“I didn’t want to love you,” he said, shifting her so that she could feel a hardness beneath her that she could only guess about. “I didn’t want to sully you with my misery, and now look at me. I should make you get dressed, take you for a fine dinner, escort you home safely….”
She made a move to get up, but he caught her and held her closer against him.
“And then I should ask your father for your hand.”
She closed her eyes and let out the breath she’d been holding.
“I want to do this right,” he said, but his hands were everywhere, and she sighed and gasped and encouraged his explorations.
“Believe me, you are,” she said, shocking herself as much as him, raising a chuckle between the deeper breaths.
There was a small cot in the corner of the room. Ansel said that there were times when his father-in-law, Morton Cotter, had been so dedicated that he spent the night at the office. Mostly the kittens slept there now, but she rose and led him over to it.
Seth followed her reluctantly, looking down at the pathetic little cot and feeling himself grimace. His Abby was so fine, and he wanted so to do right by her and not take her here, her first time, on this dingy little cot in this awful little room. While he stood there mutely, trying to tamp down his hunger for her, his need, she pulled a fancy quilt from the bottom drawer of the tall oak filing cabinet and spread it on the cot. Then from the top drawer she pulled two mining candles they obviously kept for emergencies and set them on the little table beside the cot.
“Is this an emergency?” he asked her, trying to take away the seriousness of what they were doing, trying to stop themselves before they went too far.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life for this night, Seth. For this moment. I don’t want to wait any longer. I don’t want to risk waiting.”
“Risk waiting?”
“Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring. Love me now, Seth. Hurry, before I—”
“Change your mind?” he asked, his wanting nearly painful as he watched her make a bed for them to share, her back strong and almost bare, her shoulders glowing in the candlelight.
She shook her head at him. “I would make love to you, Seth, if I knew how. Please don’t make me look foolish.”
Dear God, what good had he ever done to deserve Abidance Merganser offering herself to him, body and soul, heart and hand?
“You could never look foolish,” he said, going back to check the little office door and finding to his relief that there was a lock on it. He snapped it shut.
“I’m the fool,” he said when he was back at her side, taking off his trousers and somehow wrapping both of them in the quilt on the tiny bed. “Lie on top of me,” he told her, positioning her so that he could kiss her breasts, could reach her so that he could ready her for what was to come.
She moaned and arched and ground against his touch until he thought he might go mad, and still he prepared her, tried to prepare her, despite her tightness, her innocence.
“Please Seth,” she begged him, clutching at his chest, tears choking her voice. “Please.”
“You’ll marry me?” he asked her, rolling her onto her back and poising himself above her. “You’ll be mine?”
“I’ve always been yours,” she said softly, her hand tracing his arm, running up his neck, pulling him down toward her.
Beneath him, her body relaxed and she spread herself for him as if all was right in the world.
And he slipped inside her, carefully, slowly, as gently as he could. And she rocked against him, each movement deepening their hold on each other, deepening their commitment, deepening their love.
And when it was over, she lay still in his arms.
“I can die happy now,” she said softly, and the world stopped in its tracks. His head shot up and he looked down at her knowing that he would fight the devil himself before he’d let her go.
“What?” he asked her, fear rising in his throat.
“Not that I expect to,” she said, waving away his worry. “It’s just that a woman is always afraid that she’ll die without knowing the secret—she’ll wind up an old maid who’s never known passion.”
“You? What about Frank Walker? What about Armand what’s-his-name?”
And beneath him she laughed, a beatific smile on her face as she stretched and arched her back, two glorious breasts rising up to pique his desire yet again. “Who?”
And he kissed her quiet, and took her slowly, and this time there was no pain.
There was only joy.
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. WHAT HAD HE DONE? And could it have been as good as it seemed, as right, even after he’d taken her home last night? Afterward he’d come back and flung himself into his chair in a haze of satisfaction, pulled the letter from Dr. Bartlett from his coat pocket and stood ready to face the fact that he would be stuck in Eden’s Grove forever. And it had been so wondrous that he didn’t care, as long as he would be with the woman he loved.
