Love's Last Stand

by S. B. Moores

  Salty tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Some part of her had hoped—no, secretly prayed—that nothing in her life would ever change. That she could stay a single girl, a girl of some privilege, yes, but still a girl, forever. If she never grew up, she could continue to receive the admiring glances of the young men of the valley, never refusing their attention, but never forced to pick and choose among them. To settle for the awful permanence of one.

  All of that had been a foolish childhood notion. A silly dream. Sooner or later she would be required to awaken and take her place in life, probably alongside a man she’d never intended to marry. Never intended to choose. To promise to love and obey him, then bear him children and her father grandchildren.

  “Men!” she growled.

  She reached down with both hands and dug her fingers into the soil on either side of her. It was familiar Whitfield soil, but it was cold between her fingers and gave her no comfort.

  Justin considered hiding the clay jug of sour mash when his father came into the kitchen, but by that time he no longer cared.

  “You’re into your cups a mite early, are you not?” Walter asked.

  “What of it? A man’s got a right to take a drink, no matter the hour.”

  “Aye, and you are a man, now, Justin. But along with being grown comes the wisdom of knowing when to drink. And how much.”

  “Wisdom has nothing to do with me or my drink.” Justin raised the mug and finished the remaining liquor in two swallows. He let the mug bang down onto the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Well, now,” Walter said. “I may be old, but I still have a modicum of wisdom, or so your mother tells me. And if not wisdom, I do have some experience. Is there anything I can do for you, something you won’t find at the bottom of your cup?”

  “You can put a musket ball between my eyes and put me out of my misery. Or, better yet, put one between Henry Whitfield’s eyes.”

  “Ah, now I understand. It’s about young Abigail, isn’t it? That girl has a sparkle in her eye and a skip in her step, that’s true.”

  “I love her, Father, and there is no chance in heaven or on earth that Henry will let me marry her. He’s put Abigail in business with Tobias Johnson.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “It’s just a first step toward marriage.”

  “Has she told you that?”

  “No. But everyone knows it’s true. Besides, Henry won’t let me get near enough to talk to her.”

  “It’s a shame. You and Abby have been close since you were no higher than a wagon axle.”

  “A lot of good that has done us.” Justin eyed the jug of whiskey, but decided against pouring himself any more while his father was in the kitchen.

  “I am truly sorry, son.”

  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Father.”

  “There you’re wrong.”

  He looked at his father. “You had nothing to do with it. It’s all that high-and-mighty Henry’s doing.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t had the Johnsons’ resources, son. I’m sorry a mere Sterling isn’t good enough for the Whitfield clan.”

  “We’re honest farmers,” Justin said. “We work the land as hard as Whitfield—harder, since we can’t hire the hands Henry can. How does that make us less of a family than his?”

  Walter sat down at the table opposite him. “You may not believe it, son, but Henry Whitfield has as much respect for you as any man.”

  “Then he has no respect for any man.”

  Walter reached for a cup and poured himself a short measure of whiskey. “The thing is, Henry isn’t refusing to let you marry Abigail because he lacks respect for you.”

  “No? He’s just doing it for sport then? This is how he gets his entertainment, ruining the lives of two people, and one his daughter.”

  “Quite the contrary.” Walter sipped the whiskey, savoring it. “He wants the very best for Abigail, the same as you. It’s nothing personal to Henry, but it’s precisely to ensure that Abigail’s life doesn’t come to ruin that he won’t let you marry her.”

  “He has no idea what’s best for Abigail. Why shouldn’t she marry the man she loves?”

  “Has she said she loves you, then? I hadn’t heard that.”

  “No, not in so many words.” He pointed at his father. “But I can tell.”

  “Love is a wonderful thing, Justin, but it won’t pay the miller, or the farrier, or bring in the crop in the fall.”

  “Money? That’s what everyone says it comes down to, but I don’t think so. It’s more to do with Henry himself, and his sin of pride. He can’t imagine his precious daughter marrying below her station.”

