“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out. You kept going to the window and looking outside.”
“For all you know, I could have been watching for Fletcher.”
“True, but you haven’t stopped pacing since Zoé took them. And I seriously doubt that you have reason to be nervous about my furniture.”
He smiled down at her. “You got me there.”
“Would you feel better if I went and checked on them?”
“Would you?” He sent her his most hopeful look, and Abby grinned in return.
“I’ll be right back.” She scuttled out of the room.
As soon as she disappeared, he realized that he should’ve gone and checked on them himself instead of letting Abby do it. He hated to admit it, but as much as he loved his sons, sometimes they were even too rambunctious for him, and spending too much time around them made him nervous. What kind of father was he that his own sons made him edgy?
Minutes later, Abby returned.
Harrison turned anxious eyes on her and met her at the doorway. “Well?” His breathing halted while he waited for her answer.
“They’re fine. They’re having the time of their lives.”
He released an audible sigh.
Abby giggled. A sound he enjoyed.
“What are they doing?”
“Playing in the mud.”
“They’re what?” His voice came out louder than he’d meant it to.
“Relax. Zoé found some old clothes up in the attic. They’re wearing them and having a grand time playing out by the water pump. Don’t worry. She’ll clean them up before she brings them inside.”
Relax? How could he? A Kingsley never played in the mud or dirt. Father would never stand for that. It was too low of a thing to do. But then again, his father wasn’t here. And unlike him, his boys would enjoy their childhood, and do the things he’d never been allowed to do. Like play in the mud—something he had to go and see for himself. “Would you show me where they are?”
That brought out one second of uncertainty in her soft face. “Sure.”
Side by side they stood at the back door. His heart smiled, hearing his children’s laughter and seeing them having so much fun. In between bouts of adding another layer to what he assumed was a mud castle, a rather lopsided one at that, he watched his sons toss mud in the air and follow it with their eyes until it landed. The urge to join them was strong. But his deeply embedded upbringing prevented him from doing so. Besides, the furniture would be delivered any minute now.
He stepped back out of the doorway and looked at Abby.
Her smile was infectious, and so were the laughing blue eyes she turned up at him. “I told you they were having fun.”
“That you did. That you did.” He chuckled, and she joined him.
Together they headed back to the front part of the house.
Harrison hadn’t felt this carefree or this good ever, and he had Abby to thank for that.
Abby. She was one special woman. A woman he could easily attach himself to if he wasn’t careful. Careful, he would be. In the meantime, however, he was no fool. He would enjoy every precious moment of the time he had with her before he had to head back to Boston and leave her behind. That thought caused a hitch in his chest. And that was not good. Not good at all.
* * *
The instant Abby saw Fletcher’s wagons pull up in front of her house, her heart skipped, and she felt like a child at Christmastime. She always loved Christmas, watching her nieces and nephews opening their gifts and searching for hidden treasures that she and her siblings would hide all over her mother’s house.
Abby rushed to the door and flung it open.
“You aren’t anxious or anything, are you?” Humor brushed through Harrison’s voice as he came and stood behind her.
She glanced back at him. “No. No. Not at all. Why do you ask?” She sent him a playful smirk.
“No reason.” He sent her one back before he removed his jacket and hung it up. When he rolled up his shirt sleeves, she noticed the rock-solid muscle that had been hidden underneath them. She wondered what it would be like to be held and to be protected by those arms.
Stop it, she silently reprimanded herself. You’ve been reading too many romance novels. Harrison wasn’t some knight riding up on his white steed to sweep her away and to defend her against the forces of evil. Then Mr. Prinker and the committee members faces popped into her mind. On second thought, maybe he was. She muffled a giggle.
“Miss Abigail Bowen, if you will let me by, I will go and help them. That way you’ll get your furniture much faster.”
“Oh, indeed, I shall let you by, Mr. Harrison Kingsley,” she said with a dramatic flare and using her imitation of a British accent. Abby stepped out of his way and let him by.
