by S. B. Moores
Toby had appeared as suddenly as Abby had, and now stood a little too closely beside her for Justin’s comfort.
“Hello, Justin,” Toby said before Justin could answer. He extended his hand. “How are you?”
“Aside from trying to breathe my punch, I suppose I’m fine, thank you.” Justin shook Toby’s hand, but he thought the gesture a little too formal, coming from his lifelong friend.
“I saw you standing alone with these two delightful young ladies,” Tobias said, “and I thought it a shame that you should hoard them all for yourself.” He took Abby’s hands in his.
Toby had referred to both girls, but he beamed at Abby, and Justin could tell his compliment was meant for her entertainment. Surely the women could tell that also. He glanced at Sally, whose stoic smile showed no trace of embarrassment.
“Actually,” Justin said, “there seem to be plenty of ladies to go ’round.” As he spoke, Sally stood up and clasped the crook of his arm, which he raised reflexively for her benefit.
“Good,” Toby answered quickly, “I’m glad you said that, because really I need to speak to Abby here about a matter of some importance.”
She looked at him quizzically. Noticing her expression, Toby said, “Oh, all right. It’s her mother, actually. She wants Abby to show me where the pall-mall equipment is. We’re starting a match.”
Mother, Abby thought, as she let Tobias lead her away. “I’ll be back,” she called over her shoulder.
Justin stood for a moment, watching them go, then glanced at Sally as though he’d forgotten she was there. He smiled at her sheepishly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry,” Sally said. “For you. Come. Sit down again and tell me all about it, as if I didn’t already know.” She sat back down on the bench and patted the seat beside her. Justin dutifully joined her.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked, sipping more punch.
“Well,” she said with mock seriousness. “No more so than a puppy dog gazing at a fresh bone.”
He gave her a quick smile and hung his head.
“In all honesty,” she said. “I knew all about it before we were introduced.”
“How?”
“You don’t think I was invited to Mrs. Henrietta Whitfield’s birthday party for her only daughter, Abby, because my father operates the ferry landing at Wilkinson’s Corner, now do you? No, it’s because I’m a friend of the poor girl’s, whether her mother likes it or not.”
“I see,” Justin said, rolling his cup of punch between the fingers of both hands. “I guess that’s the only reason I’m here too.”
“It’s a pretty good reason,” Sally said. “But in your case, I’m sure Mrs. Whitfield is less than pleased.”
Justin realized then why Henrietta had personally escorted him through much of the party. Her attentions were intended only to keep him away from Abby, and it looked as though she had succeeded.
“Damn the Whitfields,” he muttered. “And damn all rich people wherever they are.” He stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back against the bench.
“You’re only saying that because you’re not one of them,” Sally said.
“And they never let me forget it.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Someday you might marry a pretty young rich girl, and then where will you be?”
“I will have died and gone to heaven before Henry Whitfield will let that come to pass.” He scuffed at the grass with his boot.
“Don’t be so sure,” she said. “I happen to know that Abby is quite fond of you.”
Justin let his skepticism show on his face.
“I should know,” she said, smiling. “I really am her friend, after all. And girlfriends talk about these things. Believe me, she has an eye on you.”
Justin’s disbelief turned once again to hope, and he looked across the lawn at the milling crowd of gaily dressed young men and women. Abby was nowhere to be seen.
“Then again,” Sally continued, “she seems to see something in Tobias Johnson, too.”
Justin gave her a frustrated glance.
“I don’t know why,” she said slowly. “But it might have something to do with the fact that he’s rich, and not so bad looking on top of that.”
Justin laughed. Truly he had been acting like a puppy worrying a bone. He could see that now, but he couldn’t help it. He would have given all of the Whitfields’ riches and those of every other family represented at their party for the chance to make Abby love him. He wondered how much the simple, unfortunate fact of his birth would ultimately thwart him from reaching the only goal that meant anything to him.
