More Than Words Can Say

by Karen Witemeyer

  So why couldn’t Zach relax enough to write?

  Clenching his jaw, he dipped his nib in the ink and threw a handful of words onto the blank page.

  Evie,

  Things are good here. Folks in town were surprised to learn of the wedding at first. The mayor’s wife tried to stir up a scandal, but that passed.

  Abby had been right about Mrs. Longfellow. She hadn’t shown up to talk in private that Saturday afternoon. In fact, at church the following morning, she had gone around telling people how disheartened she was that Abigail hadn’t come to her for advice before taking such drastic action. What woman of sound moral character would choose marrying a virtual stranger over a straightforward business arrangement? If she wanted to hold on to her little bakery that badly, all she needed to do was partner with one of their local businessmen, a partnership the mayor’s wife would have been more than happy to orchestrate.

  Thankfully, Audrey Sinclair caught wind of Mrs. Longfellow’s rumor-weaving and countered with some well-crafted information of her own. She’d gushed to all who would listen about the intimate wedding ceremony she had hosted in her parlor. About the way the couple had stared into each other’s eyes as they recited their vows, and especially about the kiss Zach had planted on his new wife at the end. Obviously Zach’s daily visits to the Taste of Heaven Bakery all these months hadn’t been solely on account of the sticky buns. He must have been developing a taste for something even sweeter.

  Zach hadn’t denied the story when acquaintances ribbed him about pining after the young baker. He’d just shrugged and accepted their teasing as his due. Maybe a dab of truth lived in the tale. There had been something about Abigail from the beginning that had drawn him, made him anticipate seeing her each morning. He’d never named it or put any effort into understanding it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t existed.

  Even good old Beekman unwittingly aided their cause. The man himself was too decent to gossip, but Maggie Rayburn, his landlady, had cheerfully spread the tale of how she’d witnessed Zach run Elmer Beekman off when he’d found Abigail speaking privately with the deacon near the boardinghouse oak tree. Why would he do that, if not out of jealousy? Then after an extensive private conversation, Zach had taken Abigail’s hand, and the two had walked away together. Yes, Miss Maggie insisted, the secret lovebirds had definitely been courting.

  Mrs. Longfellow’s insinuations had gradually withered beneath the town’s desire to believe in a secret romance. Zach still wasn’t sure why the mayor’s wife was so bent on blackening Abby’s name, though. All his wife had told him was that the two of them had been close friends as children and that a mistake Abigail made drove a wedge between them. She’d looked so heartbroken that he hadn’t wanted to press for more details, but something told him this rift was only going to tear wider, and he’d need to be armed with the facts of what happened if he was to offer his family adequate defense.

  Turning back to his letter, Zach inked his nib and scribbled a few more lines.

  It’s a good thing I cart lumber around all day, or I’d be several pounds heavier by now. It’s hard to go hungry living in a bakery.

  In truth, he ate like a king. Abigail packed him a lunch every morning, usually a sandwich and a piece of fruit. Ham or roast or sometimes a couple of hard fried eggs with bacon between thick slices of the best bread he’d ever eaten. Hearty yet not dense, just the right texture to fill a man’s belly and keep him going through the afternoon. And there was always something for dessert. A couple cookies, a slice of cake, even a fruit tart had been known to make an appearance in his lunch bucket, causing more than one scuffle with Reuben when his partner tried to nip a treat without permission. When Zach complained about his friend’s thievery, Abby started packing extra sweets in his tin. She did love to feed people.

  The courting is

  Zach paused, unsure of what to write. Frustrating was the word that immediately jumped to mind, but that wasn’t fair to Abby. She was holding up her end of the bargain and sharing kisses with him every night—kisses he looked forward to from the moment his eyes opened in the morning. She fed him. Did his laundry. Well, Rosalind did most of the laundry and household chores while his wife worked in the bakery, but Abby was the one who mended the tears in his trousers and the holes in his socks. The one who read from the Bible every evening after supper. The one who asked him how his day went at the lumberyard and smiled as if “fine” was a brilliant response.

