More Than Words Can Say

by Karen Witemeyer

  Abby flashed her dimples and pulled back the cover on her basket. “How about a stack of lemon scones?”

  “Lemon scones?” Reuben made a grab for the basket. “Consider me bribed.”

  “Wonderful! So I can borrow my husband for about thirty minutes?”

  Reuben held the scones up to his nose and inhaled. “Thirty minutes? For lemon scones, madam, you can have him for the entire afternoon.”

  The entire afternoon? Zach’s pulse ratcheted up three levels, nearly causing him to miss the knowing wink his partner threw his way.

  “I only need thirty—ooh!”

  Zach snaked an arm around her waist and spun her toward the exit. “Don’t argue with the man, wife.”

  Reuben’s chuckle echoed behind them as they ducked into the office. Zach grabbed his coat off the hook by the door without pause and steered Abigail out onto the street.

  “You can kidnap me first,” Zach murmured as he slid his arms into his coat sleeves. “Take me wherever you like. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. But after . . .” He smoldered a glance her way, making no effort to hide his thoughts. “I get to kidnap you.”

  Roses bloomed in her cheeks, and her feet stumbled over a wagon rut in the road. Zach took her arm as much for his pleasure as her support. He did love touching her.

  “Zacharias Hamilton,” she scolded even as she leaned into him, “behave yourself. We’re on our way to Lydia Putnam’s house. She and the other widows wish to give us something, and I won’t have you distracting me with such . . . suggestive talk.”

  Zach shaped his features into a mien of forced solemnity and nodded as soberly as Brother Samuelson after one of his sermons on the dangers of sin. “No talk of kidnapping. Got it.”

  “Thank you.” Her lips twitched in an almost-grin, one she managed to subdue. Unfortunately. “These ladies are dear friends, and whatever gift they have planned, no matter how small, we will receive it with a healthy display of gratitude. Remember the story of the widow’s mite from the Bible. It’s not the size of the gift that matters but the size of the heart doing the giving.”

  “I know.” He covered the hand she’d placed on his arm with his palm, his teasing attitude shifting to one more serious in nature. When she tilted her head sideways at him, he slowed his step. “You have one of the biggest hearts of all, Abigail, and you’ve given me more than I dreamed possible. More than I deserve.”

  She shook her head and tugged him forward as if embarrassed by his praise. But she needed to hear it. To believe it. He gave in to her tugging and picked up his pace, but he steered her down a side street where fewer people bustled along.

  After they’d gone about a block, he drew to a halt near a large shade tree and turned her to face him. “You’ve given me your love and made me part of your family, Abby. There are no gifts more precious than those.”

  “Well,” she said, her eyes not quite meeting his, “you’ve made me part of your family too.”

  But he hadn’t given her his love. At least not in a way that allowed her to be certain of his feelings. Her unspoken words deafened him with that truth.

  He wanted to tell her, needed to tell her, but the words that came out of his mouth made a different confession.

  “I, uh, made my peace with God today.”

  Her gaze slammed into his, no longer shy but brimming with excitement. “Oh, Zach! That’s wonderful!”

  The woman so set on not displaying her affection in public wrapped him in a hug. It might have been quick and platonic, but he felt the warmth of it deep inside his bones.

  “I’m so happy for you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s because of you, you know.”

  She started shaking her head, but he refused to let her belittle her part.

  “You showed me that I did have a choice all those years ago, that I could have let God take the lead instead of charging forward on my own terms. I could have trusted God with Seth and Evie’s welfare the way you are trusting him with the bakery. But I didn’t. I want to change that. With you. With our family. I see you working with all your strength to preserve what is important but always in a way that honors the Lord. I want to do the same. With God’s help, I will from here on out.”

  Abby rubbed at her eye with the back of her hand even as she beamed a smile at him. “Does this mean I’ll hear you sing at prayer meeting tonight?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Though I gotta warn you, the bucket I carry my tunes in is pretty rusty. Probably has a few holes in it too.”

