by Amanda Cabot
“Congratulations.” Though she addressed the words to everyone, her smile was for Ethan, for she knew how much the win meant to him. His team’s vindication was visible in the relaxed line of his neck and shoulders and in the smile that softened his face. “The Blues were great tonight.” As if seconding Abigail’s opinion, Puddles barked.
Ethan’s smile widened into a grin. “Hear that, men? Even the dog agrees.” He looked down at the basket. “Could it be that you have something for us?” Everyone on the post knew that Charlotte and Abigail brought baked goods to each game and presented them to the winning team. Ethan had groused about the tradition once, saying it made his team’s defeat even more bitter. Tonight he was not grousing.
“Indeed, I do,” Abigail said with another smile. “Tonight we have cinnamon rolls.” A cry of approval met her words. In prior weeks, the treat had been simpler, normally pieces of cake left over from whatever Mrs. Channing had served for dessert, but there were no suitable leftovers from Mrs. Nelson’s meals, because she served puddings and compotes rather than baked goods. “I made them myself,” Abigail added.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You must have known we were going to win.”
“I hoped that would be the case.”
Lifting the napkin from the top of the basket, Ethan made a show of sniffing the contents. “C’mon, men. Let’s enjoy Miss Harding’s reward before Puddles takes a notion to help himself to the rolls.” He sniffed again. “They smell mighty good.”
As the men devoured the hearty combination of cinnamon and sweet dough, Ethan stood at Abigail’s side. “This means a lot to the team and to me.” He reached over and took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “Thank you, Abigail.”
His hand was warm and firm, sending shivers of delight up her arm. Even through her gloves, Abigail could feel the differences between Ethan’s hand and hers. His was larger. She’d known that. The flesh was firmer. That was no surprise. His grip was stronger. She had expected that. What she hadn’t expected was that his touch would make her feel as if she were a precious object, worthy of being cherished. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but oh, so pleasant. Abigail looked down at their clasped hands, not wanting the moment to end. And then Puddles whined, putting his front paws on Ethan’s legs.
“I think he’s feeling left out,” she said.
Ethan wrinkled his nose as he pretended to glare at the puppy. “Pesky dog!” As Puddles barked, Ethan released Abigail’s hand, leaving her feeling somehow bereft.
“Abigail.”
Her hand stopped in midair. She had been daydreaming, recalling how wonderful it had felt to have her hand clasped in Ethan’s, and so she had been later than normal getting dressed this morning. On an ordinary morning, Abigail would have been downstairs, checking the porridge and making coffee. Today, she was about to pin her mother’s brooch to her dress when she heard Charlotte’s voice.
“Come here. Please.”
Abigail’s heart began to pound. Something was desperately wrong for Charlotte to sound so weak. She opened the connecting door and hurried into her sister’s room.
“What’s wrong?”
Charlotte’s face was devoid of color. Not even when she’d been in the throes of morning sickness had Abigail seen her sister look so ill.
“I don’t know.” Charlotte’s hand rose to her throat. “I feel worse than I have in weeks.” She managed a weak smile. “Would you fetch Mrs. Grayson?”
“Shall I get Jeffrey too?”
If possible, Charlotte’s face lost even more color. “No. I don’t want to worry him needlessly.”
Though Abigail was tempted to disagree, she did not. Instead, she hurried to the midwife’s house, saying a silent prayer for her sister’s health with each step.
“I don’t understand.” Mrs. Grayson had spent half an hour with Charlotte. Now she sat in the parlor, a cup of coffee in her hand. “None of the other women I’ve attended have had problems like this.”
And that was what Abigail had feared. She’d asked a few discreet questions and had learned that, though Mrs. Grayson had no formal training as a midwife, she had a lot of common sense about childbirth and women’s ailments, far more, according to the other women, than Dr. Pratt. Mrs. Grayson was well-regarded and hadn’t lost a patient yet, but Abigail still worried that Charlotte’s condition wasn’t normal. “My sister was very ill as a child,” she said, explaining what had happened then. “Do you think this might be related? The doctor warned that her lungs would always be weak.”