  One of his biggest fears before saying his vows was that once she had a claim on him, Abigail would start making demands on him as well. Demands for conversation. Before Evie had left town, she’d given him a stern lecture about how womenfolk liked to know what their menfolk were thinking, and worse yet, feeling. Zach had dreaded those first few evenings with his wife and sister-in-law. But all his worry had been for naught. Abigail never pressed him for conversation. She’d ask questions, enough to let him know she was actually interested in the answers, but she never grew testy about his brevity. Never huffed or glared or rolled her eyes like his sister did when she found his responses lacking. She simply accepted what he was willing to give. And, ironically, her acceptance of his silence made him want to share more.

  Zach scratched a few more words onto the stationery.

  The courting is going well. Abby and I are getting to know each other, and I can honestly say that I have no regrets. She’s a good woman.

  Zach scanned what he’d written so far. Nearly ten lines. Might be a record. He grinned, proud of his efforts, then inked the pen a final time.

  All my best to Seth, Christie, and little Archie.

  Oh, and tell that husband of yours that my offer to shoot him still stands if he gets out of line.

  He had to get at least one dig in. Evie was smart enough to see through her big brother’s bluster to read the fondness between the lines. Logan might have been a no-good scoundrel with nothing but revenge on his mind when he’d first crossed their paths last year, but Zach couldn’t deny that Logan had been good to his sister. Good to all the Hamiltons, actually. Shoot, if it wasn’t for the guilt that stabbed Zach’s gut every time he looked at him, he might actually like his brother-in-law.

  Shaking his head, Zach signed his name to the bottom of the letter and set it aside to allow the ink to dry. The onerous task of letter writing complete, he turned his mind to other pursuits. Namely, how to carve out some private time with his wife. He liked Rosie and all, but if a man wasn’t sharing a bed with his wife, he needed to find other avenues for conducting his wooing. Reuben had suggested the opera house, but Zach didn’t see how sitting in a theatre with a room full of strangers would aid his cause. He needed time alone with Abigail.

  Maybe they could go for a ride out to some pretty spot in the country. Reuben hadn’t grown up around here, he and Audrey having moved to the area about five years ago to be closer to Audrey’s sister, but surely he’d know a few good courting spots. Maybe even someplace with flowers. Abby liked flowers.

  Zach thought of renting her a horse, but he had no idea if she knew how to ride. A buggy would work, but he’d rather just take her up with him on Jack. Ride double. It might raise a few eyebrows, but who cared? They were married. Zach’s pulse quickened at the idea of holding his wife close. Tucking her against his chest. Her hands gripping him for support.

  Like a predator catching scent of his prey, Zach lifted his head and readied muscles that had gone stiff from sitting. His blood thrummed. His mind spun with plots and plans. No slapdash effort would do. If he was going to elevate his courtship, he’d best make sure the results were impressive.

  First thing tomorrow, he’d get Reuben’s recommendations on scenic locales in the area, then he’d corner Rosalind and see if he could convince his sister-in-law to aid his cause.

  Only . . . someone else cornered her first.

  Monday afternoon, an hour before his usual quitting time, Zach left the lumberyard armed with directions to the three best courting spots in Honey G
rove. He marched up Seventh Street, heading to the wagonyard where he stabled Jack, but a familiar head of blond hair in the alleyway snagged his attention.

  Rosalind, a market basket filled with parcels wrapped in butcher paper slung over her arm, shook her head adamantly at a disreputable-looking fellow that Zach didn’t recognize.

  Protective instincts flaring, Zach turned into the alley.

  “You’re mistaken,” Rosalind said, lurching back toward Sixth Street.

  “I don’t think so, love.” The man stepped into her path and blocked her escape. He pulled something about the size of a playing card from his pocket, studied it, then looked back at Rosie’s face. “You’re her, all right. Wait ’til I tell the boys. They’ll all want to come take a gander.”

  “Let me pass.”

  Zach couldn’t see Rosalind’s face, but the shakiness of her voice had him striding forward. She attempted to skirt around the stranger, but the vermin grabbed hold of her arm.

