by Dinah McLeod
“It’s on the table,” I pointed out quietly. I was rewarded with a look that made me wish I’d stayed silent. If he was going to be so ornery, maybe I ought to stay at home.
Trent snatched up the hat and put it on his head. “Let’s get riding.”
I looked him over, up and down, and noted that he was wearing his best white shirt and his silver vest that he had pushed to the back of his cedar chest since Pa’s funeral five years ago. I thought it remarkably well preserved from lack of wear. The silver threads gleamed and added an air of livery to distract from his everyday trousers.
Really, even as I viewed him with a critical eye, I knew there wasn’t much to criticize. If he was nervous about meeting his soon-to-be bride, who could fault him? Truly, watching the agitation war on his face, the way his hands were shaking slightly, made me feel quite relieved that I hadn’t chosen to marry.
Trent helped me into the buggy that we only used to go to town. It was well-worn, but since it saw so little use, my brothers didn’t see a point in replacing it. Normally I didn’t give it a second thought, but keeping in mind that we were going to meet a stranger, one that would be coming to live with us, I saw it as a stranger would. It was sorely in need of painting, and one of the wheels squeaked.
It occurred to me that Trent must be having similar thoughts, because he seemed to be taking in everything, from the reigns he held in his hands to the tattered cushions that were inside the buggy. “Hope she’s not used to anything too fine,” he remarked dryly.
I heard it then in his voice: the first time he’d expressed anything even close to doubt. Wes and Libby were waiting at the end of the drive to wave us past, and I lifted a hand to them, though Trent kept his eyes forward and his hands tightly on the reins. Libby had been remarkably pleasant to me this morning—I’d had to hide my smile when I saw her fidgeting at the breakfast table. She’d tried to excuse herself early, but one look from Wesley and she’d kept her bottom firmly planted on the hard wooden chair.
It was a surprise to see her up so early and helping in the garden. Though most men expected such from their wives, Wes had been remarkably lenient where Libby was concerned. They’d married shortly after our Mama had passed, and I’d been relieved at the idea of having another woman there to help with the daily burdens of cooking and chores. The wife that Wesley had brought home had been nothing but a disappointment. A shopkeepers’ only daughter, Libby was used to the finer things and could have married a man of means—not that I believed there was anyone better than my brother.
Not for the first time, I wondered about this new sister-in-law. I didn’t even have the faintest clue of what she might look like. Neither, for that matter, did Trent. She didn’t have a likeness, so she couldn’t send him one. I fervently hoped that this might be a sweet, gentle woman who would be good to my brother, who would be cheerful about helping with the chores. Someone who might, in time, become a friend and relieve me of some of my loneliness.
With a gloved hand, I held my freshly laundered handkerchief to my nose, trying to escape the dirt and dust that rose from the horse’s hooves when we came pulling into town. Heads turned to look at our approaching buggy; young boys scattered out of the way. Some raised their hands in greeting, but Trent’s eyes were searching, looking for someone who would be waiting for him—someone he would not even know when he set eyes on her. How could he?
Yet, he did. The minute he saw her, standing in front of Taylor’s Mercantile, he pulled up the buggy and stopped. Without a word, he passed the reigns to me and climbed down. I saw her smile, tentatively, at first, and then her lips blossomed into a full expression of joy that lit her face.
“Hello, Abigail.”
She blushed prettily under his eyes. “Abby, please.”
“Alright then, Miz Abby. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
She looked up at him, her face filled with yearning and tenderness making her look as radiant as any bride. “Would it be improper…?”
“Anything, my love,” he murmured. His words were spoken low, meant for only her ear, yet I heard them. The two of them seemed to be in such awe of the other that I felt like I was intruding on a private moment. I kept my eyes forward and tried to close my ears to their whispered sweet-nothings.
“I should like very much to hold your hand,” she replied, her voice sounding shy and a bit uncertain.
Trent’s answering laugh was booming; it was quite impossible to hear his laugh and not smile. I was sure Abby would find it no different. “You are to be my wife, woman!” he announced, chuckling. “You do not have to ask—my hand is yours as much as it is mine.”