Well, for the moment he hadn’t cared. It had been wondrous. It had been sublime. Abby had felt so right in his arms that he was amazed that he could have waited so long to make her his own, and he wanted her again. Now. Always.
Only now there was a tiny wrinkle in his plan. How could he have known that Dr. Ephraim Bartlett would agree to come take over his practice? No one in his right mind would want to leave Massachusetts General, leave Boston and the civilized, advanced East to come to some two-bit town that, as Reverend Merganser was quick to point out, didn’t even have a goddamn church?
And not only did the fool want to come, he was coming! Stopping to visit family along the way, the good doctor would be in Eden’s Grove in just over a fortnight.
Well, Abby had said she’d follow him anywhere, hadn’t she? Would she really leave her family, her home, and go …
Go where? He had no plan. In a fortnight’s time he’d have no job. A fine husband he’d make Abby, to whom he wanted to give the world.
He wondered if she was next door at the Herald yet, and was willing to bet that she wasn’t. She’d have poked her head into his office first, he was sure. She’d have brought him some fresh-baked muffins and a warm smile. And no matter how uncertain the future was, as long as she was in it, it’d be just fine, he was sure.
He heard the footsteps on the sidewalk, but he knew they weren’t hers, and he knew they weren’t bringing good news, so when James Denton opened his door, he had more to worry about than how he would support Abidance.
“Jim?” he asked. “There been some change?” He couldn’t bear to ask if the baby was dead, didn’t figure Jim would come to him but to Mr. Liming, the undertaker, if the news was that bad.
“He won’t take nothing, Doc,” the man said, the stoic facade that he’d kept for Seth crumbling there in his office, falling away and leaving a broken man standing with his arms stretched out toward Seth for help.
“I’ll get my bag,” was all he could say. I’ll come and look, and I’ll see to Caroline. And then I’ll tell you both to pray for a miracle, and I’ll come back here and I’ll pray, too.
“Appreciate it, Doc,” Jim said, as if he were doing the Dentons any sort of favor at all. “I know you got others to see, and …”
“I’ll follow you in my buggy,” he said, grabbing his hat and bag and hurrying Jim out of the office, glancing through the windows of the Herald and wishing he could see a sign of Abby to keep him going.
He had lost so much in this life—his whole family—and his faith. And one little slip of a girl had the power to give him back all of it—a family, with a bunch of kids who would climb his legs and sit on his shoulders and who he could tuck in at night; and the belief that with her in his life everything would somehow be all right.
He followed Jim Denton out to his farm, wishing he could make it all right for the Dentons, and for everyone else in Eden’s Grove, knowing he couldn’t, and praying that maybe Dr. Bartlett could.
“So how are you feeling?” Abby asked Emily
after she’d taken off her coat and made herself comfortable—as comfortable as she could be on the settee in Emily’s parlor.
“Excited,” Emily admitted, her face a little flushed. “A new baby is always exciting, don’t you think? I mean, inside me right now might be the next president of the United States!”
“Or at least the next editor of the Herald’,’ Abby said, working on a smile.
“Are you all right?” Emily asked, her eyebrows lowering in concern. “You’re looking like I was feeling when I woke up—like I feel every morning these days.”
Oh, dear God! She’d wanted an answer and now she had it.
Emily put her hand over Abby’s. “Are you feeling all right?”
“How soon after …” How did one ask a question like this? She should have asked her mother. Or Prudence. Prudence would know. But Pru and her mother would be horrified, and Abby was not about to risk her father’s finding out. She fiddled with her skirt, balling it up until Emily stilled her hand.
“Abby, honey, whatever is wrong?”
Abby took a deep breath. “How soon after you and Ansel … made your baby,” she said with her eyes closed because she just couldn’t look at Emily and ask, “… did you start losing your breakfast?”
