by Renee Ryan
More than four hours ago, the crying and pleading and screaming had stopped, replaced by the sudden, angry wail of a baby. The reprieve lasted only until Rachel stepped into the room carrying a small bundle in her arms and told him that he had a daughter and that Emily was dead. He was trying to assimilate that fact when Rachel informed him the baby would require a wet nurse and suggested recently widowed Abigail Carter. His head spinning with the gravity and magnitude of the events unfolding in his life, Caleb acquiesced and sent Rachel on her way.
A log fell in the fireplace, bringing him out of his drowsy trance. His glance wandered toward the kitchen. Thank goodness Rachel had been right about Mrs. Carter’s willingness to help.
* * *
In the kitchen, Abby’s tender gaze lingered on the face of the baby in her arms while her fingertips skimmed the incomparable softness of Betsy’s dark hair. Was there anything more precious than a new life or anything sadder than a child growing up without the love and guidance of a parent? She was struck with a sudden pang of loss. Even now, eight months after William’s death, she often experienced a stark reminder that he would not be there to share or to help with the joys and trials that cropped up daily with Ben and Laura. As difficult as it had been for her since he died, she knew life would be just as trying for Caleb Gentry, though in an entirely different way, something that she’d understood full well when Rachel had arrived earlier and told her the news of Emily Gentry’s death.
“How awful!” Abby had said. “I can certainly sympathize with Mr. Gentry’s loss.” She’d never met Caleb Gentry, but she knew who he was, as did everyone in Pike County.
“Of everyone I know, I knew you’d understand,” Rachel told her.
“You look worn out,” Abby noted, ushering her friend inside. “Come on into the kitchen and rest a bit. I just took some cookies from the oven and I’m rewarming the breakfast coffee.”
“Thanks, but I can’t stay,” Rachel told her. “Too many things to do. Before I drove out here, I had to go and tell the Emersons about Emily so that they could make arrangements for her body to be moved.”
“They must be devastated,” Abby said, unable to imagine losing either of her children. “What can I do to help? Make Mr. Gentry a meal?”
“Under different circumstances, I’m sure that would be appreciated, but that isn’t why I’m here. To be blunt, little Betsy Gentry is in need of a wet nurse.” Rachel hurried on before Abby could object. “I know things have been tight for you since William died, and I thought you might be glad of the extra money.”
Abby stared into Rachel’s dark eyes, her mind whirling with implications of the unexpected offer. For months now, she had systematically, often tearfully, sold almost everything she owned of value, consoling herself with the maxim that her father’s pocket watch and her mother’s silver coffee service were just things. Things she did not need. She had juggled the meager funds and prayed for some sort of miracle to provide for her children. She’d even considered trying to teach again, but Wolf Creek was no different from other towns, which wanted only men or unmarried women instructing their young ones. Even if that were not the case, she wasn’t sure how she’d manage a full-time job with two children of her own.
God will provide…He never shuts a door that He doesn’t open a window…all things work for good.
Abby was familiar with all the platitudes, had even heard them coming from her own lips when the trials and losses were someone else’s. She believed what the Bible said, and blamed the weakness of her faith that allowed worry to creep in, even though the Lord always came through.
Like now. Here was Rachel with the answer to her prayers, though the answer she offered in no way resembled anything Abby had considered during the long, worrisome nights. Wet nurse!
There was no one left to ask for help. Nathan Haversham at the bank had been more than understanding, but when she’d last spoken to him, he’d explained that he couldn’t let his sympathy get in the way of the bank’s business much longer, and just last week, she’d received a letter giving her a month to come up with the necessary funds or she would receive a notice of foreclosure.
She lifted a brimming blue gaze to Rachel’s. When she spoke, her voice was as unsteady as her smile. “In truth, it’s the answer to my prayers. When do I start?”
Rachel flipped open the cover of the gold watch that hung from a chain around her neck. “How about we gather up enough to tide you and the children over for a few days? I’ll drive you to Caleb’s, clean things up and help you get settled.”