“Come on now, and take my arm,” Sally said as she stood up from the bench. “Let’s us poor folk mingle with the idle rich and see what trouble we can cause.”
The afternoon wore on, and standing around in the heat in his best coat and breeches wasn’t Justin’s idea of fun, although he was grateful for the shade of the gazebo he had helped build. Meanwhile, Tobias kept Abigail engaged in a seemingly endless round of pall-mall games, in which the winners of one game were obliged to play the next challengers. Justin wasn’t sure enough of the rules of the old game to try to play, but he watched Abby from the corner of his eye whenever the conversation slackened and gave him the opportunity. Abby seemed to know he was watching, as she glanced at him occasionally, too. Meanwhile, Justin found Sally’s company agreeable enough, and there were other friends with whom he shared news and stories. None of the young men and woman ignored him or treated him with disrespect, and Justin had hope that prejudice on the basis of social standing might die out with his parents’ generation.
All the while, each new rivulet of sweat that tickled its way down his back magnified his impatience at not being able to talk to Abby. Eventually, the energy of the party started to wane. A few of the invited guests made their apologies and departed. The remaining young men and women seemed as worn out by the heat and gaiety as Justin. They remained out of politeness, it seemed, and Justin was beginning to think he no longer had the patience to outwait the other young men who showed an interest in Abby. The lawn games finally ended, and the competitors made their way into the shade of the gazebo and looked for a cool drink.
Tobias stood next to Justin.
“You have a knack for pall-mall,” Justin said.
“I love winning, that I won’t deny. But the truth be known, I lost that last round on purpose, just to get it over with.”
“I can’t imagine how you managed all this time in the heat.” Justin wiped at his brow.
“I’m a wreck, but you look as though you’ve been swimming in the creek with your clothes on.”
“I wish I had.”
At that moment a young lady in a powder-blue dress collapsed onto a bench, nearly fainting. Abigail bent to help her, holding out a cup of water while another girl fanned the poor woman. Everyone seemed at wits’ end, but the young lady’s condition and Toby’s last remark gave Justin an idea.
“Toby,” he said. “Are you up for some different fun?”
“Anything to get my mind off the heat.”
“Come with me.” With Tobias in tow, he made his way to the side of the gazebo that overhung the edge of the fish pond. He turned to face the remaining guests and raised his hands.
“Excuse me! One moment, please!” he said, getting everyone’s attention. Abby watched him with caution and curiosity written on her face.
“We are all suffering from the afternoon heat and humidity,” he said. “And for myself, I’ve had quite enough of this stifling cravat.” He elbowed Tobias to follow his lead and swiftly stripped the tie from his neck. Then he tossed it over his shoulder into the pond.
“Me, too!” Toby did the same, much to the laughter of the guests. Soon all of the men were tearing at their necks to rid themselves of the offending neckties.
“And while we’re at it,” Justin said. “My feet are roasting in these boots like game hens in
the oven.” Justin danced on one leg and then another until he had pulled his boots off and he stood in his stocking feet. Toby and the other men followed suit as soon as they realized what Justin was doing.
“Now then, without a tie and boots, surely we no longer need these heavy jackets to maintain decorum.” The women were all laughing as men’s jackets quickly littered the floor of the gazebo. Abigail smiled in disbelief, and even the woman who’d nearly fainted had recovered enough to watch the show. But Justin wasn’t finished.
“Now then, don’t we look like a silly bunch of fools, standing around in the heat when there’s a cool bath waiting for us, right here at our feet?” He gestured at the fish pond, then turned about and dove headfirst into the water.
“He’s made a very good point, don’t you think?” Tobias said. He jumped in after Justin.
Screams of laughter filled the gazebo as every man who remained at the party ran forward and jumped or dove into the water.
