Love's Last Stand

by S. B. Moores

  “Mother has her own way with my father.”

  Justin looked over her shoulder, as if he wanted to travel on down the road and leave the discussion behind.

  “I appreciate your honesty, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Henry change his mind about anything. If I’m not good enough in his eyes, I’m not good enough.”

  “Few if any men are, but you’re very well good enough for me.” She touched his arm and gave him a wan smile.

  He covered her hand with his own. “If there were anything I could do to satisfy Henry, I’d do it. You know that.”

  “I do.” She stepped closer and placed a soft kiss on his lips. He hesitated at first, then he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her with such strength and tenderness it was as if he’d never get the chance again.

  To Abigail’s frustration, Justin appeared resigned once again to losing her. Each evening, once they’d stopped for the day, Justin would tend to the horses, then build a fire and prepare a simple meal for the two of them. She helped when she could, but Justin didn’t ask for any assistance. After their meal, Justin kept watch until well after she had retired to the tent. He slept outside, under a tree, if he slept at all, and he was up and preparing breakfast before she awoke. Then they resumed their journey with little or no conversation. Much less any ardent kisses between new lovers.

  To a stranger, Justin might appear to have forgotten about the one night of passion they’d shared, but Abigail knew that wasn’t what caused him to keep his distance. If Henry would never let him marry her, Justin wouldn’t torture himself further by taking what love and passion she could give him in the little time they had left together. He was reluctant even to discuss the situation. Better to forget what he might never know again. She couldn’t convince him that her father hadn’t betrothed her to Tobias, so she redoubled her commitment to changing her father’s mind about Justin. In the meantime, Justin had withdrawn to save himself, and her, from further pain and frustration, until such a day that their love might be legitimate. If that day could ever come.

  Justin once again treated her with respect and friendship, but he would barely return a kiss on the cheek or clasp her hand when she placed hers gently on his. He wouldn’t shrink from these familiarities, but wouldn’t commit to any gesture that hinted at more than a casual relationship. Even so, Abigail still saw the desire burning in Justin’s eyes, and the frustration that tensed the muscles in his neck and shoulders, even if he were remarking on something as insignificant as the bright coloring on the blue jays they saw chattering in the trees. His emotional distance anguished her. She wanted to pour her heart out to him, to make him love her again. Instead, she wept alone in the tent, then steeled herself to accept Justin’s attitude as the best course of action, at least until she convinced her father she must marry for love and nothing else.

  The remainder of the journey passed without incident, save one. When they were but one day’s travel from home, they encountered a handful of game-hunting Cherokee Indians on the road. They eyed each other warily, waiting to see if the other would give way, until Justin greeted them and offered tobacco. Not wishing to give offense, the Cherokee offered Justin a portion of dried beef and invited him and Abby to rest a few minutes while they smoked. Their chief, no older than Justin, had worked as a guide for white settlers and spoke some English. His name was Atohi. While everyone sat beneath a spreading oak tree, Atohi leaned over and spoke to Justin, but well within Abigail’s hearing.

  “Please tell me.”

  “Tell you what?” Justin asked.

  “How many horses will you take for your woman?”

  Justin nearly burst out in laughter, but he turned away from Atohi and looked at Abby to hide his face. When he’d controlled his reaction, he spoke calmly to the chief.

  “Atohi, you have an excellent eye for women.” He gestured at Abby. “This particular woman is not mine. She is the daughter of a white chief where I live. She is worth many horses.”

  “I will give you six,” Atohi said.

  Justin put his hand to his chin, appearing to consider the offer.

  “Justin, what are you doing?” she said. “Please don’t—”

  “Be quiet.” Justin raised his hand to stop her. Then, to Atohi he said, “As you can see, this woman’s hips are strong. She is young, and she will provide a man with many children.”

  Atohi nodded, clearly impressed. “I will give you eight horses.”

  “Juss-tinnn!” Abigail knew Justin wasn’t happy with her but couldn’t believe he would sell her to a band of wandering Indians.