  “Son, I think we should stick to the facts as we know them. And, as far as you and I know, Abigail is only going into business with Toby. She hasn’t agreed to marry him.”

  “It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Then I suggest we let some time pass before we lose faith.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  September 1835

  Spring had come and gone and summer would soon follow. The horse barn was finally built, but to Abigail’s frustration, Tobias appeared unconcerned about making further plans for the new horse farm. He seemed to think plans were unnecessary, or else they would take care of themselves, and he was in no hurry. Abigail knew that if they were to start the business, they needed to purchase horses from the auctions in Kentucky. But the summer slid by too and Abigail knew they had lost the season. She did nothing to make her anger and frustration known, lest Toby or her father decide she should give up the enterprise as an unnecessary trifle. She was determined to see her own plans through and have Tobias acquire the necessary stock.

  At the critical moment, however, Tobias came down with a flu and was quarantined at the Johnson home. He would not be able to travel for several weeks. With this disappointing news, Abigail sat in the family room, knitting and wondering how they could keep from losing another year. Her mother sat in a comfortable chair near the fireplace, reading correspondence from relatives. Her father was working in one of the barns.

  “Oh, my.” Henrietta set down the letter she’d been reading and looked at Abigail. “It seems that your Aunt Tilda in Louisville has taken ill.”

  “I hope she doesn’t have the same illness as Tobias. It may not be serious, but he has taken to bed and will be weak for some time.”

  “Tilda is said to have the grippe. From her letter it appears she’s in a fair bit of pain.”

  “How awful.” Abigail set aside her knitting. “Will Aunt Tilda suffer this affliction very long?”

  “The surgeons don’t know. From her letter I assume she’ll recover in due time, but the poor dear is a bit older than I am, and she has always been a frail one, even as a child. She does have a penchant for drama, though, so she may not be as sick as she describes, but now that your Uncle Arnold has passed away, I wish I could be there for her.”

  “Yes, of course. I hope there is someone in Louisville who can help her.” Even as Abigail said this, a plan took form in her mind.

  She had wanted to take advantage of whatever momentum she and Toby still had after they announced their plans. If preparations continued to stall for whatever reason, she feared that Toby, or more likely her father, might change his mind and simply insist that the two of them marry. Abigail was willing to play the game, so long as marriage remained only an unspoken assumption, one that could be put off for the indefinite future. If marriage weren’t presumed to be in the offing, Toby’s father might question the wisdom of his son for continuing a business with a woman. Abigail wanted to take concrete steps as soon as possible to prevent any second-guessing. A successful business might continue on its own, even if it became clear that no marriage would follow.

  But with Toby lying sick in bed, there wasn’t anyone who could travel to the Kentucky horse farms to purchase new stock. That might delay her plans another year or more, and a year could bring many
unpredictable changes.

  She took her leave from her mother and found her father in the horse barn, giving orders to a few of the hired men. The workers left to go about their tasks, and she waited until her father turned away to catch his attention.

  “Hello dear.” He coiled a length of rope as he spoke.

  “Hello, Father. Have you heard of Toby Johnson’s illness?”

  “Yes, of course. He has a flu, doesn’t he?”

  “It may be that. It seems to linger, leaving him weak.”

  “He’s a strong young man. Don’t you worry, dear. God willing, he’ll be up and around in no time. You’ll see.” He briefly patted her arm.

  “Yes, I hope so, and we should be glad of that. But I’m concerned about the timing of his illness.”

  “The timing?”

  “Yes. As you know, the auctions will begin soon in Kentucky. Toby was hoping to go there to purchase a few foals and several brood mares for our enterprise. But now . . .”

  “But now he can’t. Is that what you mean? Such are the uncertainties of any business, I suppose.” Henry appeared unconcerned, or ready for her to call the whole venture off.