Mrs. Grayson shook her head. “This isn’t her lungs. If I had to guess, I would say it’s the result of high-strung nerves. Has Charlotte always been this easily disturbed?”
“No. Our mother claimed she was the strongest of us.”
“She’s not strong now. She’ll need to spend three or four days in bed, and even then . . .” The midwife frowned. “To be honest, I’m worried about the rest of her pregnancy.”
So was Abigail. She hated seeing her sister so ill, and even more she hated the thought that she would soon be thousands of miles away, unable to help Charlotte in any way. Perhaps she could postpone her return a week or so and still be there in time for classes to begin. She would check the schedule, but first she had to tell Jeffrey his wife was ill.
She found him in the post headquarters. “It’s my fault.” Jeffrey smacked his forehead with his fist when Abigail explained what had happened. “I should not have brought Charlotte here. Why couldn’t I see that she’s too fragile for this land? What will I do if she dies?”
“She won’t.” Abigail infused her voice with every bit of confidence she possessed. “Mrs. Grayson simply wants her to rest for a few days.”
Jeffrey was silent for a few moments, his eyes staring vacantly into the distance. When he spoke, his words startled Abigail. “I was wrong. It’s not my fault. It’s yours. You should never have come here.”
If the fort had had a church, Abigail would have gone there, seeking answers, begging for help. Poor Jeffrey. Her heart ached for him. Though he’d lashed out at her, and she had recoiled as if from a physical blow, Abigail had known that he acted out of hurt and fear. Jeffrey loved his wife, and the thought of being unable to help her was more than he could bear. That was why he was so angry. While she wished this were a problem she could solve, Abigail knew there was only one source of help.
Although she longed for the quiet solace of a church, Abigail reminded herself of what Papa had said so often, that God was everywhere and that prayer was effective wherever it was offered. She hurried home, then sank to her knees in the parlor and closed her eyes.
Dear Lord, I need your help. You know I love my sister and want only what is best for her. Is Jeffrey right? Did I misunderstand your will? Would Charlotte be happier if I weren’t here? I’m lost now. Show me your way. Please, Lord. But there was no answer, nothing but the feeling that she had forgotten something important.
Somehow, Abigail muddled through the rest of the day. Though she wondered whether Leah had gone to the cottonwood, Abigail would not leave Charlotte, even for a brief ride. Perhaps she could go out tomorrow, but today she felt the need to remain close to her sister.
The train schedule confirmed what Abigail had thought, that she could not delay her departure and still return to Vermont in time for the first classes. She had to leave when she had planned. Her pupils were counting on her. Her fellow teachers were counting on her. As if that weren’t enough, Jeffrey had made it clear that she was no longer welcome here, and so she would cherish each hour she had with Charlotte.
As they had the last time Charlotte was ill, Ethan and Jeffrey took their meals with the bachelor officers, leaving Abigail alone with her sister. Though she suspected Charlotte was not asleep, each time she peeked into the room, her sister’s eyes were closed, and so Abigail did not intrude. Instead, she spent the day alternately worrying and reminding herself that there was no need to worry, that God was in charge. The one time she left was for her clas
s, and, though she tried her best not to let her worry show, she knew that the men realized something was wrong, for they seemed more subdued than normal.
When class ended, Abigail felt her spirits rise. Perhaps Ethan would be waiting for her again. She had missed his company at meals today, and the thought of being able to talk to him had helped her get through the day. But he was not there. The parade ground was deserted, which meant that Ethan could be in his quarters or the Officers’ Club, neither of which was suitable for her to visit. She would have to wait until tomorrow to speak with him.
“C’mon, Puddles,” she said when she reached the house and untied him from the tree. Jumping and yipping, his ears flapping wildly, the black and tan dog was the picture of happiness. Someone ought to be happy, for Abigail most definitely was not. Though she knew she ought to return to Vermont, she could not dismiss her worries about Charlotte.
