. Appetite gone, Abigail put the cookie aside. “What happened?”
“They stopped in the kitchen for a snack, like usual. Wade chattered on about winning the fourth-grade spelling bee. Before I could stop him that boy trotted upstairs to tell his mama the news.
“I gave Regina a cookie and followed him to Ernestine’s bedroom. His eyes had this wild look. ‘Where’s my mother?’ he asked. I said, ‘She’ll be back in a week.’ Maybe he read something in my face he didn’t like ’cause he ran to her bureau, looking for her clothes. He turned to me, his eyes as empty as those drawers.
“Right then the mister come in. ‘Where is she?’ Wade asks in this high-pitched voice. ‘Where’s my mother?’”
Abigail remembered the panic of watching her father fade away. For a small boy to learn his mother left with no warning… Goose bumps rose on her arms.
“The mister plops on the bed, a note dangling from his fingers. ‘She’s gone.’ Wade stood there waiting for an explanation, but the mister doesn’t give any. He just sits there like he’s in a trance.
“I gathered that boy in my arms and hugged him tight. ‘She said she’d be back. She’ll be back.’
“The mister says, ‘She isn’t coming back. Not ever.’ Wade pulled away from my arms and stomped over to his pa. ‘Would you let her?’ He grabbed the mister by the lapels. ‘Would you let her come home, Papa?’”
Suddenly chilly in the cozy kitchen permeated with the aroma of rhubarb pie, Abigail wrapped her arms around her middle, unable to take her eyes off Cora.
“The mister says, ‘Once she gets a taste of the stage, she won’t give it up.’ Then Wade says, ‘I want to live with Mama.’ Wade choosing his mama over his pa, well, I reckon that made things worse too. The mister’s face kinda crumbled then got hard like stone. ‘Traipsing around the country with an opera troupe’s no place for a child. She made her choice. She picked her dream over her duty.’
“Those words destroyed that boy’s hope. Wade ran out of the room. I found him in the stable, crying. Grabbed him up, sat on a bale of straw and rocked that weeping boy in my arms.” Tears slid down Cora’s cheeks. “I took Wade into my heart that day. Why I claim him as mine. Land’s sake, that was years ago, but the memory still makes me weep like a baby.”
Cora blew her nose on a handkerchief she pulled from her bodice. “His pa shoulda been comforting his son, not me. I’m not blaming the mister for his anger. He loved Ernestine. Her leaving nearly killed him.” She sighed, fiddling with her cup. “Killed her for sure. The manager of the opera company said she performed on stage once before she took sick.”
Abigail remembered the talk. Ernestine came down with influenza and in a matter of days, died.
“How old were Wade and Regina?”
“Wade was nine. Regina six.”
When Ernestine Cummings deserted her family, she erected a barrier between Wade and his father that they couldn’t hurdle.
When Abigail could speak, she took the older woman’s plump hand. “Thank God you were there for Wade.”
Cora straightened her shoulders. “The mister’s stubborn as they come and won’t make that first step. I reckon he’s scared Wade’s like his mama.”
“How so?”
“Wade’s what I hear called artistic, always has been.”
“Why do you think Ernestine chose to leave?”
“Her dream of becoming an actress was part of it.” She sighed. “The mister was good to her but wasn’t no Prince Charming.”
Abigail gulped. Underneath, wasn’t Prince Charming what she wanted? As if any such man existed. Fairy tales were for children.
“Reckon he did the best he could, trying to handle his work, his home, his children. But he didn’t know how to give Wade and Regina what they needed. Regina’s made a new life for herself, but Wade… I’m hoping you’ll bring those two hardheads close.”
Abigail gave Cora’s hand a squeeze then stood. “I’ll try.”
How could she help Wade and his father reconcile when the rift between her and Wade was even wider?
Chapter Nine
Rhubarb pie and a sandwich waiting in the kitchen was probably as close to Abby as Wade would get. She’d avoided him since their encounter that morning.
At the first opportunity, he’d apologize. Not that a simple “I’m sorry” would fix the trouble between them, but he’d sleep better knowing he’d tried.
He stepped out the back door, munching on the cheese and ham and ambled toward the carriage house. He spotted Abby in the garden, gathering an armful of iris. Tendrils of her hair had pulled loose from their moorings and peeked beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat. She met his gaze. Gone was the anger he’d last seen, replaced with a vulnerability that drew him closer.
A smudge of dirt marred the soft curve of her cheek yet he’d never seen her look lovelier. With those guileless eyes resting on him, he couldn’t get his mind to work. He couldn’t get his tongue to move. Cummings, you’re behaving like a moron.
He swallowed hard and forced out “Thanks for making my sandwich and the pie.”
“Cora gets the credit for the pie.”
“Cora came by the house?”
“Yes.” She released a sigh. “Wade, I…I need to apologize for this morning.”
“I’m at fault for riling you.”