  “Then you’ll fit right in with the rest of us. There’s a reason God told his people to make a joyful noise, you know. Musical prowess is not a requirement, just an engaged heart.” She patted his chest to emphasize her words, and he snatched the opportunity, trapping her hand and pressing it even closer to the organ that belonged to her.

  “Church ain’t the only place my heart’s engaged.” In truth, it was about to beat its way out of his breast this very minute.

  Her gaze sought his, her indrawn breath begging him not to disappoint her. Not in this.

  “I . . . love you, Abby.”

  She froze, her face completely expressionless.

  Had he done it wrong? He’d said the words out loud. His throat still vibrated from the effort.

  A tear rolled down her cheek. Then another one.

  Confound it! He had mucked it up. He never should have opened his big mouth.

  “C’mon, Abby,” he cajoled as he dug out his handkerchief and thrust it at her. “No cryin’. What will the widow ladies think?”

  She ignored the handkerchief, lifted up on tiptoes, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “They’ll think I’m married to the most wonderful man in the world, and they’ll be right. Oh, Zach. I love you too. So much.”

  She kissed his cheek—a quick peck that ended before it began. But that stamp of approval inflated his confidence to the point that he strutted all the way to Widow Putnam’s house, waving and tipping his hat to everyone he met because nothing could be finer than loving Abigail and having her love him in return.

  Once they arrived at the modest home several blocks down Main Street, Mrs. Putnam ushered them into her parlor, where a dozen or so ladies nibbled on sandwiches and tea. The moment the Hamiltons entered, however, the ladies set their refreshments aside and rose to their feet. All but the two eldest, anyway. Elmira Welch was eighty if she was a day and had well earned the right to keep her seat, and Zach was pretty sure Gertie Donaldson had dozed off. But everyone else smiled at them in welcome, a secretive gleam lighting their eyes that made Zach a tad nervous.

  Lydia Putnam cleared her throat and pivoted to face Abigail. “Abby Jane, we were all madder than hornets when we heard about that woman sabotagin’ your oven.”

  By Sunday morning, news of the vandalism at the bakery had spread far and wide, and by Sunday night, rumors of Sophia Longfellow’s alleged involvement in the crime had tickled nearly every ear in town. Zach wasn’t sure how word had gotten out about Sophia. Perhaps the marshal had related the tale to someone, or one of the Longfellows’ servants might have found the gossip too juicy to resist passing along. However it started, the story had certainly soured public opinion toward the mayor’s wife.

  Mrs. Putnam pulled a scrap of paper from her skirt pocket, unfolded it, and held it out at arm’s length as she squinted at the words. “For years,” she intoned, “you and your family have given back to this community by supplying baked goods to those of us in reduced circumstances. Not only did you feed our bodies with your visits, but you fed our souls as well, always taking the time to ask after our families and our health. It is only right that we do something to give back a measure of what you have given to us.”

  She folded the paper back up and shoved it into her pocket. “Ella Sue wrote them fine words.” She nodded to a tall slender lady at the back of the parlor. “Every lady here had a part in this effort.”

  “What effort is that, Miss Lydia?” Abby’s sweet smile revealed her genuin
e love for the ladies present. Whatever pittance they’d come up with, he had no doubt she’d thank them as if it were a king’s ransom.

  “We took up a collection, girl. For a new oven.”

  “That’s so kind. You didn’t have to—”

  “Don’t you act all demure, now, Abby Jane.” Lydia Putnam was a fierce little thing, shaking her bony finger at Abigail as if she were an errant child. “You need a new oven. A proper oven. And while we might not have gathered enough funds to cover the entire cost, we figure we’ll get you pretty close.” She turned to the fireplace mantel behind her, took down a small battered paperboard box, and handed it to Abby. “We collected eighty-seven dollars and thirty-two cents.”

  “Eighty-seven . . . ?” Abigail’s eyes widened to the size of silver dollars, and her jaw dropped, leaving her words to dangle unfinished.

  Zach stepped closer and fit his hand to the small of her back, though truth to tell, he felt just as stunned as his wife looked. How on earth had a group of penniless widows raised that kind of money in a matter of days?