  “Your offer is very generous,” Justin said. “Especially since this woman’s tongue is as strong as her hips.”

  “A woman’s tongue can be trained.” Atohi smiled. “But not as easily as a horse can be trained.”

  Justin allowed himself the slightest chuckle and nodded appreciatively at Atohi’s joke, but he slipped into a more serious demeanor. “The white chief whose daughter this is has been offered fifty horses. I would dishonor him if I accepted any less.”

  “Justin! How dare you!” she hissed. “My father will have you shot!”

  Atohi’s eyes grew wide, but he looked over at Abby and openly studied her hair, her breasts, and her hips. He glanced at the anger in her eyes and her clenched jaw and pursed lips more than once.

  “I understand what you say,” he said, finally. “She is a great prize, that’s true. But I do not have fifty horses with me that I can give the white chief.”

  “I am disappointed, but I, too, understand.” Justin nodded. “Let us say nothing more of this woman.” He dismissed Abby with a wave of his hand. “May we meet again on some other day when we are better able to trade.”

  “Yes, may we meet again and trade.” They shook hands, officially ending the negotiation, and Atohi focused on his pipe. Justin chewed on a piece of dried beef.

  Abigail sat in silence with her arms crossed and refused to look at either of them. She couldn’t tell whether the chief was disappointed or relieved at having failed to purchase her, but then she realized Justin couldn’t have refused to negotiate. It would have been rude and brought dishonor on the chief in front of his men. If that happened, the chief might have chosen to take her by force to salvage his pride, and she and Justin were outnumbered by the well-armed Indians. It was only by her own loud objections and Justin blaming her father for setting too high a price that he’d been able to negotiate an honorable conclusion for both sides.

  Atohi’s pipe had gone out. He turned the bowl over and knocked out spent ash. Justin saw this and remembered a plug of tobacco his father had given him to compare with what he found in Kentucky. He hadn’t smoked it or any of his tobacco because Abigail was with him.

  “Atohi, please take this.” He pulled the plug of tobacco and his knife from his shoulder bag. He deftly cut off a short length and held it out to Atohi, but the Indian stared at his knife.

  “Where did you obtain this?” He pointed at the blade.

  Justin looked at the knife, too, wondering what sparked the Indian’s interest. “It was a gift,” he said. “From an Indian boy. In return for a small act of friendship.”

  Atohi’s eyes grew wide. “The spirits weave a very small web.”

  Justin gave him a questioning look.

  “The gift was from me,” Atohi gave Justin a quick bow of his head.

  “Yes?” Justin thought Atohi might be boasting. The knife had nothing special about it, other than its Indian design and the manner in which Justin had acquired it. It must look no different than a thousand other Indian knives.

  “It was a time of great hunger for us,” Atohi said. “The gift of your fish was much appreciated.”

  “It was you!” Justin grinned. “I’m glad I have finally met you, Atohi.”

  They clasped arms and Atohi smiled. “Now that I know who you are, I know the white chief whose daughter this is. I wish great luck upon the man who desires to make this woman one of his wives.” He
winked at Justin.

  “You are a wise man, Atohi. A very wise man indeed.” Justin struck a match and helped the Indian light his pipe.

  As soon as it seemed proper, Abigail and Justin said goodbye to Atohi and his band, and they each continued on their way. Once they were out of sight of the natives, Abigail gave Justin a stern, angry look.

  “Why would you even consider trading me to Indians?” She slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Why not? Imagine how relieved your parents would be to learn that you’d finally found a husband.”

  They both burst out laughing.

  When they finally reached Ridgetop, Justin was stopped at the Whitfield fence line by some of Henry’s waiting farmhands. He turned over the horses to them but, notwithstanding Abby’s disbelief and outrage, Justin was forbidden to come any farther onto Whitfield land. Moreover, the men said Justin was forbidden to see her at all from that day forth. Contrary to Abigail’s prediction, her father had been stewing in his anger as he waited for his daughter to arrive home. He blamed Justin for taking her with him rather than seeing that she traveled by the safer, swifter, steamboat.