“What do you think, puppy?” she asked as they started their second circuit of the parade ground. If she had had any doubts that Puddles was growing, the fact that he wasn’t tired after his normal walk would have quashed them. He acted as if he’d just awakened and seemed as full of energy as he had at the beginning of the walk. It was only Abigail who was tired.
And yet, though she tried, sleep eluded her. Perhaps that was why she heard Puddles whimpering. Descending the stairs, she found the dog sitting in his crate, a disgruntled look on his face.
“You don’t like being alone, do you?” With Charlotte indisposed, Puddles had spent more time than usual alone today. If he’d slept then, it was no wonder he was awake now. Abigail stroked the puppy’s head, then relented and lifted the lid from the crate. An instant later, Puddles was on the floor, gamboling at her feet, chasing his tail and yipping with pleasure.
Mama’s cure for insomnia had always been warm milk. Though she doubted it would help tonight, Abigail reached into the icebox and withdrew the jar of milk. She might as well try Mama’s remedy. She was heating the milk, watching the pan carefully so it did not boil over, when she heard heavy footsteps. Jeffrey had returned.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked as he entered the kitchen.
Abigail nodded, uncertain what surprised her most, his amiable tone, the fact that he did not glare at the sight of Puddles, or his wet hair. Jeffrey looked as if he’d just bathed, but today was not bath day. She took a deep breath, then recoiled, her heart plummeting when she realized why Jeffrey was wet. He had attempted but failed to wash away the scent of perfume. Something about him, perhaps his clothing, still bore the fragrance she had smelled in the parlor the last time Charlotte had been so ill. He had been back to the hog ranch. Why, Jeffrey, why?
“I’m making warm milk,” Abigail said, trying to keep her voice even. Nothing would be gained by questions or recriminations. “Would you like some milk?”
He shook his head. “Never could stand the stuff. But I’m glad you’re awake. I wanted to talk to you, to apologize.”
For what? The perfume? Though she longed to ask, Abigail said nothing, for she sensed that it was difficult for Jeffrey to even pronounce the word apologize.
He clenched his fists, releasing them slowly as he said, “I was out of line this morning. It’s not your fault that Charlotte’s ill. I know that. I think I knew it then, but I was so worried about her that I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry.”
Abigail nodded. “It’s all right, Jeffrey. I understand.” And she did. What she didn’t understand was why he smelled of another woman’s perfume.
When Abigail climbed the stairs half an hour later, though the doors were closed, the thin walls did not block the sound of Jeffrey’s snores or Charlotte’s soft weeping. Wishing she could move her bed away from the common wall but knowing that would only reveal what she had heard, Abigail walked to the window and stared outside, hoping the sight of stars in the black Wyoming sky would comfort her. Oh, Lord, she prayed, show me what to do.
She closed her eyes, and as she did, images of Miss Drexel’s Academy, her pupils, and Woodrow danced before her. It was early autumn, one of those perfect days when the sugar maples’ autumnal finery shone against a deep blue sky. Abigail smiled at the memory of the brilliant orange leaves, recalling the girls’ enthusiasm when she’d told them she and Woodrow would conduct classes outdoors that afternoon. Gradually the scene faded, like a daguerreotype left too long in the sun, leaving nothing but gray. Perhaps she should have felt a sense of loss, but instead Abigail was filled with anticipation as the scene began to change again. Just as gradually as the Vermont countryside had faded, a new picture began to form. When it was complete, she smiled. Thank you, Lord.
“I’m staying,” Abigail told her sister the next morning. Though she wouldn’t share the story of how the image of Charlotte’s face had replaced her visions of Vermont, Abigail knew it was no coincidence. This was the answer she had sought. This was what she was meant to do.
Charlotte looked a bit better this morning, with color returning to her cheeks, and she managed a weak smile in response to Abigail’s statement.
“I’ve decided to stay until the baby is born.” Jeffrey might not be happy about her decision, but Charlotte needed her, and that was what mattered.
“Really, truly?” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she asked the question that had been a childhood refrain.