Abigail’s party had quickly come to an end after Justin’s stunt. The only thing that saved him from Henry’s wrath was that Tobias and every other man remaining at the party had jumped into the pond, too. Even so, Justin got more than one irritated glance from Henrietta as the men dried themselves off, dressed, and took their leave. Justin much preferred the looks of amusement and appreciation he’d received from Abby. He still hadn’t talked to her at any length, or been alone with her; Henrietta had made sure of that. What the future would bring, he had no idea, but damn the consequences. He considered the party a success. Even so, he didn’t expect to be invited to the Whitfield farm again anytime soon.
Two weeks later, he welcomed the escape from his chores, not to mention the questions of his parents, to indulge in one of his favorite activities, deer hunting. The hunt had a practical purpose, as it put meat on the table for his family, and he knew his brief sojourn into the quiet forest would help him sort out his thoughts about life and Abby. The young Whitfield was never far from his mind and, given the unspoken purpose of Abby’s party, he felt more pressure than ever to find some means of winning her hand. He had to act, and that meant revealing the true depth of his feelings to Abigail. It was time.
Having made the decision to talk to Abigail, he felt liberated—no, exhilarated—by the idea. She already knew something of how he felt, of course. Only a blind man could not have seen the way he mooned at her when she was near. But he would finally tell her outright, and knowing this, he felt a great weight suddenly lift from his shoulders. Unfortunately, as soon as that weight was gone, another one took its place. What would Abby say if he made his desire plain? He thought she felt the same, but that might only be his earnest wish. And even if she returned his affection, there would still be her parents to deal with. He hadn’t done anything lately to improve his relationship with them. He shook his head to clear it, then tried to put aside such thoughts and focus on the immediate task at hand.
He brushed quietly through the lower branches of a copse of pine trees, advancing a dozen steps, no more, before stopping. He waited, his senses alert for any movement, any sound or subtle change in the color or pattern of the woodland canvas spread before him.
He remembered the day he talked with Abby outside the store in Ridgetop. He played the conversation over in his mind for the thousandth time, searching for every shred of significance in the words Abby had spoken. She had been coy, it was true, but she had been coy as long as he’d known her. Yet she encouraged him, too. He was not mistaken about that, even though she had never confessed her own feelings, and that uncertainty unsettled him whenever he considered it.
He stood motionless for a full three minutes. Seeing nothing move, he stepped forward carefully, avoiding twigs and dried leaves. He wouldn’t put his full weight on his leading foot until he knew he had not stepped on anything that would snap or make a sudden noise and reveal his presence.
Carefully stalking through the trees, he felt his uncertainty about Abby grow in proportion to his desire to tell her how he felt. The woman puzzled him. She could have any beau she wanted, and not just from the Ridgetop Valley, so why should she want him? He had visions of Abby traveling to New York, Paris, and other exotic locations he’d only read about. In each scene, finely dressed men with trimmed moustaches hung on her every word, laughing at her humor, holding her hand. They drank wine and danced every evening, and for the thousandth time he silently cursed his family’s poor circumstances.
Then he chuckled at himself. The wealthy men in his visions never received any more commitment from Abby than he ever had. For him at least, she always left the possibilities open. The delicate dream, which she could crush at any time with a single word, had always been left secure. And that fact encouraged him, driving him on.
Once again he tried to clear his thoughts. He checked the flash pan of the musket one more time, but he could no more rid his mind of Abby than he could will himself to stop breathing.
Standing motionless, he watched unblinking as a large buck stepped cautiously into a clearing, almost thirty yards away. The animal’s nose twitched as it sampled the air for any dangerous scent, but the soft breeze on his cheek told Justin he was upwind of the buck. He might not be seen as long as he didn’t move and give away his position.
The buck took two more careful steps. Without looking down, Justin slowly felt the breech lock of his musket with his thumb, confirming that the weapon was cocked and ready to fire. Still he waited, not yet lifting the heavy gun to his shoulder.
The buck bent its head down tentatively, still looking up, as if it anticipated some unseen terror. Justin was that terror, but he felt no regret over the role he played in the unfolding scene. He was as much a part of the natural order as the deer he was about to kill.