“Now?” Abby had asked, stunned.
Rachel had offered her a wan smile. “I imagine Miss Betsy Gentry is getting mighty hungry about now, and I’m sure her daddy is pacing the floor and tearing at his hair, wondering what in the world he’s supposed to do about it.”
Abby had gone about gathering up as much from her kitchen as she could on such short notice, and grabbing the clothes she and the children would need for the next couple of days.
Now, remembering the conversation, a smile claimed Abby’s lips. Rachel’s description of Caleb Gentry had been right on the mark. When she’d seen him framed in his doorway, he’d looked exactly as if he’d been tearing at his too-long hair.
She smiled down at the sleeping baby. Wealthy or not, Betsy Gentry’s daddy could still get as ruffled as the next man. Somehow the thought made him a bit less intimidating.
The sound of something crashing to the floor sent Abby’s gaze flying to the kitchen door, her smile of contentment changing into a frown. She couldn’t imagine what had happened, but suspected it had something to do with her children. There was nothing to do but go and see.
* * *
The sound of something breaking sent Caleb bolting up from the sofa. Realizing that he must have dozed, he rubbed at his gritty eyes and looked around to see what had caused the noise. It didn’t take long to spot the shepherdess figurine that had belonged to his mother. Caleb had found it tucked away in one of his father’s drawers after his death. Now the keepsake lay in dozens of broken fragments on the heart-pine floor. Abby Carter’s son stood looking at him, guilt and fear stamped on his freckled face.
Caleb’s lips tightened. The boy shouldn’t have been snooping! He should have been sitting down minding his own business the way well-brought-up children should. So much for Abby Carter’s mothering skills. Still, as furious, frustrated and exhausted as he was, he realized that he could not afford to fly off the handle, as he was prone to do. Not now. Instead, he stifled the words hovering on his lips, took a deep, calming breath and struggled to assess the situation with some sort of objectivity.
If he had to hazard a guess, he would say that the baby—a girl it seemed, from the lace adorning her smock—had been crawling around, doing some sort of infant reconnaissance while her brother followed her—though to what purpose Caleb could not fathom. Most likely the baby had bumped into the spindly legged table Emily had brought back from St. Louis when she’d gone to visit her sister, sending the porcelain shepherdess to her demise.
Caleb’s gaze moved back to the boy, who regarded him with unconcealed apprehension. The baby had pushed to a sitting position amid the broken shards, poked two fingers into her mouth and regarded him with the same intensity as her brother. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, she plopped her plump palms to the floor and headed for a colorful, gilt-edged piece that snagged her interest.
Scowling with amazement at how fast she switched her focus, Caleb strode across the room and swung her up just as she was about to grab the jagged shard. To his surprise, she gave a gurgle of laughter. Marveling again at the quicksilver shifting of her attention, he turned her to face him, holding her out at arm’s length. She rewarded his frown with a wide grin. Something about that sweet and innocent smile with its four gleaming teeth took the edge from his anger. Arms straight out, he carried the baby to the sofa and plunked her smack-dab in the middle of the cushions.
Sensitive to the situation he found him
self in, and as uncertain how to deal with Abby Carter’s offspring as he was his infant daughter, he wondered what to do next. Other than him and his brother being children many years ago, he had never been around the peculiar little creatures, and what he knew about how to deal with them could be put in a thimble with lots of room left over. From what he’d observed around town, many of them were meddlesome and troublesome, which the recent incident proved. His tired, troubled gaze returned to the child who stood gaping at him in fearful anxiety. He had to do something.
Caleb raked a hand through his tousled hair and pointed from the boy to the couch. “You,” he said in a too-quiet tone. “Sit.”