“Truly, really.” Abigail responded, enjoying the way her sister’s face brightened at the silly answer. Though tears glistened in Charlotte’s eyes, Abigail knew they were tears of joy.
“Thank you.” Charlotte reached out and grasped Abigail’s hand, squeezing it between both of hers. “I wanted you with me, but I didn’t dare ask. It would have been selfish of me to keep you away from the school and Woodrow.”
Abigail shook her head. “It’s not selfish. It’s what sisters do. I’m staying.”
“And I’m so very grateful. Thank you, little sister.”
“Where are you going in such a rush?” Ethan sprinted the last few yards to join Abigail, then matched her pace.
“I need to send a telegram.” Now that the decision had been made, she didn’t want to delay in letting Mr. Barnett know. She looked up at Ethan, wondering how he’d react when he heard her news. “I’ve decided to stay until Charlotte’s baby arrives. I hope the school will give me a leave of absence.”
It was absurd, the way her heart leapt at the sight of Ethan’s smile. It wasn’t as if he were anything more than a friend, and yet, Abigail could not deny that her pulse beat faster and that this friend’s smile seemed to warm her face more than the summer sun.
“That seems to be good news for everyone. Puddles won’t be lonely, Charlotte will have your help, and the Blues will welcome your cheering.”
“Not to mention my cinnamon rolls.”
“Not to mention that.” Ethan’s smile was replaced with an expression of concern. “What will you do if your leave isn’t approved? It seems to me it’s late for them to find a replacement.”
“That’s true, and Mr. Barnett might be angry enough not to take me back.” Abigail had weighed that consideration. If she were delayed only a week or two, the other teachers could take over her class, but that could not continue for months, and it would be months before she returned to Vermont. No doubt about it: Mr. Barnett would be in a bind unless he accepted her suggestion and put Henrietta Walsh in charge of Abigail’s classes. Though young and lacking experience, Henrietta was both enthusiastic and hard-working. She would be a fine substitute teacher.
“If they don’t want me to return, I’ll find another position. There are plenty of schools in Vermont.” Admittedly, Miss Drexel’s was one of the most prestigious, but even if she wasn’t able to return there, Abigail knew her experience qualified her to teach almost anywhere.
“There are places other than Vermont.” Ethan tipped his head to one side, as if considering alternatives. “You could always stay here. I know Captain Westland would be glad to hire you for the whole year.”
> Placing her hand on her heart in feigned horror, Abigail pretended to shudder. “Stay here where hail is bigger than baseballs? Never!”
As she had hoped, Ethan laughed.
Corporal Keller was not laughing. Though the rest of the class cheered when Abigail told them she would remain until at least mid-November, he was silent. The normally jovial soldier was obviously disturbed, barely speaking in class, and when he did respond, his answers were wrong more often than not. Charlotte might tell her she couldn’t solve everyone’s problems, but that didn’t stop Abigail from trying.
“Corporal Keller,” she said as she dismissed class, “could you remain for a moment?” When the other students had filed out of the room, she turned to him. “Something seems to be bothering you. Can I help?”
“Nein.” It was a measure of his distress that he had resorted to German. “No one can help.” His face crumpled as he said, “Marta married someone else. She vould not vait for me.”
The corporal was right. This was a problem Abigail could not solve. “I’m so sorry,” she said, wishing there were something she could do to bring a smile back to his face. But there was not.
She wasn’t there. Abigail scanned the horizon, noticing how the once green prairie had turned golden brown, the legacy of summer’s heat and dryness. Though the wind set the cottonwoods’ leaves dancing, and a bluebird sang to his mate, there was no sign of Leah.
“There’s only one thing to do,” Abigail told Sally as she headed south. “We’re going to pay a visit to Peg’s Place.” Not surprisingly, the mare did not respond.
The hog ranch was as dilapidated as Abigail remembered. The same chickens scratched in the dirt, while on the other side of the main building, a seemingly well-fed cat licked its paws. If, as Leah claimed, the cat’s mission was to catch mice, it appeared that the ranch must have a substantial rodent population.