Emily was really quiet. So quiet that Abby could hear the clock ticking on the mantel, counting off the seconds.
“Well,” Emily finally said slowly. “I can’t really say for sure. It’s hard to know exactly when the baby began, if you know what I mean, which I’m guessing you don’t. Contrary to what your mama probably told you, every time you let your husband have his way, doesn’t mean you wind up with a baby, you know.”
“I know that,” Abby said, trying not to sound testy. “But how soon …” She covered her mouth as the nausea rose again as it had in the morning.
“Abby! You don’t think you’re … honey, you know you have to do more than just kiss a man to—”
“Emily, I’ve been sheltered, not cloistered!”
“Are you saying that Frank …” Emily asked.
“No! Of course not! I’m simply asking how you know if you’re pregnant,” Abby finally managed to say.
“Well, whoever it is that thinks she’s pregnant ought to go see Dr. Hendon and—”
“How hard is it for you to tell me how soon you started heaving up your eggs, Emily? Is this some secret that women aren’t supposed to share? I need to know if I could be with child. And I need you to tell me.”
Emily got up and drew the drapes closed. She shut the parlor doors and put a chair in front of them before she came back to sit beside Abby on the settee.
“Abidance, listen to me. For a woman to become pregnant she has to be intimate with a man. Not just kiss, not just touch. They have to lie naked together and he has to—”
“I know what he has to do, Emily. I know what it feels like and I know I’ll be doing it again, but I didn’t think that I could get into trouble on the first time.”
“Don’t cry, honey,” Emily said, wiping tears from Abby’s cheeks, tears that Abby hadn’t even felt. “You haven’t done it again, not since the first time?”
Not since the first time? It had only been twelve hours or so, and she had had to go on home.
“How long ago was that? Have you missed your monthly yet?” Emily asked. “Did Frank hurt you? Did he make you—”
“Last night,” Abby said. “And it wasn’t Frank, and I threw up this morning and my headache’s worse than ever.”
“Last night? Oh, Abby! You’ve probably just made yourself sick with worry. And well you should be.” And then the shock at what she’d said set in. “What do you mean, it wasn’t Frank?”
“I’m marrying Seth,” she said, and suddenly the idea that she might be carrying his child wasn’t such a scary thought, wasn’t scary at all, in fact.
Emily crossed her arms and tapped at her forearm with perfectly manicured fingers. “Seth! Seth compromised you? He took advantage of you? Dr. Hendon?”
“He didn’t take advantage of me, Em. It was more like the other way round. He’s going to marry me.”
“And does Seth know that?”
“He asked me before we—” Abby made a futile gesture with her hand. There were certainly nice words for what they had done on that little cot in the back room at the Herald but she couldn’t think of any, sitting there with Emily in her lovely parlor with the fancy satin couch and the bone china tea set.
“Oh, I’ll just bet he did,” Emily said. “I bet he told you that he loved you, too.”
Abby smiled and squeezed her shoulders up as if she were hugging herself.
“And where is he this morning?” Emily asked. “And did he make sure you wouldn’t get pregnant?” she demanded.
Abby looked at her sister-in-law. If Seth had, she wasn’t aware of it, didn’t know how that was accomplished, and didn’t really care. “Will you help me plan the wedding? Mother will want to have some sort of potluck thing and Seth deserves something elegant, don’t you think?”
“I think he doesn’t deserve the right time of day,” Emily said. “He certainly didn’t deserve what he got last night.”
“Emily, I have loved Seth Hendon for years. And now he loves me back. Please be happy for me. We have to plan this wedding right away, before I begin to show. I wouldn’t have anyone saying nasty things about my son.”
“A son now,” Emily said, grimacing. “But then, I suppose the wonderful Dr. Hendon shouldn’t have to settle for a girl, should he?”