  Zach broke into a run, jaw set and fingers clenched.

  This man had just made a date with his fist.

  CHAPTER

  17

  “Let her go.” His growled demand echoed through the alleyway as Zach advanced.

  The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed into angry slits as he jerked Rosalind closer to his side. “Back off, buddy. I saw her fir—”

  Zach grabbed the man’s arm and yanked him away from Rosalind. The card he’d been holding fluttered to the ground as he brought up a fist to defend himself. He jabbed. Zach dodged.

  Rosalind dropped to the ground between them, and Zach nearly stepped on her hand. “Get out of the way, Rosalind.”

  But she didn’t. Not until her flailing in the dirt produced the fallen card. Worried about knocking her head with his knee, Zach looked down, giving his opponent an opening.

  The man’s fist connected with Zach’s jaw, snapping his head sideways. Rosalind gasped and finally scooted out of the way. Icy calm penetrated Zach’s veins. With his sister-in-law out of the equation, he could give his full attention to his assailant.

  The man retreated a step, but not far enough. Zach swung. His knuckles collided with the man’s cheekbone with satisfying solidness. The fellow staggered backward until he bumped up against the butcher shop wall. Zach advanced, grabbed his shirtfront, and pinned him there.

  “Go fetch the marshal, Rosalind.”

  The man made no move to strike another blow, but he glared at Zach belligerently. “You laid hands on me first, mister.”

  Zach twisted the cotton shirt a notch tighter in his fist. “You laid hands on the lady first, mister. Around here we don’t take kindly to brutes forcing innocent young women into alleys and assaulting them.”

  “Innocent? Ha!” The man practically spat the words. “She might be female, but she sure ain’t innocent. One look at that picture she crawled through the dirt for will tell you that much.” He smirked, and a vile laugh escaped his throat. “Hope you weren’t planning on buying that particular cow. She’s probably been givin’ her milk away for free to gents all over the county. Right under your nose too.”

  Zach’s hands were full of the man’s shirt, so he lifted him a few inches off the ground and head-butted him right in the face.

  “Ow!” Blood spurted from the man’s nose. Good. Maybe the idiot would shut up now.

  A handful of passersby were gathering at the end of the alley and peering in. Rosalind must have seen them too, for she started backpedaling.

  “Let him go,” she said, her voice quiet and quivering.

  Zach twisted to look at her. Pale face. Wide, shimmering eyes. White knuckles gripping that confounded card.

  “Please, Zach. Just let him go.”

  Zach frowned. The maggot deserved jail time, or at the very least a few more blows to the head. Or the groin. That would be more fitting for someone who said such vile things about a girl barely old enough to wear long skirts.

  Unfortunately, Zach couldn’t mete out the appropriate punishment without becoming guilty of assault himself, now that the man was subdued. So, with a sideways shove, Zach released him, taking what satisfaction he could from the blood dripping down the fellow’s face.

  “Get out of here,” he muttered, silently daring the slimy toad to take another shot at him. One swing, and Zach would be justified in smacking him into the ground.

  Unfortunately, his adversary seemed to have come to the same conclusion and opted for self-preservation. After stumbling a couple steps, he righted himself, rubbed the blood from his mouth and nose with a swipe of his sleeve, and shot a scalding glare at Zach that worried him about as much as a dart from an ant’s peashooter. Then, with a sarcastic tip of his hat to Rosalind and a smirk begging to be wiped off his face by Zach’s fist, the man turned and strolled away.

  “You all right?” Zach asked, pivoting to face his sister-in-law.

  She nodded, but she looked about as all right as a kicked puppy.

  He reached a hand toward her. “Here, let me—”

  “No!” She covered the card she held with both hands, pressed it to her chest, and twisted away from him.

  “—take your basket,” he finished, approaching her with the same care one would exude near a skittish mare. His hand closed around the basket handle and gently lifted the weight off her arm. “I ain’t got no interest in relieving you of anything else.”

  As soon as she realized her precious card was safe from prying eyes, everything about her drooped. Her shoulders sagged, and her arms loosened, allowing him to collect the shopping basket from her. But her defenses crumbled as well, for her eyes started leaking and her entire body shook.