The buck’s antlers swung low as it bit a mouthful of the sweet grass at its feet. At virtually the same instant, Justin raised the musket to his shoulder. The smooth wooden stock and weight of the weapon felt familiar in Justin’s hands. He looked at the deer over the small metal bead at the end of his gun’s long barrel. He could shoot it at any time. Instead, he hesitated, watching the animal, studying its behavior to learn all he could before he ended its life. Sunlight glinted through trees and played patterns across the animal’s brown fur. Justin practically felt the soft texture of the fur as it ruffled in the breeze.
At the instant his finger tightened on the trigger, Justin thought about the softness of Abigail Whitfield’s skin. He envisioned stroking Abby’s delicate forearm, the smooth alabaster wonder of it, soft as deer’s fur. Rather than smoothly pull the trigger, his finger quivered. The hammer shot forward, striking flint against steel and igniting the powder in the breech as the gun fired. His hesitation had been infinitesimally small, but it was enough to send his shot wide of its mark. Through a cloud of smoke, he saw a flash of red blossom on the deer’s flank behind where he had judged the heart to be. The animal dropped to its knees from the impact of the shot, but immediately regained its footing and limped gamely away into the underbrush.
“Damn,” he muttered.
He gave up any pretense of silence and crashed through the trees and bushes to follow the deer. Its wound might eventually prove fatal, but it could take some time. He followed the deer to end its suffering as soon as he could. Unfortunately, if his round had not crippled the deer, it might take hours, even days, to track the animal and finish the job. It was not a task he would enjoy, but he could not let the deer suffer needlessly simply because it might be difficult to follow it.
Rushing to the spot of trampled grass where the buck had been grazing, he saw drops of blood. He knew then that tracking the animal would not take long. He stalked through the trees in the direction the deer had disappeared and found more blood on the lower branches and leaves. The deer too had given up any pretense of secrecy and, listening carefully, Justin heard it smashing through the underbrush in front of him.
As he followed, Justin poured a measure of gunpowder down the long barrel of his m
usket. Then he rammed another lead ball and wad home and renewed the charge in the pan of the breech lock. Glancing around, he found himself on the edge of another clearing. Through the trees he saw what must have been one of Henry Whitfield’s pastures. A dozen or so cattle milled about in the distance, but their heads were up and looking at a rider coming into the pasture from Justin’s right, about two hundred yards away. He recognized Toby’s riding coat and the dusky gray roan he’d owned for several years. Toby held a section of rope in one hand, which he spun at the milling cattle, herding them toward a gate in the fence some distance away.
Toby rode back and forth, directing the cattle and punctuating his movements with an occasional whistle or shout. Justin almost called out to Toby, but he hesitated. Something about the scene struck Justin as odd. It wasn’t simply that Toby was herding cattle on Henry Whitfield’s pasture. It wasn’t the strangeness of seeing Toby; it was what he heard. Toby’s shouts and whistles were muted, almost whispered, as though he didn’t want to unduly disturb the cattle.
Justin stood still and watched a moment longer as Toby cut one cow from the herd and guided it toward a gate in Henry’s fence. He stepped farther back into the woods until he was sure he couldn’t be seen if his friend happened to look in his direction. Whatever Toby was doing with Henry’s cattle wasn’t his business. But seeing his friend on the Whitfield farm and remembering how he’d clung to Abby at her party made him cautious. Perhaps it was too soon to confess his love for Abigail. He might look the fool if he did so without first learning how she felt about him. Especially if she were letting Tobias court her.
He turned away and studied the ground for signs of the wounded deer. He would not go home until he found it and put it out of its misery.
CHAPTER TWELVE
September 13, 1834
With fall coming on, Abigail dared to hope her parents had given up their plan to marry her to a carefully selected, so-called suitable mate. Until Elly, her trusted servant, knocked on her bedroom door. She looked worried.
