Abram stepped through the doorway and into the lean-to, the smell of biscuits and gravy warming him clean through.
“Like this, Robert.” Charlotte’s patient voice floated to Abram’s ears. “Hold your fingers to your lips like this, and then I’ll know you are hungry.”
“He can’t hear you,” Martin said matter-of-factly.
“I know he can’t hear me, but I still want to talk as if he can, so he feels he’s part of this family. I’m showing him how to tell me he’s hungry.”
Abram entered the kitchen and found Charlotte bent at the waist, eye level with Robert, who sat at the table. Charlotte put her fingers to her lips and then pointed to the plate of food in her hands. “If you’re hungry, point to your mouth. Don’t scream at me.”
Abram noticed the tears staining his oldest son’s red face.
“And when you’re thirsty,” Charlotte continued, circling her fingers as if holding a cup, “put your hand up to your mouth as if you’re drinking.” She demonstrated to Robert and then took his cup off the table. She glanced at Martin, who watched her carefully. “You can do this, too, Martin, so Robert doesn’t feel alone. We’ll all do it, regardless of the fact that we can hear and speak.”
Martin circled his hand, too, and brought them to his lip like he was drinking.
Robert watched his little brother and his blue eyes sparkled with recognition. He mimicked the movement and then pointed to his cup.
“Yes!” Charlotte cried. “Yes, you’ve got it, Robert!” She hugged Robert and then Martin. “You’re both such smart boys.”
“Papa!” Martin noticed Abram. “You must do this when you want Aunt Charlotte to give you something to eat, and this when you want something to drink.”
Charlotte and Robert both looked his way, their faces beaming with success.
Abram grinned and put his fingers to his lips. “I’m famished. Let’s eat.”
Robert signed for food and nodded.
Caleb and Josiah walked into the kitchen from the main room just as Milt entered in from the lean-to.
“Dinner is ready,” Charlotte said. “When all of you are washed up, we’ll eat.” As she spoke she made a sign as if she was washing her hands, rubbing them back and forth, and then put them to her lips for food.
Robert watched her closely, as if no one else was in the room. His face filled with such adoration and trust, Abram had to swallow a lump of emotion. For the first time in months hope shone on his son’s young face. He jumped up from the table and raced to the pitcher and basin in the lean-to and was the first to wash his hands.
Abram glanced back at Charlotte. Her satisfied gaze warmed his heart and he smiled. “Thank you.”
She nodded, as if embarrassed. “Susanne would be so proud of him.”
“I think Susanne would be just as proud of you.”
Charlotte nibbled on her bottom lip. “I hope so.” She turned away and busied herself with putting the food on the table. “I hope we receive a book, or a pamphlet, or something from the deaf school in Iowa. I’m at a loss for what else I can teach him.”
“You’re doing well with what you have.”
“It doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”
“It is.”
She moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, and Abram was suddenly very thankful she had come.
The others soon came to the table and Abram said grace. As they were about to eat, the sound of sleigh bells filled the air.
Abram glanced out the window and stood. “It looks like we have guests.”
Charlotte also stood and, after glancing out the window, quickly set to work gathering extra plates and utensils and cups.
Abram walked to the lean-to and pulled on his new coat. He opened the door and waved to the arrivals.
Liam Cheney sat beside another man, presumably Timothy Hubbard.
Anticipation mingled with anxiety in Abram’s chest as he walked out into the yard. When the team of horses came to a stop, he grinned. “Welcome to Little Falls,” he said. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
Cheney extended his hand. “We were eager to get here before the others.”
“Others?” Abram asked.
“There was talk after you left St. Anthony,” the other man said. “I’ll wager we’re not the only ones heading this way.”
He hadn’t expected to hear such heartening news.
“Abram Cooper, meet Timothy Hubbard, recently of Moline, Illinois.”
Hubbard extended his hand. He had piercing blue eyes and a generous forehead. He wore a stocking cap, covering a balding head, no doubt, but his long beard more than made up for the lack of hair. His handshake was powerful and direct—two things Abram appreciated from a man of business.
“Let’s get your rig stored away and then come in and join us for dinner. My...” He paused, unsure how to introduce Charlotte. She was more than a housekeeper. “My sister-in-law is one of the best cooks in the territory.”
Hubbard’s eyes filled with humor and a hint of healthy competition. “I’ll be the judge of that. My wife just recently entered the territory, as well. Sounds like your sister-in-law may have a bit of competition.”
After seeing to the horses, the three men returned to the house. Abram didn’t miss the cursory glances or the scrutiny in Hubbard’s eyes as he surveyed the house and barn and sawmill.
Cheney didn’t, either. “Let’s eat and then talk business, Hubbard.” He chuckled. “I know you’ll want to walk around and inspect everything—but I want to sample that food first.”
They entered the house and Charlotte rose from her seat at the table.