“Of late, that’s easy to do.” Those soft blue eyes of hers darted around the garden, as if she didn’t know where to put her gaze. “I thought these flowers might cheer up your father.”
“No more than the lovely woman delivering them.”
“Thank you,” she said, then gifted him with a stunning smile, a beautiful and for him, rare occurrence. That smile danced over his defenses and slammed against the protective wall he’d built around his heart. Something frozen inside him softened, sliding into lonely crevices he didn’t know existed.
Yet hadn’t he seen with his parents, with himself, that love brought pain? Fighting the connection between them, he took a step back.
Abby dropped her gaze to the bouquet in her hands, fidgeting with a torn leaf then ripping it from the stem. As the leaf fluttered to the ground, she lifted her eyes to his. “I’ve seen the strain between you and
your father. Not that I’m blaming you. George isn’t an easy man. Still, if you tried, perhaps you two could forge a new beginning.”
That she cared soothed like butter on a burn. But to fix the trouble between him and his father meant knuckling under and giving up his dream. “Other than following the path he’s planned for my life, I can’t please him.” Her puzzled expression said she didn’t understand. “He wants me to take over our holdings. But sitting at a desk all day, working with numbers is as arduous to me as dragging a ball and chain.”
She pursed her lips, no doubt pondering a solution. Those sweet lips had him thinking all right, thinking about kissing her. Whoa, Cummings. You’re not ready to take that risk any more than she is.
Yet his hand moved to her cheek. With the soft pad of his thumb he wiped the smudge off her cheek. At his touch, she inhaled sharply. “Just a little dirt,” he said.
“I must look a mess.”
“You look perfect.”
His praise bloomed in her cheeks. She lowered her lashes like a flustered schoolgirl. “Perhaps if you and George could find a pastime to share, that would help.”
Work was all his father knew. “I don’t know what that could be, but I’ll think on it.” Instead an idea for a pastime to share with Abby came to mind. “I’d like to enlarge this garden, add some plants, but I have no idea what.”
Her eyes lit. “Several perennials would do well in this sunny location. I’d love to help.”
Abby lived in an apartment with only a scrap of a yard. Yet she enjoyed digging in the soil, fiddling with plants. Something he wanted to share with her. “Round up the plants you’d like. Put the expense on the Cummings account. When you’re ready, I’ll dig up the grass.”
“No need. Perennials like to crowd together.”
Wade knew nothing about gardening, but when it came to Abby, crowding together definitely appealed. Their gazes locked, those soft blue eyes of hers danced with excitement. When had he seen her look happier?
“I know several women who’d share a cutting or plant.”
“Whenever you’re ready, let me know. I’ll dig the holes.”
“You’d do that for me?”
That and so much more. “It’ll be fun.”
Such simple things. Plants, fresh-turned soil. Yet she behaved as if he’d given her a priceless gift. When all he’d done was to observe the pleasure gardening gave her and offer his time and muscle. Perhaps Abby was right; perhaps an activity could connect him and his father.
“Wade, I…” Her eyes sobered. “Thank you for forgiving me for my temper.”
“Thank you for forgiving me for riling you.” If only she could forgive him for hurting her all those years ago. Yet to explain, he would have to reveal his father’s cruel plan and hurt her more.
As much as he wanted to stay, to spend the afternoon with Abby in this garden, if he hoped to get his shop underway, he had to get out to the Collier cabin. “I need to get a move on.”
“Where are you off to?”
Once she knew his destination that smile would fade. Temptation to evade the question slid through him, but he wouldn’t lie. “I’m heading out to the Collier place, to talk to Rafe about a job.”
Her eyes dimmed. “About a job? Or Seth’s apprenticeship?”
“I see no point in talking to Rafe about Seth’s plans.”
“Thank you,” she said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “Be careful. Rafe’s not known for hospitality.”
“I will.”
With a nod she turned away, carrying that basket of flowers to his father, a lucky man.
As Wade saddled Rowdy, he whistled a tune, feeling a smidgeon of optimism that he and his father could find a way to get along. More importantly, he had the first hope he and Abby could have a future. Moving beyond the past would take time. He wouldn’t push.
Meanwhile, he’d talk to Rafe about cleaning the empty storefront. And handle the myriad of details of getting a business underway.
With a splendid sunny afternoon ahead of him, unshackled from a desk, he gave a gentle tug on the reins, turning the horse toward open country. A flick of the leather and Rowdy clopped along at a trot, leaving behind a trail of dust.
In every field he passed, slender shoots stretched to the sun. Farmers had plowed and planted in narrow precise rows appealing to Wade’s methodical nature and desire for order.
If only he could control his life as well as farmers did these crops, but as perfect as they looked now, disease and pests riddled yields, drought and hailstones destroyed the harvest. Life was not without trouble.