  Lydia Putnam crossed her arms over her chest, looking exceedingly pleased with herself. “We might not have more than a handful of coins to rub together between the lot of us, but God blessed us with other gifts we could put to use. We got feet to carry us, hands to knock, and faces that remind even our grumpiest neighbors of their grannies, aunts, or sisters.”

  “And enough stubbornness not to take no for an answer,” one of the ladies called out from the back of the room.

  Laughter filled the air as Mrs. Putnam shrugged. “God gave me more than the average helping of that particular attribute, I must admit. Gotta use what we’ve been given, right?”

  A lady in blue stepped forward. “We knocked on every door in town.”

  One in brown added, “We even staged a protest at City Hall.”

  Abigail slanted a glance at Zach before turning back to the ladies beaming in pride in front of her. “A protest?”

  “Yep,” Lydia confirmed. “All fourteen of us marched down to City Hall yesterday and parked outside Mayor Longfellow’s office. We refused to leave until he heard us out. He tried to dodge us by hiding in his office, but he had to come out sometime, and when a meeting with the school board demanded his attention, we nabbed him.”

  “You should have seen Lydia.” The lady who’d written the speech made her way to the front of the pack. “When we asked the mayor for a donation, he tossed his spare change at us and tried to walk away. Lydia wouldn’t have it. She ignored his bluster when he demanded we leave, called his bluff when he threatened to send for the marshal, and then took him to task for knowingly letting a criminal walk free just because she was married to him. She accused him of being a co-conspirator and betraying his constituents.”

  “Well, I didn’t use those words, exactly.” Was the feisty matriarch actually blushing? “Not even sure I know what half them words mean, Ella Sue.”

  “You communicated just fine, as far as Mayor Longfellow was concerned,” Ella Sue insisted. “He sputtered worse than an overboiled teapot, adamantly denying he had any knowledge of the crime.”

  “But Lydia wouldn’t let him dodge,” the lady in brown said. “She insisted an honorable man would do the right thing and make restitution to the wronged party. A man who cared about his city would protect its citizenry.”

  The lady in blue took over the telling. “All the commotion drew a sizeable crowd, and in a matter of minutes, Mayor Longfellow folded like a paper doll. He ended up donating fifty dollars from his personal account to our oven fund.”

  More than half of what had been collected.

  “It’s a miracle.” Abby trembled beside him, her emotions perilously close to the surface.

  Zach anchored her to his side with an arm about her middle even as his own thoughts spun. God had provided. They’d trusted him to take care of things, been content to wait as long as necessary, and then he’d done this—worked a miracle through a gaggle of women who could barely eke out their own existence. Their need was greater than any need he and Abigail faced, yet these women gave freely, without thought for themselves. It humbled him and made one thing abundantly clear in his soul.

  “God is good.”

  Zach scanned the females standing before him, then turned to his wife, the beautiful woman looking up at him with so much love, he swore he felt it seep into the pores of his skin. He tightened his hold on her waist and whispered the words again so that only she could hear.

  “God is good.”

  Epilogue

  TEN DAYS LATER

  Abigail never thought she’d actually be pleased to have a kitchen full of sweaty, grunting men, but she had to admit that they made a lovely frame around her new Montgomery Ward cookstove.

  “A little more to the right,” she directed as her husband and Reuben adjusted the heavy cast-iron range. “There! Nate, does the exhaust pipe line up properly?”

  The boy, who’d been left in charge of the hollow pipe, jumped back onto the chair he’d been using and fit the large L-shaped cylinder to the rear of the stove, then twisted to see if the end would connect to the wall in the same place as her old industrial oven. Abigail said a quick prayer. This was the fourth time they’d adjusted the position of the cookstove, and she had a feeling that if it didn’t match up this time, Zach would just cut a new hole in the wall.

  “I think if I twist it around a little . . . yes! It fits.”

