by Janet Dean
If so, God must be working in his life.
Her grip on the hymnal tightened. She prayed daily, read the Scriptures, loved the Lord with all her heart. Yet had she allowed God to work in her life, had she surrendered her will to God’s? Had she trusted Him in everything?
Unable to examine that now, she tamped down her uncertainty, forcing her attention on the words swimming on the page then lifted her voice in worship.
At the close of the last song, the congregation settled onto the wooden pews. As Peter watched a fly crawl on his arm, Sam snuggled against her. Hugging him close, Abigail smiled down at him. Within minutes Sam’s eyes closed and he slept. Children were such a blessing. The only reason she’d risk marriage.
Pastor Ted climbed the steps to the pulpit and asked them to turn to the fourth chapter of Ephesians in their Bibles. As he read the verses on unity, Abigail’s heart stuttered in her chest. God didn’t approve of strife among believers. That meant forgiving.
If she could forgive, how could she forget?
When George Cummings took the farm, his heartless actions changed Frank Wilson from a caring, fun-loving man into an unresponsive shadow. George made money selling Wilson land to the railroad while destroying her father, in essence killing him. How did George live with himself?
Her gaze traveled to Wade. The wide gap between father and son revealed their relationship. Was Cora correct when she said the day Ernestine left shattered Wade and George’s fragile bond? Or did Wade’s aloofness come from disapproval of his father’s business practices?
With every particle of her being, she forced herself to concentrate on the sermon and not on the man across the way.
After the closing song and announcements, people poured into the aisles, greeting one another and Pastor Ted.
In the foyer of the church, a cough slowed Abigail’s steps. She turned to face the Cummings men. Two pair of indigo eyes looked back at her. Only one pair kicked up her pulse a notch. As Wade’s dark regard rippled through her, her heart tripped in her chest then tumbled. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t be indifferent to Wade.
“I’m pleased you felt up to coming this morning, George,” she said though her gaze remained on his son.
Wade’s eyes twinkled. “Does that include me?”
“Are you feeling ill?” Abigail arched a brow.
“If sickness stirs your interest, I feel a cold coming on.”
The corners of Abigail’s lips turned up. A sudden longing to let go of the feud, to put that ugliness behind her, slid through her.
Orville Radcliff stopped beside them. “I was about to summon the feud police till I saw those smiles. If Cummingses and Wilsons sit in the middle pews next week, God will have worked a miracle in our midst. What I’ve been praying for.”
That their behavior necessitated prayer scorched Abigail’s cheeks.
George snorted. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
Orville grinned. “Good to see you out, Mr. Cummings.”
With dogged steps, Lois pushed Joe with Billy on his lap up the aisle. Ma herded the bigger boys along behind them. They stopped near George. What was this about?
“Thanks for the loan of the wheelchair, Mr. Cummings.” Joe offered his good hand. “I feel less like a caged lion.”
George took Joe’s hand gingerly in his bandaged palm. “Does that make you his zookeeper, Mrs. Lessman?”
To Abigail’s amazement, Lois and Joe chuckled along with Wade and his father. Ma didn’t crack a smile.
“We men take exception to being laid up,” George said. “I’m sure Abigail can verify I’ve been cantankerous.”
A flash of antagonism sparked in Ma’s gray-blue eyes. “That hardly needs confirmation, Mr. Cummings.”
“Well, we’d better be going. The children are restless,” Lois said then pushed Joe’s wheelchair toward the vestibule. Everyone followed her out.
At the door the pastor talked to Seth. Rafe stood at a distance, turning his hat in his hands, eyes glued to the floor. They must’ve sat in the last row for Abigail not to have seen them.
Oh, this gave her an opportunity to speak with Rafe. “I’ll be right back,” she said, heading toward the door.
With long strides, Wade circled her, blocking her path. “Rafe hasn’t been to church more than a couple times since his wife died. This isn’t the time to waylay the man.” His gaze softened. “Instead of pushing Seth to put his trust in education, why not assure him that God will take care of him, his dad too?”