He met Fletcher just as he hopped down from the wagon he’d ridden in on.
Seeing Harrison and Fletcher side by side, she noticed they both had wide shoulders and trim waists. Fletcher’s physique, however, was lankier than Harrison’s.
Both had powerful arms. Very powerful arms, if the bulge in their muscles when they hoisted the dresser out of the wagon was any indication.
Both were very handsome. Harrison especially, whose grayish-blue eyes had that unique hazel half-moon, and whose hair resembled the color of pecans. Yum. She loved pecans.
Fletcher’s eyes, on the other hand, were the color of molasses, and his hair, a ginger-blond.
Both were tall, Fletcher a bit taller than Harrison, too tall for her taste. She preferred Harrison’s height.
With one on each end of the dresser, Harrison and Fletcher turned and headed toward her, ending her comparisons.
Movement behind them yanked her attention to it. A little girl, clutching her doll, followed them closely behind.
“Where do you want this, Abby?”
“Oh.” She blinked and stepped out of their way. “Um. Uh. Follow me.” She glanced back at the pretty little girl with the ebony hair and whose brown eyes were like her father’s, and smiled.
“That’s my daughter, Julie,” Fletcher answered her unvoiced question.
One of Julie’s shoulders rose, her eyelids lowered and her thumb went to her mouth.
“Hello, Julie. I’m Abby. It’s nice to meet you.”
The girl never looked up.
“Can you say hello to Miss Abby?”
Ebony curls swung with the shake of her head.
Fletcher shrugged his apology to Abby, then the two men moved forward.
Abby rushed ahead of them and on up the steps, glancing back down at the lovely child who continued to follow her father like a puppy.
Upstairs in her bedroom, they placed the dresser where she wanted it, and then headed back downstairs. Before the little girl could follow them outside, Abby called her. “Julie. Would you like some cookies and milk?”
Julie’s eyes widened. She looked over at her father.
“Yes, you may.”
“There are two little boys outside who I’m sure would like some, too. Shall we go see?”
The child gave a quick nod.
She quickly instructed Fletcher and Harrison where she wanted the pieces to go before extending her hand out to Julie.
Julie nestled her small hand into Abby’s, both warming and saddening Abby’s heart with the gesture. But Abby refused to feel sorry for herself and instead wanted to do her best to ease the shy girl’s discomfort. As they headed to the kitchen, she wondered where Julie’s mother was. Without asking the child directly, she decided to inquire in a roundabout way. “That’s a beautiful doll you have there. What’s her name?”
No response.
Well, that didn’t work. She’d try something else. “Does she look like your mama?”
Julie hiked a shoulder.
That didn’t work, either. Abby wasn’t about to give up, though. “Does your mama have pretty brown hair like your dolly does?”
&nb
sp; Julie’s only response, another hiked shoulder.
Not knowing what else to say to get the little girl to open up to her, Abby decided to drop the subject. She refused to ask the girl outright and risk upsetting her.
A few steps from the kitchen, Abby barely heard the little girl when she finally spoke, “My mama left us.”
“What do you mean she left you?”
“She took sick and left us. Mama lives with Jesus now.” Sorrow covered her face and warbled through her tiny voice.
Abby stopped and squatted until she was eye level with the child. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry your mama is gone. Do you remember her at all?”
Her curls bounced as she nodded her head. “She was pretty. Like you. Only her hair looked like mine. Papa says I look like her.” Her eyes brightened and her tiny lips curled upward.
“Was she as sweet as you?”
“Uh-huh.” Her head nodded slowly. “She used to make me cookies and give me milk.”
“She did? Well, let’s see if we have some cookies like your mama used to make, shall we?”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a passel of exuberance.
Abby stood. Through the dining room window, she caught a glimpse of Harrison’s boys, still playing and having a grand old time, something they needed desperately. Not wanting to interrupt that, and knowing Zoé would feed them when they were finished playing, she decided not to bother them.