  “Wonderful!” Abigail clapped her hands even as she sent a silent thank-you heavenward. “I’ll pour the celebratory lemonade while you gentlemen finish up the final connections.”

  Reuben exhaled an exaggerated groan, pressing his palms into his lower back as he slowly straightened his posture. “How long until you order the bigger oven? I think I’m going to need a year or two to recover from installing this one.”

  “Milksop,” Zach grouched good-naturedly as he squished his large frame behind the oven to secure the exhaust pipe.

  Reuben shrugged off the insult and handed Zach a wrench. “What can I say? Old age is setting in. Making me frail.”

  Zach snorted. “You’re about as frail as a slab of granite.”

  Reuben made a fist and examined his bicep. “You think so?”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. Men. They had their foibles, but they had their good points too. She and Rosalind never would have managed this stove on their own. Filling three glasses of lemonade, she thanked God for bringing these particular men into her life. A dear friend always ready to lend a helping hand, a boy with a big heart and a head that soaked up knowledge wherever he went, and her husband—the man she couldn’t imagine living without.

  Who would have guessed that a ridiculous, antiquated city ordinance would bring her the biggest blessing of her life?

  But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good. The words Joseph had spoken to his brothers after their jealousy led them to sell him into slavery resonated in her heart as if they were her own. Sophia had intended her harm, but God had used it for good. He’d given her a true partner in life, one who saw her as an equal, who respected her and loved her even with her abundant curves and independent mindset. Her bakery profits might be down, but the profits that truly mattered had surpassed all expectation.

  Taking a glass in each hand, she made her way to where the men were huddled around the stove—Zach working the wrench, Nate holding the pipe, and Reuben offering unsolicited advice.

  “Here you go.” She handed the first glass to Reuben.

  “Ah! Beautiful.” He accepted the lemonade and promptly gulped down half the glass. “Mmm. Delicious. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for all your help today.”

  Reuben dipped his chin. “My pleasure.”

  “Oh, and to answer your question, you’ll have at least six months to rest up before we order the new oven.” Abby grinned at him. “We need about sixty dollars more to have sufficient funds to cover the purchase and shipping of the
industrial oven. I’m hoping that with this addition,” she said with a nod toward the new cookstove, “I’ll be able to start putting money aside again. We’ll have to see how things go, but I hope to have the Taste of Heaven back to peak performance by the new year.”

  “That’s great.” Sincerity eclipsed Reuben’s usual teasing charm for a brief moment. But then he grinned and pressed a hand against his lower back. “Guess I better get home to rest up, then.” He finished off his lemonade in one long drink, then handed the glass back into her keeping. “I’m off, Zach,” he announced with a little salute. “Gonna see if Audrey needs some rest too. She works hard, you know. Could probably use a nap.”

  Zach looked down from where he’d been attaching the pipe to the vent in the wall and caught Abigail’s eye. “I might need one myself after this.”

  Those pesky flutters started up in her belly again, like they always did when he looked at her like that. He was simply incorrigible. And she loved it.

  As Reuben opened the door to leave, Rosalind and Ida Mae arrived on the step. He moved aside to allow them to enter, then gave a final wave and set off for home.

  “Have you seen the paper?” Rosalind asked as she held up a copy of the Honey Grove Signal.

  Abigail set Nate’s glass of lemonade on the worktable along with Reuben’s empty one, then crossed to meet her sister. “What does it say?”

  “Mayor Longfellow has resigned.”

  “What?” Abby took the paper from Rosalind and scanned the headline article: Longfellow Stepping Down. Former Mayor J. H. Smith to Fill Vacancy.

  “The official story is that he decided to move to Clarksville to oversee his father’s bank,” Rosalind reported, “but the rumor mill has it that he’s moving to get his wife away from all the memories tied to Honey Grove.”

  Memories of Benedict Crowley.

  “Well, I wondered what Sophia meant yesterday when she accosted me in Patteson Dry Goods and accused me of ruining her life a second time,” Abigail mused. “I guess this explains it.”

  “You didn’t tell me she accosted you,” Rosalind said, concern in her eyes.