Heat climbed her neck. “Are you implying I don’t believe that?”
“I’m suggesting you could give that impression.”
Abigail inhaled a shaky breath. He’d implied she didn’t trust God. Yet he’d never had to trust God for one bite of food, one unpaid bill. She’d seen that God helps those who help themselves. “You believe preparing oneself for the future shows a lack of trust? What would you know about providing for your family? Seth’s life is far more like mine than yours.”
Wade reached out a hand and cupped her chin. She yearned to lean into the warmth of his touch, but she’d learned not to rely on anyone.
“Oh, Abby, you’ve had to carry a heavy load.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Because of my family. I’m sorry.”
Unable to speak, she covered his hand with hers and soaked up the comfort he offered, and then stepped away.
“Well, my dad’s waiting. I’d better go.”
Wade returned to his father, who was sitting in the back pew of the now-deserted church. As the Cummings men moved through the open door, the Baggett sisters met them on the stoop. The sight of Wade surrounded by three gushing females sliced through her.
Why did she care?
Unable to examine the question, she skirted the circle of Wade’s admirers and hurried down the steps as Seth and his father pulled away in their wagon. Wade had been right. Church was not the place to talk to Rafe.
Rachel strolled over. “Looks like the Baggett sisters are determined to reel in Wade.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Really? You look upset.”
“I’m…confused.” About Wade. About Seth. About most everything, but she couldn’t say that, not even to her best friend.
As they walked toward Rachel’s house, Abigail sighed. “I don’t understand why Seth is in such a rush to grow up.”
“You were just like him.”
Abigail blinked. True, she’d pushed hard to attend Normal School so she could teach in the one-room schoolhouse. Summers she took additional classes enabling her to teach English at the high school. “But I finished twelfth grade first.”
“Maybe Seth’s desperate for money now.”
If so, Seth hurried to reach his goal for the exact same reason she had. Their families needed their income. She understood Seth perfectly. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t want more for him.
The reason she’d risk a visit to the Collier farm and Rafe’s wrath. Even if that visit angered him, Rafe wouldn’t harm a woman.
Would he?
Chapter Eleven
A small boy, shirtless under his overalls, bare feet, dusty and on tiptoe, struggled to choose from the selection of penny candy lined up in glass jars along the counter.
As Abigail waited for the youngster to make his decision, she inhaled the scent of coffee, molasses and pickles wafting from barrels on the floor. To celebrate her first payday at the Cummingses, she’d buy her nephews a rare treat.
The proprietor, Seymour Manning, wearing an apron over his clothing and a patient expression on his face, gave her a smile. Once a gambler, Elizabeth’s father had turned his life around and like Pastor Ted had encouraged and counseled Joe.
His selection made, the boy plopped a penny down while Mr. Manning sacked his purchase. Bag clutched in a dirty dimpled hand, the boy whirled to the door. “Thanks!” he shouted.
Mr. Manning, an imposing man with a handsome head of hair and wide girth, chuckled. “Sorry for th
e wait. If all my customers were as indecisive, I’d be pulling out my hair.”
Smiling, Abigail laid out her purchases. “The delay gave me time to think about buying candy for my nephews. Please add four red lollipops to my order.”
“Well, in that case, I may hire the lad,” he said with a wink, then popped the staples in one bag and the lollipops in another. “Appreciate your business.”
Harrison Carder appeared at her elbow and tipped his hat. Blond and gray-eyed with a neatly trimmed beard, he looked dapper. “You look mighty fetching, Miss Abigail,” he said in that charming Boston accent.
Smooth talk. Smooth manners. Smooth brow. “Thank you.”
“Which penny candy is your favorite?”
Once Wade had given her the candy. “Peppermints.”
Harrison dropped a coin on the counter. “Peppermints for the lady.”
As Mr. Manning tunneled into the jar with a brass scoop, Harrison turned toward her. “Those peppermints are my way of softening you up. Hoping you’ll take pity on a lonely bachelor and invite him for a home-cooked meal.”
A snicker drew Abigail’s attention to Cecil and Oscar Moore playing checkers beside the unlit stove.