Abby put her hands on her stomach. “I’m sure he’ll love whatever—”
“Abidance, you aren’t pregnant. Or if you are, you can’t know it yet. You have to miss your monthly first, and even then you can’t be sure. The only thing you can be sure of is that if Seth Hendon doesn’t marry you, you’re going to have some fancy explaining to do to the man who does. They don’t believe that story about it happening when you were riding astride a horse, you know.”
“I’m not pregnant?” Abby asked, feeling empty instead of relieved. “But I couldn’t hold down my breakfast, Em.”
“Didn’t you read ‘Ask the Doctor’? It was probably something you ate last night that your system couldn’t digest. Of course, you could always ask your beau,” Emily added with some disdain.
“Just because you and Ansel could wait,” Abby said, and watched as a deep red flush crawled up Emily’s neck and settled into her cheeks.
“You aren’t the first woman who hoped to catch a man that way, Abidance, but not all men are so … You can have the wedding reception here, if you want,” Emily said, unable to look her straight in the eye. “But Dr. Hendon had better talk to Ansel and tell him he means to marry you. And he better go ask your father for your hand—right away, before you find yourself in trouble.”
“I’m sure he will,” she said, wishing that she meant it. Seth didn’t like to do things by the book. He’d probably think it was old-fashioned to ask for her father’s permission. He might not even want a wedding. He might just want to go to Sioux City and get married by a justice of the peace.
“You do look like you’re coming down with something,” Emily said, frowning at her.
“I’m fine,” Abby said. She said it then, she’d said it in the morning, she said it all the time. “Really,” she added, and realized that she always said that, too.
“Listen to the voice of experience,” Emily said, leaning close to her and keeping her voice low. “It gets better.”
Abby covered the flush in her cheeks with her hands. Better? How could it ever be better?
“Getting to know another person takes time,” she said softly. “You think you’re in love now—just wait until you’re married!”
“This is ridiculous,” Seth told himself as he hurriedly finished the article on headaches for the Herald. He didn’t need an excuse to go next door and see Abidance. And if he did, setting a date would be excuse enough.
Still, he felt awkward, like some kid.
How was he supposed to have a normal conversation with her in front of Ansel when he’d held her naked in his arms and poured himself into her?
He ended the article on a hopeless note and knew he’d get the dickens from Abby about his gloom. She wanted everything curable, everything fixable. Put a bandage on it and make it better, even if it was something pernicious eating away at someone’s very life.
He’d convinced Mrs. Thomas to nurse the Denton baby, and had set himself the smallest of goals. Just keep the child alive until Dr. Bartlett arrived and maybe he’d be able to save the baby.
Dr. Bartlett. Now, there was another subject he could discuss with Abby. He grabbed his hat and article and headed next door.
Ansel’s back was to him, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. On his right arm was a slash of black ink. When he turned to see that it was Seth who’d come in, he brushed the hair out of his eyes with his forearm and left a thick black mark there, as well.
“Slipped a gear,” he said, looking down at his blackened hands. “You need something?”
“Abby around?” he asked, feeling his heart quicken at the thought of seeing her.
“Went to see Emily,” Ansel said. “She seemed kind of upset. You know anything about that?”
“No,” he said honestly. “I surely don’t.” If he were Abby and he hadn’t gotten a letter from Dr. Ephraim Bartlett, hadn’t had to go see to Jimmy Denton failing, he’d have still been flying high as a kite after the time they’d spent together last night.
“Knowing Emily, she’ll make her stay for lunch. I expect she’ll be in this afternoon.”
Seth nodded. He wanted to see her now. Wanted to hold her now. “I’ll just leave the next column on her desk,” he said, passing Ansel and going into the back room, where the cot lay empty except for a stray cat, and the candles were nowhere to be seen.
He heard her footsteps on his porch and felt the smile come naturally to his lips. What a joy not to have to fight happiness anymore, to allow himself the pleasures that Abby, and life, had to offer.
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