Together, hand in hand, she and Julie walked into the kitchen. Cinnamon and apple, along with yeasty bread, floated in the air.
Bent over the open oven door, Veronique drew out a pan of cookies, turned around and screeched when she saw them. The pan of cookies nearly flew from her hand. “You gave me such a fright, mademoiselle.”
Abby giggled. “I’m sorry, Veronique. I didn’t mean to.” She turned her attention on to Julie. “Julie, this is Miss Veronique Denis. Veronique, this is Miss Julie Martin.”
“’Tis a pleasure to meet you.” Veronique curtsied, and Julie tried to mimic her but it came out rather awkward.
“Nice to meet you, too, Miss Dee—” she paused, frowning “—Miss Dee-niece.” She smiled, rather pleased with herself that she’d pronounced Veronique’s last name correctly.
“Should we see if Miss Denis’s cookies are anything like your mama’s?”
Julie nodded, sending her curls bouncing yet again.
“What kind do we have today?”
“Oatmeal. With apple chunks and walnuts,” Veronique replied.
Julie tugged on Abby’s skirt and cupped her hand. Abby leaned down and the girl spoke in her ear, “She talks funny.”
Abby whispered back into her ear loud enough so that Veronique could hear. “She sure does talk funny. That’s because she’s from France.” Abby winked at Veronique, who tried to look upset but failed.
“Where’s France?” Julie asked.
“It’s way across the ocean. A long ways away from here.”
“Oh,” was all Julie said.
Abby grabbed two glasses and two plates from off the shelf and set them on the table while Veronique retrieved the milk from the cellar. After the glasses were filled with milk, she settled Julie on the sturdiest one of the kitchen chairs, and sat down to join her. “Veronique, would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you, mademoiselle. I have to finish the bread.” She smiled at Abby and Julie and turned back to the wad of dough on the breadboard counter.
Julie slid from her chair and turned two chairs sideways. She climbed back on her chair and looked over at each one. “Bobby and Billy need cookies and milk, too.”
Abby didn’t mean to but she stared at the little girl. “Are Bobby and Billy your imaginary friends?”
Julie frowned. “No. You said two boys might like to join us. When I didn’t see them, I thought you invited my brothers, Bobby and Billy.”
Before she could stop them, Abby’s eyes went wide. “You have brothers?”
She shook her head and the sadness was back. “Not anymore. They live with Jesus now, too.”
Abby couldn’t believe her ears. This little girl and her father had lost so much. She was surrounded by people who had endured more heartache than anyone should ever have to.
Abby’s thoughts went to Harrison’s sons. “Were your brothers twins?”
Julie’s curls wiggled as she shook her head. “Bobby was ten and Billy was eight. I’m four.” She held up four small fingers.
Same age as Harrison’s sons.
“Bobby and Billy went fishin’ when they weren’t ’pose to. Papa said they fell in the pond and drownaded.” Julie tilted her head. “What is drownaded?” Julie looked at Abby with expectant eyes.
Abby peered over at Veronique. Veronique turned the palms of her hands upward, pinched her lips and shook her head. With a look of empathy, she turned back to kneading her bread dough.
How on earth was Abby going to answer that one?
“Julie, are you being a good girl for Miss Abby?” Much to Abby’s relief, Fletcher chose that moment to step inside the kitchen. Harrison was right behind him.
Harrison looked at the table and then at the empty chairs. “Where’s Graham and Josiah?”
“Who’s Jos—Jos. Who’s Sigha and Grrahm?” Julie asked.
“My sons.”
Julie looked over at Abby.
“They’re the two boys I told you about, Julie. But they were having so much fun playing in the mud, I didn’t have the heart to bother them,” she said more for Harrison’s sake than Julie’s.
Julie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like mud.” She looked over at the empty chairs and shook her tiny finger. “Billy. Bobby. Don’t you go playin’ in the mud, or you won’t get any cookies.”
