More Than Words Can Say

by Karen Witemeyer

  Abigail rose too, but her expression confused him. It didn’t reflect hurt or insult or even patience. She looked ill. Shaken. Yet before he could ask her what was wrong, she seemed to find her footing. Her eyes never left Ida Mae’s as she slowly rounded the table.

  Now it was the girl’s turn to look shaken. She backed away from Abby, circling her brother’s chair and using him as a barrier. For a moment Zach thought the girl would duck under the table, but Abby did the ducking first. She bent down, her expression soft yet intense.

  “I forgive you, Ida Mae.”

  Zach frowned. For what? Acting like a brat? This scene seemed too intense for such a small infraction. He glanced at Nate, but the kid looked as confused as Zach felt.

  Ida Mae, however, seemed to understand completely. She vigorously shook her head.

  “Nate can still work here,” Abigail said. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t hold it against him. I won’t hold it against you either.”

  The little girl started sobbing. Her brother’s arm came around her shoulders. “I didn’t want to do it, Nate. I swear!”

  Nate’s face scrunched. “What did you do?”

  But Ida Mae was beyond talking, so Zach and Nate turned their attention to the only other person in the room who seemed to know what was going on.

  Abigail straightened. Her gaze found Zach’s, and he swore he could feel the heaviness of her heart tug on his own.

  “Ida Mae set off the firecrackers.”

  CHAPTER

  39

  It had been niggling at Abigail all through dinner. Something familiar. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. Until Ida Mae shoved away from the table and glared at her in guilty defiance. Then everything clicked. Because the boy who had run her down making an escape from her kitchen had worn the exact same expression. And the exact same shoes, now that she thought about it.

  Abigail peered at Ida Mae’s scuffed shoes peeking through the legs of Nate’s chair. Yes, that single button on the side was rather unique, and Abigail was certain she’d seen it before.

  “I thought you said a boy set off the firecrackers.” Zach’s question sliced through the silence that had descended after her proclamation.

  “She wore trousers and a cap to hide her hair. Probably some of her brother’s old clothes.” A rather ingenious disguise. No one would think to accuse a girl of a boy’s crime. Abigail wouldn’t have either if the girl hadn’t been sitting across the table from her for the last thirty minutes.

  Nate took hold of his sister’s arms and pushed her away from him, shock and sorrow etched into his face as he handed her a napkin to stem her tears. “Why would you do such a thing, Ida Mae?” The words were barely more than a heartbroken croak. “Why?”

  The little girl sniffed and hiccupped but managed to make a few words comprehensible. “She said . . . send me . . . orphanage. I’d . . . never . . . see you . . . again.”

  “Who said?” Zach barked, making Abigail wince at the sharp tone.

  Ida Mae cringed too. She tried to burrow closer to her brother, but Nate decided to imitate his new mentor. He pushed to his feet and took on a stern countenance. “Tell us, Ida Mae. Who told you to put the firecrackers in Mrs. Hamilton’s oven?”

  The girl shook her head. “I . . . can’t. If I tell . . . she’ll . . . send me . . . away.”

  Abigail nearly shook with outrage. To threaten a child in such a way—it was despicable. She’d never considered herself particularly maternal, but every ounce of her womanhood bristled at the cruelty Ida Mae had experienced, and compelled her to take action.

  “Is this she Mrs. Longfellow?” Abby blurted. So help her, if Sophia had bullied this child into doing her dirty work . . .

  Ida Mae’s round eyes and indrawn, hiccupping breath was all the proof Abigail needed.

  “Well, this will not be borne. I’m going to corner Mr. Hackamore at church tomorrow and quiz him over family law. Surely she can’t strip a child away from her nearly grown sibling and send her to an orphanage without her consent.”

  “She might . . .” her husband started to argue, but Abigail wouldn’t hear it.

  “Then we’ll just find a way around it. Find a local family to sponsor the children, employ them both here at the bakery, or even become guardians to them ourselves. Whatever it takes. These two will not be separated!”

  A strange look came over Zach’s face, and he blinked. Several times. Did he have something in his eye?

  Ida Mae’s sobs died. She and Nate just stared at Abigail. Rosalind was probably staring at her too. The condition seemed to be going around.