  “Yes,” she said. “But I was hoping we could find a substitute. Someone who could go to Kentucky on our behalf.”

  Henry lifted the coil of rope onto a wall peg and looked at her. “A substitute?”

  “Yes. Someone who is knowledgeable of horses, and who can purchase good stock.”

  “Of course. But who would that be? I suppose we could contact one of the firms I sometimes deal with in Louisville—”

  “Oh, no, Father. I wouldn’t want some stodgy old breeding firm in Louisville picking out my horses. I’d want someone whose opinion I can trust. It would have to be someone I know personally. An expert, perhaps, like you.” She added that last bit of flattery on a whim. She knew her father would never consider taking a lengthy trip away from the farm in the midst of harvest, especially for something he considered frivolous.

  “Me? I couldn’t possibly. I have too many responsibilities here.” He waved his arm, taking in the barn and the whole farm.

  “I suppose that’s true. Then I will have to look for someone else. But it will be hard to find anyone with your knowledge of horses, Father.”

  “True enough. I’m sorry I can’t go myself. You let me know if anyone suitable comes to mind. If not, then perhaps next year, eh?” Henry gave her a knowing smile, one that wished her “good luck” on such an impossible task.

  “Thank you, Father. I will let you know when I have arranged for a substitute.” With that she spun on her heels and left the barn.

  Her father hadn’t suggested the name of anyone in particular who might go to Kentucky, undoubtedly because he didn’t take her venture seriously. Even so, Abigail hoped her last statement made it clear that he had effectively given his permission for her to find someone else to make the trip. She already had someone specific in mind. The perfect candidate.

  It wasn’t until the following Sunday that Abigail was able to speak to Justin, and then only after church services. She found him near the church corral, where he was preparing to leave. She walked up to him casually, with her hands clasped behind her, as though she had no specific purpose in mind.

  “Hello, Justin Sterling,” she said.

  “Hello, Abigail Whitfield.” He looked up from inspecting his saddle and seemed pleased, but not surprised, to see her.

  “It’s a fine day, isn’t it?” She studied the blue sky overhead.

  “Yes it is. And your father gave us a fine Sunday service. Did he not?”

  She wondered why he referred to her father’s service. The topic of Henry’s sermon was clarity of purpose. The purpose being to live an honest, Christian life. Perhaps Justin was being pleasant, or maybe he wanted her to get to the point.

  “Father has a way with words.”

  “Aye, he does, and with everything he puts his mind to.”

  “Yes, of course.” She was struggling for a way to pose her question, but Justin provided the opening himself.

  “Congratulations on your new venture,” he said. “I’m sure you and Toby will make fine partners.” The look on his face didn’t match his congratulatory words. If only Justin had the financial means to help her, there would be no question in her mind whom she’d rather have as a partner. In business or otherwise.

  She looked down at the ground. “Thank you, but things are not beginning as well as they might.”

  “How’s that? I’d have thought a Whitfield and Johnson enterprise would be nothing but a roaring success.”

  “And it will be. It will be.” She reached out and touched him briefly on the arm. “It’s just that Toby isn’t well, at the moment.”

  “So I’ve heard. I missed him at service.”

  “Yes, well. His illness isn’t too serious, but it means we have no one who can travel to Kentucky to acquire horse stock.”

  “That is a problem.” He cocked his broad-brimmed hat back on his head and smiled as if he enjoyed the idea that her business might fail before it got off the ground. “You can’t start a horse farm without horses. That much I know.”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “I knew you’d understand. And that’s why I was hoping you could help us.” She looked into his eyes, gauging his reaction.

  Silent for a moment, he appeared to freeze. Then he looked down at this boots, thinking.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Simply this. I want you go to Kentucky in Toby’s stead and purchase our stock at auction.”

  “Me? Truly?”

  “It’s only going to be a small operation at first, so we’ll only need a few horses. Half a dozen, perhaps.”