“At least we don’t have to beg for Elizabeth Logan’s biscuits,” Cecil said loud enough for Harrison to hear.
Oscar snorted. “Young whippersnappers today ain’t got no clue on how to sway a female.”
In an attempt to tamp down the chuckle shoving out of her mouth, Abigail coughed behind a gloved hand. “I’m sorry but our kitchen table is overflowing with nine of us in one tiny apartment.”
That dejected look on Harrison’s face tugged at her conscience. A Christian should be hospitable, especially to a newcomer. “Once my sister’s family is back in their house, I’d enjoy preparing you a home-cooked meal.”
All smiles, he clasped his hands together. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Elizabeth Logan marched up with Wade Cummings in tow. Her wide-brimmed straw hat was adorned with silk flowers pretty enough to draw bees.
Elizabeth looked pleased with herself.
Wade looked…trapped. What was this about?
“Until then, Abigail, I hope you’ll accept my invitation to dine at Agnes’s Café.” Harrison flashed even white teeth.
Wade glowered at Harrison. “What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe shopping? No? Well, I’m inviting Abigail to join me for dinner.” He beamed at her. “Would next Saturday evening be convenient?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’ll come by for you at six o’clock, early enough for a leisurely stroll in the park afterward.” Harrison tipped his hat to Elizabeth, gave Abigail a wink then tossed a smile at Wade before sauntering out the door.
“What a nice man,” Elizabeth said.
Looking about as happy as a man walking the gangplank over high seas with the tip of a pirate’s sword at his back, Wade emitted a low guttural sound, almost a growl.
Appearing not to notice Wade’s reaction, Elizabeth pulled him closer. “Abigail, I saw you come in here and convinced Wade to leave his desk to discuss a project I have for you two.”
Abigail opened her mouth to speak.
The pastor’s wife lifted a dainty palm. “Now before you say you’re too busy, let me assure you that the only folks with time on their hands are laid out in the church cemetery.”
Across the way, Cecil and Oscar Moore guffawed.
“Ain’t she something?” Cecil said.
Oscar nodded. “Yep, Elizabeth gets to the heart of things.”
Indeed she did. Who in this town had the nerve to go up against Elizabeth Logan, including her husband? Whatever Elizabeth wanted, she usually got. In the two years she’d lived here, she’d done more good, worked harder than anyone in town.
“What do you have in mind?” Abigail heard herself ask. As if she had time to add one more task to her load.
“The bills for lumber, roofing, insulation—all the construction materials have been paid with auction funds. Yesterday George Cummings gave Ted a sizable donation, enough money to supply the essentials for our burned-out families. Once we ascertain their needs, we can purchase in quantity.”
“That’s wonderful news.” Abigail couldn’t earn enough money to purchase all Lois would need to run a home. The weight of that burden had been lifted from her shoulders by George Cummings, a man not known for philanthropy. She touched Wade’s arm. “Thank your father for us.”
Wade looked confused. “I had no idea he’d done that.”
George Cummings had his faults, but bragging wasn’t one of them. He hadn’t even told his son. Perhaps merely proof he didn’t share anything of consequence with Wade.
“The problem I’m seeing is a lack of coordination in the town’s efforts,” Elizabeth went on. “The Ladies’ Club is working. The churches are working. Without someone overseeing how money is spent, some needs may be duplicated, others overlooked. That’s where you two come in.”
Wade ran a hand over his nape, as if Elizabeth’s suggestion put a knot there.
“Why us?” Abigail hoped the question wouldn’t elicit a homily on overlooking the feud and learning to work together.
“Who better to handle purchases than the banker son of the biggest donor and the sister of one of the impacted families, a competent woman who’s seen needs firsthand?”
The pastor’s wife knew how to use flattery to get her way. Her way always benefited the community so no one minded. George Cummings could take lessons from Elizabeth.
“I have more good news.” Elizabeth beamed. “Wade just told me he’s making bed frames for the families.”