At the lane leading to the Collier cabin, Wade tugged on the reins, then dismounted and tied Rowdy to a fencepost. Keep-out signs on the barbed wire fence, on the gate, even on a tree, a lone sentry in an adjoining field, all forbade entry. To Wade those signs banning entry suggested Rafe had something to hide.
Would Rafe take the job? Or would a jug hold more appeal?
Wade tried the gate. A padlock hung from the chain, giving him no choice but to walk from here. Rafe could be half-soused or working. Either way, Seth’s father didn’t tolerate visitors and wasn’t above pulling a gun on trespassers, most likely a bluff. Still, Wade wasn’t fool enough to disrespect the barrel end of a shotgun.
He scaled the gate and loped along the hard-packed ground. Halfway up the lane the blast from a shotgun stopped Wade in his tracks.
“You’re on private property. I aimed at the sky. Next time I won’t be as tolerant.”
“Wade Cummings, Rafe.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ve got a job offer for you and Seth, if you’re a mind to take it.” He took a step forward.
“That’s far enough.”
Wade froze.
Rafe emerged from a clump of trees and motioned with his shotgun. “Move back to the gate. I’ll send Seth out to hear what you’ve come to say.”
“You’re the one I want to talk to.”
“What you want doesn’t matter.”
With no hope of changing Rafe’s mind, Wade pivoted on a booted heel and retraced his steps. That he’d be talking to Seth not his pa didn’t set well. A man ought to supervise the job.
When he reached his horse, he gave Rowdy’s nose a rub, listening to the quiet, broken only by a buzzing insect and the call of birds. Did Rafe appreciate the peace of his farm? Or was he too busy slugging down whiskey and warding off intruders to notice?
In the distance, Seth approached. Alone.
Rowdy nudged Wade with his muzzle, almost knocking him off balance. “You’re not shy about asking for what you like, are you?” As he rubbed between his ears, Rowdy stood stock-still, except for his tail, swishing flies.
Seth scaled the fence exactly as Wade had, evidence that gate rarely swung open. “Pa said you had a job.”
“I do. Your pa should’ve come to hear my proposal.”
“Pa isn’t much for visitors.”
An understatement if Wade had ever heard one. “I’ve selected an empty warehouse we own off Main Street as the location for my cabinetmaking shop.”
“That’s great!”
Seth’s enthusiasm made Wade smile. “It is. But the place is dirty, infested with varmints. A few windows need replacing and the roof needs patching. Not a job for one man.”
Especially a boy.
“Our fields are planted. Crops are up,” Seth said, his voice filling with pride. “Nothing to hold us here. I’ll ask Pa.”
“If your dad wants the work, tell him to meet me at the warehouse tomorrow at noon.”
“I’ll do what I can to get him there.”
“I can’t think of any nice way to say this, Seth, but your pa can’t drink on the job. That’s not something I can tolerate.”
A flush climbed Seth’s neck. “Yes, sir.”
“I hope it works out.”
Seth bobbed his head.
“Your dad’s a fortunate man to have a son like you.”
The boy me
t Wade’s gaze. “I’m fortunate to have him for my pa.”
Yeah, right. A gun-toting, liquor-guzzling recluse was everyone’s aspiration for a father. Rafe Collier made George Cummings look like a perfect parent.
“Hope to see him tomorrow.”
With a nod, Seth scaled the gate and leaped to the ground, then jogged toward home.
To what?
Wade didn’t know. That uncertainty bothered him. Not that he believed Rafe would harm his son.
As he untied Rowdy then swung into the saddle, the possibilities gnawed in the pit of Wade’s stomach. Seth was a good kid. He deserved a good life. If only education was the answer for Seth as Abby believed. But the boy’s steadfast support of Rafe didn’t give Wade one glimmer of hope Seth would leave his father.
Wade’s hand knotted on the reins. Under Seth’s cheerful exterior surely lay a hurting boy. A boy needing approval, affection, a good example, someone he could look up to. Not a heartbroken drunk for a father.
If Rafe refused the job cleaning up the warehouse, Wade would see that Seth earned money to handle their expenses until harvest. But money didn’t replace a parent.
Wade knew that as well as anyone.
Cora’s sugar cookies should entice a few volunteers to lend a hand. Not that Abigail relished taking men away from rebuilding houses destroyed in the fire. But George Cummings’s shortness of breath kept him from handling the flight of stairs. A man accustomed to overseeing his realm perceived his second-floor bedroom as a prison. In this heat a torture chamber.
That morning Abigail had come up with a simple solution. Moving George’s bedroom to the front parlor would enable him to access the kitchen and the outdoors, at least as far as the front porch. She couldn’t manage the four-poster. No one person could. The image of Wade’s bulging biceps rose in her mind. She gulped. No doubt he could wrestle the bed and mattress downstairs alone. But once she’d explained her plan, George wouldn’t abide one moment’s delay.
If the move lifted George’s spirits and improved his attitude as Abigail expected, then perhaps he’d treat Wade better. And they’d take the first step toward healing the impasse between them.