“Charlotte, this is Mr. Cheney and Mr. Hubbard. Gentlemen, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Lee.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Charlotte said. “Won’t you join us?”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” Cheney said. “In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve already heard about your excellent cooking.”
Charlotte glanced at Abram with surprise and he didn’t bother to hide his pride. Her food was always outstanding, and he was eager to have his guests sit down and eat.
She sat, and the others followed.
Robert stood so quickly, he bumped the table and set the silverware to quaking. He pointed toward the lean-to with animation and then made the sign for the two new men to wash their hands.
The table erupted in laughter—though Cheney and Hubbard didn’t seem to understand the joke.
Abram grinned and motioned for Robert to sit. “Sit down, son. Guests aren’t required to wash up.” He shook his head and did the sign for washing. He glanced at their guests. “Robert lost his hearing a few months back, and Charlotte is teaching him sign language.”
“Ah,” Hubbard said with a laugh. “And we’re being warned to wash up or Miss Lee will kick us out?”
“Where’s the water basin?” Cheney asked good-naturedly. “I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the cook!”
“She’s liable to kick you out to the barn if you do,” Caleb said with more of a warning than a joke. Again, everyone laughed, though he suspected Cheney and Hubbard didn’t understand why they laughed so hard.
Charlotte’s cheeks turned crimson but her eyes glowed with pleasure. “In the lean-to. And Robert is right. Everyone must wash up before eating at my table.”
“My wife wouldn’t have it any other way,” Hubbard said. “Shall I wash behind my ears, as well?”
Charlotte offered a gracious smile. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Hubbard. The hands will do.”
Abram couldn’t take his eyes off her. Without even realizing what she was doing, she was making these two men feel as if they were already at home, and that would go a long way in securing a partnership with them.
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She glanced at Abram and dipped her head when she caught him staring.
The men came back to the table and Abram was glad for the diversion from his pretty sister-in-law. The last thing he needed was a romantic interest so soon after his wife’s death—with his wife’s sister, no less. Just the thought of it made him feel ashamed.
No. He needed to focus on building his town and securing a legacy for his sons. Nothing must stand in his way.
Nothing.
Chapter Seven
Charlotte sat in her favorite rocking chair near the fireplace, close to a lamp Abram had affixed to the wall. Her knitting needles clicked with a steady, soothing rhythm as she thought through Mr. Cheney and Mr. Hubbard’s recent visit. After they had left, several other men had appeared, eager to inspect Abram’s holdings.
The kitchen door creaked and Charlotte glanced up. Abram came through the door quietly but, upon seeing her, he stopped.
“I thought you would have gone to bed by now,” he said.
“I’m almost finished with Robert’s mittens.” She held up the red mitten. “I wanted to get it finished tonight.”
“Do you have all the supplies you need?”
“You bought me enough yarn to knit mittens and socks for an army.” He’d also bought enough wool to outfit them with coats. Abram might have his faults, but Susanne had been right after all. He provided well.
Abram walked across the room and lowered himself into the rocker on the other side of the fireplace. He moaned slightly as his body folded into the chair. “Ah. It feels good to just sit.”
She glanced at him but didn’t allow her eyes to linger long. “You’ve been busy.”
“Yes. But hopefully we’ve seen the last visitor for a while. I have work I need to get done, and since Caleb, Josiah and Milt are gone now, all the chores will fall on Harry and me.”
Charlotte already missed the other men. They had left last Saturday morning, the day after Cheney and Hubbard had arrived, and though they had only been gone for three days, she felt their absence. After being alone for six years in Iowa City, she had quickly grown accustomed to a full house and hated to see them leave. Thankfully, she still had the boys...and Abram.
Charlotte glanced at the man beside her. His eyes were closed and he was breathing steady. She had often wondered how Susanne had endured the isolation of this place, but now she understood how the intimate company of a husband could fill almost any void. Though she and Abram did not have that type of relationship, it didn’t take much for her to imagine how it would feel.
She sighed, silently chastised herself for letting her thoughts travel that path, and focused on finishing the mitten.
“I’m on my way,” he said several minutes later.
Charlotte glanced up, half startled. “On your way to what?”
“Fulfilling my dream. Accomplishing what I promised I’d accomplish.” He quietly watched her. “I think I’ll have investors by the end of this year.”
Charlotte didn’t respond. Her heart was torn between disappointment that she might have to return to Iowa City without the boys—and joy that he was starting his town.
“Hubbard and Cheney appeared more eager than the others,” he said. “I have a feeling they’ll want to act fast.”
Charlotte tied off the last knot and snipped the loose end. He needed some response, but she was afraid her emotions would betray her if she said too much. “Congratulations.” She stood and put the ball of yarn in her basket. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”
Abram also stood. “What did you think of Hubbard and Cheney?”
“I think they were very nice,” she said as she gathered her things.
“Do you think they’ll be good partners?”
Charlotte clutched her knitting basket. “I’m probably not the best person to ask.”
He studied her, his face half shadowed by the lantern, and the look in his eyes made her heart speed up.