  Given the level of her father’s anger, Abigail thought it best not to confront him immediately with the fact that she was in love with Justin. Her father needed time to accept that no harm had come to her during the journey, and that his anger was unjustified. Once he had calmed down, she would remind him that Justin was an honorable man and convince him Justin was worthy of her hand. Thankfully, no one pressed her with questions about what happened on the journey home.

  In those drowsy moments in bed each night before she was quite asleep, she imagined eloping with Justin. If she resorted to that desperate plan, she might never have the wedding she’d always hoped for, but she would be happy anyway. Her mother would help her, she felt sure. Either way, if she and Justin were living on the Sterling farm, practically next door to her parents, eventually they would be forced to accept Justin as her husband. Surely in time her father’s opinions would soften, when he saw how well Justin treated her. When the grandchildren came. When . . .

  The anticipation of a confrontation with her father often gave her nightmares, one of which suddenly came true.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ridgetop, Tennessee, Late November 1835

  Abigail remained firm, but tried not to raise her voice. She hoped to end the conversation with her parents as quickly as possible. “You act as though I went into business with Toby to breed children, not horses, but I do not recall seeing marriage recitals in the terms of our contract.”

  Her father set down his quill pen and looked at his daughter. “Don’t patronize me, Abigail. You know why we agreed to let you raise horses with Tobias Johnson. You simply needed time to get accustomed to the idea of marriage.”

  “What I need is the right to make up own mind.”

  “What is so awful about Tobias Johnson?” her mother asked. “You’ve been the best of friends all your lives.”

  “It’s simple, Mother.” Abigail waved her hands in the air in frustration. “A friend he may be, but I do not love Tobias Johnson and, therefore, I do not wish to marry him. Would Father marry one of his Louisville lawyers, just because they have a business arrangement?”

  “Abigail! Don’t talk to your mother like that.”

  Henrietta hid a smile behind the book she’d been reading.

  “I am sorry, Father, but the comparison is apt.”

  “Look, Abigail. Your mother and I are not getting any younger and, yes, we would dearly love grandchildren. But there is a more immediate concern, and that is preserving and continuing what we have built in Ridgetop.”

  “What you’ve built? Will your barns and fields disappear if I do not marry Toby? Will the crops stop growing?”

  Her father stood up from his desk and put his hands on his hips. He spoke through clenched teeth, and Abigail had never seen him so angry, at least not with her. She sat back in her chair, instinctively moving away from the controlled rage she saw in his eyes.

  “Your mother and I have given you a good life, Abigail, and we’ve asked very little in return. We are dealing with concerns here, real concerns, that are much greater than your romantic concept of love. Even so, we’ve given you plenty of time to decide things for yourself. And you haven’t.”

  Abigail didn’t think she had been allowed to decide anything. She opened her mouth to speak, but her father held up his hand and stopped her.

  “Now it must end. In this one matter, Abigail, you will not, you cannot, disobey me. I know what’s best for you, even if you cannot see it for yourself. The marriage will take place. I have arranged it with Thomas Johnson. That is the end of this discussion as far as I am concerned. Henrietta, see if you can talk some sense into your daughter, as I cannot.” With that he stalked from the room.

  Abigail and her mother looked at each other in silence, listening to Henry’s heavy footfalls as he mounted the back stairs to the master bedroom.

  “Can you talk to him for me?” She pleaded. “I simply cannot marry Toby Johnson.”

  “And why not?” Her mother took a deep breath. “Tobias is not an un-handsome man, you know. I dare say he’s better looking than many other men in the county. Any number of girls would leap at the opportunity to become Mrs. Tobias Johnson.”

  Abigail’s shoulders sagged and she put a hand on the arm of her chair for support. “Would you have me enter into a loveless marriage, simply to satisfy Father’s financial plans?”