  “If you’re speaking of Fayette County, that’s not a small journey, especially for a few horses.”

  “We can pay you, of course. Quite well, actually.” She had no real idea whether Justin could be spared by his family for such a task, but she intended to make it worthwhile for them if he’d agree to go. She feared his thoughtful silence meant he was trying to decide how to politely reject her request, so she pressed ahead. “Father thinks one of his old crony firms in Kentucky can do the job, but I know you, and there’s really no one else whose opinion I’d trust about horses, and—”

  “Abby,” he said. “Do you see this corral?” He hooked his gloved thumb at the wooden rails and milling horses within.

  “Of course.” The way he’d interrupted, she was sure he meant to refuse her. She felt somewhat ashamed to assume he could be employed so easily. She was so close to accomplishing her goals, but she couldn’t insist that Justin help. “Look, if you don’t think—”

  “Do you remember standing with me at this corral, on that very rail, when we were but children?”

  “Yes, I suppose, but . . .” She rose up a little on her toes. What sort of reproachful lesson was he going to give her?

  “When we stood there years ago, you told me all about your dream, and your wish to raise horses when you were grown.”

  How sweet of him to remember. She felt her cheeks flush pink and she turned slightly to look at the railing. She still remembered the comforting feel of his arms and chest when she hugged him.

  “I was impressed,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. At the time, I didn’t believe it was possible for a slip of a girl to have such dreams, but I was impressed anyway.”

  “Why, thank you.” She wished she knew what point he was trying to make.

  “And now you are a grown woman, Abigail Whitfield, and I am still very much impressed with you. With all of you, including your dreams.” His gaze took her in from head to foot, lingering in certain places. She teetered between appreciating his compliments and still fearing his ultimate rejection.

  He tossed the reins over his horse’s neck. “And, more importantly, if you remember that one particular Sunday so long ago, then you’ll remember that I promised to help you.”

  A smile crept to her lips.


  “Now, I guess it’s time for me to keep that promise.”

  “Oh, thank you!” She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. In his surprise, he stood stiffly still, just as he had when they were children, but then he slipped his arms around the small of her back and pulled her tightly to him.

  “Abigail!” Henry stood near the church steps, next to the family surrey in which Henrietta already sat.

  Unbelievable, Justin thought. Whitfield had interrupted them once again, just as he had so many years ago. Back then it had cost Abigail two more years before she had a horse of her own, or so Justin thought. Maybe this time things would be different.

  “Come away, Abigail. We are leaving.”

  “I’m coming, Father. Thank you,” she said again to Justin. “We will talk about the particulars very soon. I am so happy. And don’t worry about Father. I’ll find a way to break the news to him gently.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek and walked toward the surrey.

  Justin couldn’t help but notice the scowl on Henry’s face.

  “What?” Henry Whitfield almost choked on his tea. “You’re not serious.”

  “I am perfectly serious.” Abigail crossed her arms. She expected resistance, but not such a strong reaction. “You said I could find someone to go in place of Toby—or you—and I have.”

  “But Justin Sterling?”

  “And what is wrong with Justin Sterling?” She took a sip of her own tea, chamomile, and tried to stay calm.

  “He’s but a boy, not much older than you.”

  “He’s as old asTobias, with whom I’m raising the horses. You do remember that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “I don’t think there’s a ‘but’ that applies here, Father. If we are going into business, I need—and Toby needs—someone to go to Kentucky for our stock. You’ve seen the horses the Sterlings breed. Clearly Justin knows a bangtail from a two-yearold.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “No buts, please. If you truly wish this enterprise to be a success, we’ll need horses this year. Justin Sterling is the person I’ve employed to get them.” She hoped referring to Justin as an employee would signal to her father that she hadn’t chosen Justin simply because he was a friend. Or, heaven forbid, because she was attracted to him. She also counted on her father’s presumption that a failure of the business might also call into question any matrimony.