  Not tears. Please, Lord. Anything but tears.

  A messy, gasping sob was the answer to that prayer.

  Panic pumped blood double-time through his veins. He scanned the alley for help and found nothing but curious onlookers who didn’t need to be sticking their noses in Rosalind’s private business.

  Not having a clue what to do to make the tears stop, he opted for the one thing he could figure out—how to protect her privacy.

  “This way.” Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he bundled her close and marched away from Sixth Street. He’d been aiming for the wagonyard when this whole debacle unfolded. He might as well take her there. Hide her in Jack’s stall until the tears dried.

  Dried. Handkerchief. Something else he could do.

  Zach jostled the market basket up to his elbow, crammed his left hand into his trouser pocket, and pulled out the solution to all feminine distress. Feeling slightly less inept, he shoved the white cotton at Rosalind as they trudged toward the end of the alley.

  Thanking the Lord for a less crowded walkway on Seventh Street than Sixth, Zach lengthened his stride and steered Rosalind around the handful of folks out and about. They garnered more than a few strange looks, but Zach just scowled and kept moving. No one approached.

  Once they reached the wagonyard, Zach waved off the stableboy with a shake of his head and bustled Rosalind into the livery barn, relieved to note they had the place to themselves. Well, except for a mule team and a pony or two lazing about in their stalls. They stuck their heads over the half doors to see what all the fuss was about when the humans clomped down the center aisle, but otherwise paid them no particular attention.

  Jack nickered a welcome, bobbing his head as Zach approached, but his longtime mount picked up on his mood and grew solemn in a heartbeat. The quarter horse, solid black except for the white star on his forehead and socks on his hind legs, backed away from the door and made room for his human visitors. Zach dropped the market basket outside the stall and shuffled Rosalind into a front corner. Then, moving to his horse, he clasped Jack’s halter and patted his neck as he backed him up a few steps.

  “Good boy,” he murmured softly as the animal obeyed his instructions. “Gonna have to postpone our ride, I’m afraid.” He kept his voice low, not wanting Rosalind to feel bad about interrupting his plans.
He had no regrets. Family came first. Always. Even before courtship.

  Right now, his sister-in-law took precedence over his wife.

  With Jack settled and as out of the way as one could manage in an average-sized stall, Zach stepped away from his horse and joined Rosalind at the front near the door. Not wanting to crowd her, he positioned himself across the stall, casually leaning against the wall behind him.

  Her head bowed, she stared at the ground, the card she’d been grasping so tightly having disappeared. Into a pocket, most likely.

  Not really sure what to say, Zach opted for his favorite tactic—silence. She’d open up when she was ready. And if she didn’t? Well, he’d make it clear that she had his protection. No matter what.

  She was family.

  “It’s not true,” she finally said, her voice quiet, her gaze still glued to the floor, her hands worrying the ends of the damp handkerchief twisted between her fingers. Slowly her chin came up, and pretty blue eyes reddened from tears begged him to believe her. “I haven’t . . . been with anyone.” Her head wagged back and forth, and fresh tears threatened. “I wouldn’t. I swear.”

  Zach frowned, insulted she would think it necessary to deny that particular charge. She was barely more than a kid. “Of course you haven’t,” he snapped. “Anyone with half a brain knows that filth was a lie. You’re as innocent as the day is long.”

  Her gaze dropped back to the ground, and she bit her bottom lip. “No.” She shook her head, and Zach’s gut clenched. “No, I’m not.”

  She’d probably kissed a fellow behind the schoolhouse or something. Didn’t mean she wasn’t still an innocent. A girl as pretty as her had probably had opportunities to kiss dozens of boys over the years. Not that she would have. Zach might not have known her all that long, but he’d seen her character up close and personal the last month. She worked nearly as hard as her sister, running things at home while Abigail ran the bakery. Delivering the widow bread. Even watching Audrey Sinclair’s brood on occasion to allow the busy mother to get a little shopping done without the chaos of toddlers constantly underfoot.