* * *
Wearing an anxious frown, Abby emerged from the kitchen holding a sleeping Betsy close. Just inside the doorway of the parlor, she stopped. Rachel was nowhere to be seen. Ben sat immobile on the sofa, looking as if he were afraid to even breathe. Laura, unaffected by the tension in the room, leaned against him, happily chewing on the hem of her dress. Caleb sat on the hearth, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his folded hands, daring him to move. Abby’s lingering gratification at having helped Betsy Gentry and her father vanished.
“Can we go home now?” Ben asked, both his voice and his lower lip trembling. “I don’t like it here.”
Abby’s gaze swung from the fear on his face to Caleb Gentry, who sat watching the boy with the intensity of “a hawk watching a chicken,” as her grandmother might have said. Her heart sank. Ben had done something wrong. Her frantic gaze raked the room for confirmation, lighting on the pieces of what looked like a broken figurine that lay scattered on the polished floorboards.
Rachel chose that moment to exit the bedroom, an armful of bedding clutched to her chest. “I’ll just take these to the laundry in town and bring them back in a few d—” She stopped in her tracks and looked from Abby to Caleb and back again.
Sensing the tension in the room, Rachel said, “I’m sure the two of you have a lot to talk about. Just let me take these out to the carriage, and the children and I will go into the kitchen for some of those cookies you baked. You did bring them along, didn’t you, Abby? Ben, take Laura into the kitchen. I’ll be there in a minute.”
It didn’t escape either Caleb or Abby that even though Rachel spoke in her most professional tone, she was almost babbling, something the no-nonsense doctor just didn’t do.
Abby nodded, watching as Ben hefted his baby sister onto his hip and left the room, his relief almost palpable. Caleb’s frown grew even darker. When the children were gone, he made no move to address the disaster, other than to get up and begin picking up the bits of pottery. Watching him, Abby found herself torn between demanding to know what had happened and the urge to tell him that she would not be taking the job, after all. The memory of the bank’s letter stopped her. She could not afford to reject this lifeline out of hand.
Why did you have to die on me, William? she thought angrily. Realizing how silly it was to berate her dead husband and knowing that even if he’d lived, she would still be in a pickle at the bank, she gave a deep sigh, placed the sleeping baby in her cradle and went to help clean up.
She and Caleb worked together side by side, neither speaking as they picked up pieces of his past. Finally, he stood, held out his hands and said, “It was my mother’s.”
Having been forced to part with several things that had once belonged to her own mother, Abby could imagine how he felt losing something dear to his heart just hours after losing his beloved wife. She straightened and placed the pieces she’d gathered into his big hands. The backs of her fingers brushed against his. Caleb stiffened. Abby stifled a small gasp and plunged her hands into the pockets of her skirt. Her confused gaze met his. The anger was gone, replaced by something akin to bewilderment.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Yes, well, so am I.” The strange moment passed, and once more his voice held a note of annoyance. “If the children had been seated as they should have been, it would never have happened.”
Abby gasped, thoughts of foreclosure forgotten. Anger rose inside her like Wolf Creek floodwaters in the spring. How dare he say anything about her children! How dare he? From across the room, Betsy snuffled in her sleep. The slight sound was enough to remind Abby of the sorrow and strain the man standing before her must be feeling. Fearing that her eyes still held the remnants of irritation, she lifted her gaze no higher than the second button of his shirt.
“You’re right,” she said with a nod. “They should have been seated.” Then, feeling that her babies had been unfairly judged, she couldn’t help adding, “But if you will recall, you were so anxious to see Betsy calmed when I arrived, that we weren’t even properly introduced.”
Her meaning could not be clearer. Caleb had demanded that she do something to calm his daughter, and in her hurry to do so, Ben and Laura had been left in his and Rachel’s charge. Abby gave a small sigh. She probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Being correct did not give one the right to say so.
Her cautious gaze climbed up the tanned column of his throat to his rugged face. The red of either embarrassment or anger tinged his sun-darkened features. She stifled a groan and wished—as was often the case—that she could call back her rash statement. Dear Lord, I try to bridle my tongue; You know I do.