  Maybe she was acting a bit rash, but the situation called for a little audacity. Sophia Longfellow had been making this town—this family—dance to her tune for too long. Someone needed to stand up and put a stop to her manipulations. She wasn’t just spreading rumors and making innuendos anymore. She was destroying property and threatening children. A line had been crossed, and Abigail refused to cower. If she lost the bakery, she lost the bakery. She had a husband, a sister, two able hands, and a faithful God who’d promised never to leave them to fight their battles alone. Whatever the future held, they’d be fine.

  Zach broke the silence by clearing his throat. “We’ll need to talk to the marshal. Ida Mae can tell him what she knows.”

  Nate lurched to his feet, yanking his sister close. “But what will happen to Ida Mae if she admits her part in this?”

  Feeling too militant to soothe his worries with a smile, Abigail opted to meet his gaze head-on. “I have no intention of pressing charges against your sister. You have my word.” She lifted her eyes and fastened them on her husband. “But I have every intention of bringing charges against Mrs. Longfellow. Tonight.”

  Zach grinned. A rather piratey grin, one that brought flutters to her belly even as it promised trouble for whoever dared sail into his path.

  Yes, they’d be fine, indeed.

  Zach prowled the Longfellow parlor, senses on alert. Abby sat with the two kids on the sofa, holding one of Ida Mae’s hands while Nate held the other. The poor girl was whiter than fresh milk, but she wasn’t crying. She hadn’t cried a drop since Abby’s pronouncement that she wouldn’t allow anyone to separate the Miller children. Ida Mae had believed her, apparently, and it had changed everything. She’d managed to give her testimony to the marshal once they’d tracked him down across the square, and she even named Sophia Longfellow as the instigator. Now they sat in their enemy’s front parlor, waiting to confront the woman herself.

  The marshal sat in an armchair near the hearth, the sack of soggy firecrackers Zach had provided as evidence draped in his lap. Zach paced past him and headed back toward the door where the servant had exited with promises to fetch her employers.

  Feeling the warmth of his wife’s gaze on the back of his neck, Zach turned his attention her direction and met her eye. She smiled, just a hint of dimple winking at him. It was more of a we can do this smile than the intimate, teasing ones he preferred, but it melted his heart just the same. She was an incredible woman—willing to fight for a pair of orphans she barely knew, one of whom had vandalized her shop. Normal people didn’t do that. They minded their own business and turned a blind eye to what they didn’t want to see. But not his Abigail.

  Maybe she was naïve to believe that truth would win over power, but she was willing to make the stand, so he’d stand beside her. Fight for her. For the kids. The odds might be stacked against them, but Abby had beaten the odds before. Sophia Longfellow might have wealth and prestige on her side, but Abby had the intangibles—passion, creativity, and a will of steel. His money was on Abby.

  An agitated Chester Longfellow strode into the parlor, his attention locked on the marshal as the lawman rose from his chair. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed at dinnertime, Virgil. And tonight of all nights. I have a fireworks display to oversee. Whatever criminal matter has come up, just toss the accused in jail, and we’ll deal with it on Monday at a civiliz
ed hour.”

  The lawman didn’t seem a bit ruffled by the edict. He just stroked his mustache with his thumb and forefinger and gave the mayor a nod. “All right. Will your missus want to pack a bag first, or should I toss her in the calaboose as is?”

  “Toss her in the—what are you—?” Chester sputtered, his gaze taking in the rest of the room’s occupants for the first time.

  Zach moved to Abigail’s side and offered his hand to help her up from the sofa. Ida Mae and Nate scrambled to their feet as well. Ida Mae looked a mite shaky, but with Abby and Nate anchoring her on either side, she held her own.

  “Yer wife’s the one bein’ accused,” Burton explained. “Malicious destruction of property and coercion.”

  “Nonsense!” Chester’s words echoed with adamancy, but his eyes exuded a touch of anxiety. Of doubt. “How dare you accuse my wife of such crimes? She’s a pillar of this community and above reproach.”

  The marshal just nodded. “That’s why we’re here, Chester. To give her a chance to answer the charges in private.”