“Billy? Bobby?” Fletcher’s voice caught, his face paled. His gaze swung to Abby’s, then back to his daughter.
Abby didn’t know what to say or do. All she knew was she suddenly felt very uncomfortable. This was a conversation between father and daughter, not her, or anyone else. She sent Harrison a silent look to get her out of this situation.
“Abby, do you have time to show me how you want the parlor furniture situated?”
She pressed her palms on the table and rose quickly. “I’ll be happy to.” Abby glanced at Veronique, who worked her dough faster and harder than necessary. She tossed the huge lump into a bowl and covered it with the decorative, empty flour sack they’d washed and now used for a towel. With a quick glance at Abby, she rushed from the room.
Her focus slid to Julie, who seemed completely oblivious to the awkward atmosphere in the room. Julie took a drink of her milk and a bite of her cookie, swinging her legs crossed at the ankle as if all was right in the world.
Abby then turned her attention onto Fletcher. As if he understood her discomfort, he walked to the table and sat in the chair she’d just vacated. “Hurry up and finish your milk and cookies, sweetheart, so Papa can finish unloading the rest of the furniture.”
That was the last words she heard as she and Harrison left the kitchen together. More upset than she’d been in a long time, she wondered how much more her heart could take, and why God was allowing so many children to cross her path. And not just any children, either, but motherless ones. Didn’t He know how hard this was on her? And didn’t He care? At that moment, the urge to scream at God, to kick something, to punch something, bombarded her until she thought her heart would burst from the overflow of pain attacking it. She brushed at a tear that had slipped out. Why, God, why?
“Are you all right, Abby?” Harrison asked from beside her.
She stiffened, remembering that she wasn’t alone. She drew in a long breath and forced a smile onto her face before looking up at him. “I’m fine.”
Harrison narrowed his eyes. “Sure you are. Care to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about,” she answered with a fake lilt to her voice.
“If you say so.”
She hadn’t fooled him, but neither did she want to ta
lk about it. David had made it perfectly clear that a woman who couldn’t bear children wasn’t a desirable woman, much less a human being.
While she knew that she and Harrison would never be anything more than business acquaintances, she didn’t want him to know she was one of those undesirable women. It would change everything, and she rather liked that he treated her with respect. As if she were really someone. Since he would be leaving in a few months’ time, he need never know the truth about her. She would enjoy the fantasy she had created in her mind just a little longer.
Chapter Seven
The way things had gone the day before, Harrison couldn’t wait to get to Abby’s house to see if she really was all right. All afternoon she had been quiet, subdued even. Every time he had inquired about it, she plastered on that same phony smile and acted as if everything was fine. Well, she hadn’t fooled him. Not one little bit.
Unlike Boston, the June mornings here were nippy. One would think because of the high altitude and being that much closer to the sun that it would be warm, but that was not the case. Not that he’d experienced so far in the few days he’d been here.
He made his way down the winding, steep incline toward town. A chipmunk darted out in front of him, followed in hot pursuit by another. Birds sang in the pine and aspen trees that surrounded the road like tall pillars. Gnats swarmed the air just several yards ahead in front of him. All of this he found enchanting. This place was nothing like Boston.
The day before, he had rented a furnished, fourteen-room house up in the trees on the side of the mountain from a sweet elderly lady who was thrilled to know someone would be living in it, even if it was only for three months.
He’d been fortunate to hear from Lucy at her diner that Mrs. Morrison was looking to rent her place. Lucy had also informed him that the woman had taken a smaller house in town because with her age, it was just too hard in the winter to travel the half mile up the trees. Didn’t seem that far to him. But then again, he wasn’t an old woman living alone, either.
“Siah. That mine.” Graham’s voice shattered Harrison’s thoughts. He yanked his gaze down at his sons sitting next to him in the buggy and at the carved Indian in question.
Debra Ullrick Page 9