Yes, He knew she fought a constant battle with her stubbornness and her temper, which flared hotly and died just as fast. Always had, and, she thought with another sorrow-filled sigh, probably always would. Her quick tongue had often landed her in trouble as she’d grown up, but when she’d met William, she met a man who valued her opinions, one who insisted that anyone as intelligent as she was should speak her mind. Though the final decision was always his, he had listened to her thoughts and ideas—an advantage she was aware that few wives were granted. As for her temper, more often than not, he just grabbed her in a big bear hug and held her until she quit struggling, laughing at her all the while, which quickly defused her ire and had her laughing with him.
But Caleb Gentry was nothing like her husband, she thought, staring up at features that might have been carved from unyielding Arkansas stone. How could they ever deal with each other in a practical way when, aside from her brief, annoyed outburst, the thought of just speaking to him turned her legs to jelly?
Before Caleb could say the words she knew were hovering on his lips, Rachel, the basket of cookies hooked over her wrist, returned, slanting Abby an uneasy look before disappearing into the kitchen. Abby stood, her chin high, all thought of retaliatory criticism dissolving as she realized that her brief spurt of provocation had probably jeopardized the job he offered.
Without speaking, Caleb tossed the breakage into the ash bucket that sat near the fireplace. Swiping his hands on the legs of his denim pants, he turned to face her with his arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression in his unusual gray eyes.
She was still trying to formulate an acceptable apology when he heaved a great sigh and asked, “Is Betsy all right, then?”
Surprised, both at the evenness of his voice and the turn of the conversation, Abby stammered, “Y-Yes. Fine. She was just hungry.”
That basic problem, indeed the problem, cleared up to his satisfaction—at least for the moment—they stood there, their mutual strain growing with every indrawn breath. Finally, she took her courage in hand. Knowing that even if she had messed up her chance to provide for her children, she could not leave without offering him what comfort she could for the days to come; she cleared her throat.
“Mr. Gentry,” she said, lacing her hands together at her waist to still their trembling. “I want you to know that I am very sorry for your loss, and while I cannot know your exact feelings, I do know what it’s like to lose a mate. My husband died eight months ago, shortly after Laura was born.”
The expression in his eyes could only be described as bleak. “I had heard that.” He cocked his head to the side, regarding her with a curious expression. “Tell me, M
rs. Carter, did you love your husband?”
Abby’s eyes widened with surprise at the personal nature of the question. “Of course.”
“Well, let me assure you that in no way could your feelings be compared to mine.”
Her breath caught at the strength of his statement, and her twisting hands stilled. He must have loved Emily very much, though it was hard to imagine such a fierce, hard man ever feeling any emotion as tender as love.
Deciding to clear the air before she lost her courage, she said, “There are some things that we should talk about before we make the decision as to whether or not I accept the position you’re offering.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. He was not used to a woman taking the lead in the dialogue.
“I agree.”
“First, I would like to apologize again for the destruction of the figurine. Since I wasn’t here, I can’t say for certain how it happened, but please believe me when I say that Ben is seldom meddlesome, though he is quite curious, as most children are. I will be glad to repay you for it.” Nerves made her speech stilted and formal, and she had no idea how on earth she would make good on her promise if she did not land this job.
“I didn’t see it happen, either, Mrs. Carter, and I concede that you were right in stating that I was anxious when you arrived and did not give you time to see that the children were properly settled. Most likely your baby—”
“Laura,” she supplied.
“Laura. Laura probably bumped into the table and toppled the figurine. We can certainly ask, uh—”
“Ben.”
“Yes, Ben.” He cleared his throat, and his next words seemed to come only with the greatest effort. “I would venture to guess that it was just an unfortunate accident.”
She nodded, sensing how hard the admission must have been. “You should know about all our warts,” she said, determined to lay out possible problems beforehand. “Ben is very much a boy, and is often loud and rowdy, and Laura is just beginning to venture about and explore things….” Her voice trailed away on a sigh, and she lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. Surely he could see where she was leading.