  The mayor’s face reddened. “To entertain such an outrageous notion . . . You’re not fit to wear that badge, Virgil.”

  Unheedful of the fine carpet at his feet, the marshal took one step toward the mayor, then upturned the sack in his hands and let the chain of spent firecrackers thud to the floor. “These match the ones you purchased for the celebration?”

  Chester leapt backward to protect his shoes, his nose scrunching in disgust at the mess. “I suppose. What does that have to do with anything? Vendors were selling these crackers all over town today.”

  “Your wife have access to your inventory?” The marshal calmly pressed for details instead of accepting the mayor’s dismissal of the matter. Zach’s opinion of the lawman rose another notch. Virgil Burton wasn’t the mayor’s lackey. He was digging for truth, regardless of the identity of the players.

  “Of course she has access,” Chester blustered. “She’s the one who organized the vendors. She arranged for half the proceeds to be given to the church mission fund too. Now, would you kindly get that filthy thing off my rug?”

  The lawman bent to do just that but stopped when tapping footsteps sounded in the hall.

  “Chester, darling? What is taking so long?” Sophia Longfellow swept into the room, her hostess smile firmly in place even though her tone carried a disgruntled edge. “We’re expected on the square in less than . . .” Her gaze swept past the marshal, stumbled over Abigail, and crashed into Ida Mae. “. . . an hour.”

  The slip in composure was brief but undeniable. At least to Zach. Had she been his opponent at the poker table, he would have pushed all his chips into the pot after that tell. But had Marshal Burton or the mayor caught it?

  “Mrs. Longfellow.” The marshal dipped his chin politely. “I have a witness who has testified that you coerced her into vandalizing Mrs. Hamilton’s industrial oven.”

  “Witness? What witness?” She motioned to Ida Mae, then made a scoffing sound. “You can’t mean this child?”

  “A witness is a witness, ma’am, regardless of age.”

  Sophia ignored the marshal’s statement and went on the attack. “This is your doing!” She pointed a finger at Abigail’s face. “What did you do? Bribe this child to malign me? It’s despicable.” She glanced back at her husband, her eyes demanding his corroboration. “You know how she is, Chester. She’s borne a grudge against me for years. But this . . . this is slander.” She cast an imperious glare at Burton. “I demand you arrest her, Marshal.”

  Zach’s blood roiled, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Barely. He’d agreed to let Burton handle things, but if that shrew kept attacking his wife, he might have to renegotiate that stance.

  The lawman didn’t seem too impressed by Sophia’s outburst, however. He let her steam blow right by. “I seen the oven, ma’am. It’s damaged beyond repair.”

  Was that a flash of triumph in Sophia’s eyes? Hard to tell with the quick lowering of her lashes.

  “The girl admitted her part in the vandalism and named you as the instigator.”

  “Well, the girl’s lying.” Sophia turned her back on the group and flounced over to her husband’s side. “The very idea that I would actually engage in criminal behavior is ludicrous.” She slid her hand around her husband’s arm as if solidifying herself as local royalty and looked down her nose at the marshal. “I’d ask if you have any proof, but how could you? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Got these firecrackers.” The marshal retrieved the soggy string from the floor. “Girl couldn’t afford to buy them. Says you gave them to her.”

  “She’s mistaken. Someone else must have given them to her. Or maybe she stole them. You said she admitted to the vandalism, so you already have proof of her propensity toward criminal behavior.”

  Nate lurched forward. “My sister’s no thief! And the only reason she set off those firecrackers was because you threatened to send her away to an orphanage.”

  “I did no such thing. Why, that’s . . . barbarous.” Sophia shot a look at her husband. “Chester, tell them.”

  The mayor shook himself slightly, then firmed his chin. “My wife is an upstanding citizen with years of dedicated service to this community. If the only evidence you have is this child’s word and some expended firecrackers, your proof is sorely lacking. Now, if you don’t mind, I have responsibilities to this town and must ask you to leave so that I may see to them. Good day, Virgil.”

  The marshal picked up his hat from where he’d hung it off the corner of the armchair, then dropped it into place on his head. “Mayor.” He nodded to Sophia. “Ma’am.”