She couldn’t stand there anymore. “Good night, Abram.” She moved around him and started up the stairs.
He followed her across the room and reached for her wrist as she took the first step. “Charlotte.”
His gentle voice stopped her ascent. She glanced down at his hand, heat tingling up her arm.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He paused and removed his hand. “I know if I succeed, it means you’ll have to go back to Iowa alone.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I just want someone to talk to. I used to discuss everything with Susanne, and I always appreciated her wisdom. Women tend to look at things differently than men. I’ll have some important decisions to make soon, and I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”
She removed her hand from the rail and turned slightly to look at him. “I wish I could help you make your decision—but you’re right. If you succeed, I’ll fail—”
“You won’t fail.”
“I’ll fail at my reason for coming.” And she would have to go back alone—which was the last thing she wanted. The boys deserved to be raised in a proper place, with good schools and hospitals, and comfort—the frontier was far too dangerous a place to grow up. “Good night, Abram.”
Charlotte walked up the stairs and entered her room, closing the door behind her. The room was dark, so she set her basket on the floor and felt along the bureau until she found the matchbox. She pulled out a match and then struck it against the rough side. Sulfur filled her nose as the match lit. She removed the chimney from the lantern and lit the wick. Light filled the little room, sending shadows dancing into the corners.
Charlotte locked the door and then slowly undressed and put on her nightgown, shivering in the cold.
She heard Abram climb the stairs and enter the room across the hall where the boys slept. It comforted her to know he slept with them and could hear if one of them needed something in the night. Not once had he woken her up to see to the boys’ needs.
His arrival in the room must have woken George, because the baby’s whimpers were loud enough to travel across the hall and enter Charlotte’s room.
George only cried for a few moments, and when his whimpers subsided, the soothing sound of Abram’s singing filled the upstairs.
She stood for several moments next to the closed door and listened, surprised by the beauty in his tone. He must be exhausted, but he continued to sing, until even Charlotte’s eyes grew sleepy.
She brought the lamp to her bedside, putting it on the little table where Susanne’s Bible lay. Charlotte had scrubbed this room, as well, and washed the bedding. She had placed one of the rag rugs next to the bed, and that was where she knelt to pray.
Outside her window, a wild land lay dormant, poised on the brink of growth. There would be much blood, sweat and toil poured into this town, and, if Abram was correct, it might one day be a real city with churches and schools and doctors. After seeing the interest on Hubbard’s and Cheney’s faces, she began to fear that maybe Abram wasn’t the one who was a dreamer. Maybe it was her, dreaming of a life in Iowa with her nephews—a life that might never come true.
A soft knock pulled her off her knees. “Yes?”
“It’s Abram.”
Charlotte took a step closer to the door, unwilling to open it in her nightgown. “What do you need?”
“I just want you to know something.”
She waited, taking several deep breaths.
“No matter what happens, you won’t fail,” he said. “You’ve already accomplished a great deal since you’ve been here, and all of us are grateful.”
She bit her bottom lip and watched the flame on the lantern flicker.
“It’s too early to tell,” he said softly. “I’m hopeful about Little Falls, but I’m also realistic. I’ve been involved in several town prospects that have failed,
even when they looked this hopeful.”
He was trying to make her feel better, and for that she was thankful, but she was also realistic and knew what was at stake. He might succeed, but that didn’t mean he would be satisfied. The children would be at risk until they were old enough to care for themselves. “Good night, Abram.”
The other side of the door was quiet until she heard his footsteps retreat into the boys’ room.
Charlotte leaned her head back. She must not allow her heart to soften toward him. There would be nothing but heartache and devastation if she did.
* * *
A month after Cheney and Hubbard had visited, Abram sat on a stool in the darkening barn, a log of white oak balanced between his cold feet. He placed a metal froe against the wood and then pounded the froe with a handmade mallet until it sank into the log. He wiggled the froe and then pushed against it, causing the shingle to pull away from the log in a thin layer.
Making shingles filled him with memories of his childhood in Cooper, Michigan. How many times had he made shingles with his father? He used to sit beside Father hearing the steady tap, tap, tap of the mallet against the froe and the splitting of wood as they made each one.
Abram tossed the unfinished shingle on the growing pile. He still needed to smooth it out with the drawknife and round the edges a bit. The church would require hundreds of shingles, which he’d work on throughout the winter. It was a lot of work up front, but the shingles should last for seventy or eighty years. Maybe, one day, his grandchildren would have to replace them when he was gone.
“Looks like the stagecoach is here,” Harry said, coming into the barn. His cheeks were chapped and his hair matted. He’d been sleeping and eating in the barn for over a month since Charlotte’s arrival in early November. More and more, he braved the weather to spend his evenings at Crow Wing, and Abram wondered if the red cheeks were caused more by the cold or by the drink.
“I’ll go out and meet Andrew.” Abram rose from his stool and stretched his tight muscles. “I could use a break.”
A Family Arrangement Page 8