  “Abigail, you may not realize this, but I know a thing or two about love. In spite of what you may read in your novels, love is not something that springs forth on a whim. It does not burst into flames when you’re in the arms of a handsome stranger.”

  “I don’t require a stranger, just some passion. Some fire.” She thought of her night with Justin.

  “True love is not a fire burning in your heart,” her mother said. “That kind of love isn’t, well, it isn’t real. It isn’t lasting. True love is something you need to earn and work to achieve with a man. Even though you’ve known Toby most of your life, you will learn many more things about him and yourself the longer you are together. You will grow close and in the end, you will know real love.”

  “In the end? You mean love is a reward I will earn after suffering a lifetime of a man’s peculiar habits, the way he picks his teeth after he’s eaten his evening meal? The way he mounts me in bed?”

  “Abigail! Love is much more than intercourse. You know that.”

  “Yes, but why have intercourse at all with a man you don’t love? Oh, don’t answer. It’s to birth children or, as Father believes, to preserve an estate. I truly am being bred to Tobias Johnson.” She put her head in her hands and fought back tears.

  Her mother stiffened. “If you prefer to see it that way, you may. But I hope you can get accustomed to the idea of a practical marriage. Think of it as a wonderful opportunity.”

  “Mother. I must tell you, I love another. With all my heart.”

  Her mother gave her a stern, knowing look that suddenly softened.

  “It’s Justin, isn’t it?”

  “Of course.” She hadn’t meant to mention Justin. She only meant to put off her parents’ insistence that she marry Toby, or anyone else of their choosing. But, having confessed her love for Justin, she knew it felt right.

  “I’m not surprised.” Her mother wrung her hands. “I wish there was something I could do, but I’m sorry. Your father will never accept Justin.”

  “But he must.” She pounded her fists on the arms of the chair. “Don’t you see? Marrying Toby Johnson will be the death of me.”

  Her mother gave a surprisingly deep sigh of resignation and spoke in a near whisper. “Believe it or not, I know something about lost love, too. But Tobias isn’t so bad as you make him sound. Your father has made up his mind, and we’re going to have to make the best of it.”

  With that she rose from her chair, plucked up her skirts, and
followed her husband up the stairs.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  December 15, 1835

  “Unbelievable.” Sally Marston set her cup on its saucer, and Abigail couldn’t tell if the look her friend gave her was more pity, sympathy, or concern.

  They were alone in the tea shop, except for Mrs. Wilkins, the proprietress. Abigail had just told Sally in whispered tones of her trip back from Kentucky, and of her forced engagement to Tobias Johnson.

  “It’s going to be an awful Christmas without Justin,” Abigail said.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I am at my wits’ end. My father has me watched every minute of the day.”

  “That would explain the servant waiting for you in front of the livery?”

  Abigail nodded. “He is to accompany me wherever I go, and I am forbidden to speak to Justin or even ride in the direction of the Sterling farm. It was all I could do to meet you for tea.”

  “I can talk to Justin if you like.”

  “No.” Abigail shook her head. “Please tell no one, especially not Justin. The engagement hasn’t been announced, and I am determined to change my father’s mind. If I can’t, I will escape in the night and seek refuge at the Sterling farm.”

  “How romantic!”

  “How desperate. Justin knows my father is angry, but we both hope things will work out before it’s too late. Until then, if Justin finds out I’m nearly a prisoner, he’ll come charging into my house with a shotgun.”

  “That could be very romantic, too. Assuming it’s not you who gets shot.”

  Abigail chuckled. “I’ll get to talk to Justin soon enough.”

  “And what will you tell him?”

  Abigail sighed. “I don’t know, but I want to talk sense into my father. Make him see that I can’t marry Toby.”

  “And what about Tobias. Is he looking forward to the, well, arrangement?”

  “Truly, I have no idea. I haven’t spoken to him, either, since my father’s decision, but he must know about it. Toby’s father is as old-fashioned as mine, so Toby may have no more choice in the matter than I. He was happy enough to go into business with me, but I’ve not otherwise encouraged him.”