  Zach moved to his wife’s side and placed a hand at her back as he steered her past the Longfellows. She slowed as she came even with Sophia. He pressed her back, trying to signal her to stay calm and keep moving. They needed to keep the high ground. Sophia was a master at manipulating public opinion. If Abigail lost her temper in front of witnesses, the whole town would hear about her instability before the night was out. Yet when Abby insisted on stopping, he stopped with her.

  “Nate, take your sister outside.” Abby let go of Ida Mae’s hand. “I’ll be there in just a moment.”

  The marshal held the door for the kids as they traipsed out, casting nervous glances over their shoulders. “Mrs. Hamilton?” His voice held a warning edge.

  “I’ll be just a moment, Marshal.”

  Zach nodded in an attempt to reassure him that Abigail wasn’t about to scratch Sophia’s eyes out. At least he didn’t think so. Her voice sounded controlled. Almost conversational.

  “Hamilton,” Chester blustered, “I’ve asked you to leave. Take your wife and go.”

  Zach just stared at him. He wouldn’t move a muscle until Abby was ready.

  Sophia glared at Abigail, haughty as ever. Her eyes lit with triumph even as she gave a little sniff of disdain. Abby ignored the slight.

  “Benedict is dead, Sophia.”

  The other woman gasped, her composure not just slipping but entirely disintegrating as her face lost its color. “We don’t speak that name in this house.”

  “That’s the problem.” Abby held her head high, and pride nearly burst through the seams of Zach’s chest. “We’ve closed ourselves off from that horrible day for too long. It’s festered inside us both, killing our friendship and turning us into people we never intended to become. Losing Ben was a horrible tragedy, one that haunts me to this day. But we have to let it go, Sophia. We have to let God heal our wounds so we can move forward.”

  Pale yet shaking with rage, Sophia Longfellow raised an arm and pointed at the front door. “Get out of my house.”

  Abigail dipped her chin and moved to the door. Zach shadowed her every step of the way.

  His wife had just slapped down an ace-king combination. Sophia might have thought she’d won the hand with her full house, but Abby’s play changed the entire game. They weren’t playing poker anymore but blackjack, and Abby’s b
old move had stolen the pot and scored big, if the look on Chester Longfellow’s face was any indication.

  Once they’d made their exit, Abby hurried over to check on Ida Mae, giving Zach the chance to draw the marshal aside. “Well? You gonna bring Mrs. Longfellow up on charges?”

  The lawman shook his head. “Won’t do no good. Chester’s right. It’s her word against Ida Mae’s, and no judge is gonna take the word of a kid over a woman of her position without evidence to back up the claim. My hands are tied.”

  Zach looked over to where his wife was hugging Ida Mae and praising her for her bravery. Nate met Zach’s eye, and it was clear the kid knew. They’d lost this battle. Zach straightened his posture and watched as Nate followed suit. Just because they’d lost didn’t mean the battle hadn’t been worth waging. A man did what was right even when the odds were stacked against him.

  A tightness pressed against Zach’s ribs. A man also found a way to fix his wife’s problems.

  The firm whack of Burton’s hand on Zach’s shoulder startled him out of his darkening thoughts. “Go home, Hamilton,” the marshal said. “Tend to yer wife. She’s had a trying day.”

  Tend to his wife. Zach’s pulse kicked into a gallop. He’d been planning to tend to his wife in a much different way earlier today. Even now, though, he wanted to hold her, comfort her . . . love her. But after all they’d been through tonight, would she keep her promise and come to his room?

  CHAPTER

  40

  By the time Abigail made it back to the house, all her righteous indignation had leaked out through her tired feet, leaving her depleted.

  Sophia only won the first skirmish, Abby told herself as she dragged her weary bones up the stairs while Zach took a few minutes to board up the broken window. The steps seemed twice as steep as usual and her feet twice as heavy. Or maybe it was her heart that weighed her down.

  Abigail lifted her chin and tugged her mind into a more positive place. Sophia might not be headed to jail tonight, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t struck a significant blow. Marshal Burton seemed to believe their side of the story, and Zach thought Chester might harbor a few doubts about his wife as well, despite his verbal support. It would have to be enough. For now. She’d chew on the problem some more tomorrow, after she had a good night’s sleep.