Abigail had seen Wade as self-centered, his furniture making as a threat to Seth’s education, yet here was a practical example of the good his work could do. “That’s generous.”
“Wish I had time to turn the bedposts on the lathe.”
“Nothing fancy is needed,” Elizabeth assured him. “Our families will be grateful for serviceable beds.”
She handed Abigail and Wade a sheet of paper with the sum of all available funds then glanced around the store. “Obviously we’ll purchase what we can from town merchants. The church and Ladies’ Club are handling linens, clothing and smaller kitchen items. Major purchases like cookstoves and iceboxes will probably head our list. My father will order whatever he doesn’t carry in the store and sell it to us at cost.”
Wade nodded, never taking his eyes off Abigail. “I knew Seymour would do his part.”
“All business owners are quoting the lowest possible price,” Elizabeth said.
All too aware of the rise and fall of Wade’s broad chest in rhythm with her own, the power in those wide shoulders and large capable hands, Abigail scrambled for footing. “Should we…ah…divide the funds by six?”
“The distribution doesn’t have to be identical as long as crucial needs are met. Speak to the Andersons. I’ve heard their relatives are purchasing their cookstove.”
Abigail stared into Wade’s eyes, losing herself in those indigo orbs. “That’s nice.” Nice hardly described Wade’s mesmerizing eyes, his—
“Are you willing to take this on? Abigail?” Elizabeth asked.
“What?” She forced her mind on the conversation and off Wade.
“Will you work on this committee with Wade?”
How could she refuse? A committee to coordinate efforts made sense. “Yes, as long as you understand my responsibility to Mr. Cummings comes first.”
“Naturally. Wade, with your hectic schedule, would it be easier for you to meet during the noon hour over a late lunch?”
Wade appeared bewildered by the question. “What?”
“What’s wrong with you two? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d lost your hearing.”
Heat climbed Abigail’s neck and flooded into her cheeks.
Not waiting for an answer, Elizabeth drew Abigail and Wade together, one on each side of her. “I’m relie
ved to have you overseeing this. I’ll leave you to work out the particulars.”
And that quickly, Abigail and Wade had agreed to spend more time together. Had Elizabeth Logan just engineered her biggest coup yet—bringing a Cummings and a Wilson together?
Elizabeth walked over to the Moore brothers, the only men welcome in the Ladies’ Club. “See you gentlemen at the meeting Saturday afternoon.”
“Be there with sleigh bells on.”
At the puzzled expression on Elizabeth’s face, Cecil said, “We ain’t got no other kind.”
With a nod for the Moore brothers and a jaunty wave to her father, Elizabeth swept out the door.
Wade turned his gaze on Abigail, rooting her to the spot. As she peered into those sapphire eyes, caught his masculine scent, felt the warmth radiating from his skin, a surge of longing slid through her, snatching her breath.
“Look, Oscar. Miss Abigail’s got a dinner invite from that lawyer feller. Now she’s making eyes at Wade here,” Cecil said.
Awakened from her trancelike state, she took a step back—almost as fast as Wade.
“Next thing ya know, we’ll be playing harmonica and banjo at another wedding celebration,” Oscar replied.
Nodding, Cecil pursed his lips. “Reckon so, but whose?”
Oscar cackled. “Ain’t that the big question?”
Wade cleared his throat. “Will it…? Can you…meet at the bank tomorrow at twelve-thirty to formulate our plans?”
“Yes, I’ll bring lunch,” she said, sounding as breathless as Wade’s father. What had gotten into her? She was reacting as if she’d never seen Wade before.
Where would all this togetherness with Wade lead?
Wade stumbled from the Mercantile. Everything around him, the shops, passersby, horses tied at the hitching posts, looked as usual. But back in the store, he and Abigail had stared into each other’s eyes until he could barely breathe, leaving him as disoriented as a tourist on the streets of Boston. He took a deep breath and let his gaze travel the street.
Down the way, Seth handed Betty Jo Weaver a nosegay. Bestowing him with a sweet smile, she sniffed the flowers, gazing up at him. Seth smiled back, beamed really.