Looking at the love birds again, I saw she was blushing brightly, flushed from embarrassment and pleasure both. Yet, her small, dainty hand was tucked inside his own. It looked like I’d gotten my wish—I was sure Abby would be the light to dispel the darkness that sometimes fell on our days—especially the days that we missed our parents the most. I eyed her covertly, my curiosity getting the better of me. At first glance, she appeared to be a plain-faced slip of a woman. But the first time I saw her smile, I dismissed the thought immediately. When she smiled her entire face changed. Her chocolate brown eyes lit up, and her full lips spread into a grin. She looked so wholesome and sweet and just plain good that it didn’t matter too much what she looked like. But when I took in her straw-blond ringlets, her tiny waist, her long, graceful neck, I decided that my brother had gotten very lucky. She was pretty as well as sweet. Seeing them stand side-by-side, I couldn’t help but notice that they favored each other in appearance. They had the same blond hair, the same brown eyes. They looked like they were made for each other.
Their ceremony was quick and simple. Abby hadn’t wanted a big wedding, so the pastor had agreed to marry them without the congregation in attendance. Trent slid a ring on her finger that I hadn’t seen before—a plain gold band that sparkled in the light. When the pastor bid Trent to kiss his bride, he bent his head and put his lips to hers. I had to turn away from the pair of them, thanking God as I did so that no one was there to bear witness and start gossip. He was kissing his new bride so passionately, it wasn’t fit for church.
* * *
Abby
When we broke apart from our first kiss as man and wife, I heard the sounds of clapping from Maggie, the Justice, and a few onlookers who’d popped in to sit a spell. I blushed for what must have been the hundredth time and looked at my new husband who, if I made it out right, looked about to be bursting with pride. Pride in me. I could hardly believe it.
Every time our eyes met, I wanted to pinch myself. Surely this was all a dream. I hadn’t expected him to be so good-looking! It was a vain thing to worry about, so I’d tried to keep such thoughts out of my head as I’d read his letters, but truly, he was a specimen to behold. Trent and I shared a love of animals, especially horses. All it took was one look at Trent Swift, and any person looking could see that he was a rare breed indeed.
Taking in each of his features, one by one, was a bit odd. I had the unexpected feeling that he was familiar to me, and in part, it might have been that his features mirrored some of my own. It wasn’t just how we looked alike, however. It was something about the easy, confidant way he held himself, the way he smiled with his eyes. It seemed like I’d always known him—like he’d always been my protector. I felt instantly at ease with my new husband, and if moments found me tongue-tied, he was happy to just sit.
“I thought we’d go have dinner at Ms. Watson’s,” he suggested, squeezing my hand. I felt a thrill shoot through me at the intimate touch.
“I don’t mind having supper at home,” I said, smiling up at him. I was touched by his kindness, but I didn’t want to start off our marriage feeling like I was putting him out. Besides, I was eager to see my new home—our home.
“I know,” he said, leaning down to put a kiss on my forehead. “But this is our wedding day. We should celebrate.”
I glowed up at him, and nodded my a
greement. When I turned, I saw Maggie out of the corner of my eye. She had stepped a respectful distance away and climbed back into the buggy. I appreciated her giving us our privacy, but I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt since I had, in fact, forgotten about her. I gave a little wave and was rewarded with a small smile. I couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t seem to smile all too often, which was so unlike her brother.
Trent followed my eyes and beckoned his sister to join us. As I watched her climb down and amble toward us, I wondered why he’d never mentioned that she was unmarried. I’d always gotten the impression that she was a younger sister, still looking for a suitor. It didn’t bother me, of course, but still, I wondered. I couldn’t help but think that it was a shame. She was a beautiful girl, though she seemed unconscious of the fact. She kept her dark black hair in a braid which she wound on top of her head in the style of a married woman. Her blue eyes were bright, if solemn. Her skin was still fair, probably due to the hat that she wore. I could tell at a glance that she rarely wore a corset, but she was not bad off for it. Her hips were “childbearing hips”, as my mother liked to say. I could imagine that many men would find her attractive, and I couldn’t help but wonder why she’d never found a suitor.
I tried to shake the thoughts loose as she approached. Mama had always said I was nosey, and it was a habit I did my best to curb.
“We’re going to Miz Watson’s,” Trent said. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh, well…” she turned to me with a small smile. “I can’t say that I am. Why don’t you two go?”
“What exactly are you planning to do in the meantime?”
“I thought I’d have a look around town.”
“Alright then, if you’re sure. But I want you to meet us here in two hours, understand?”
“I can get home fine on my own, can’t I?” she asked with a toss of her head that I never would have dared. “I am a woman-grown, little brother.”
I was shocked by her cavalier tone—it bordered on disrespectful, and I could see by the set of Trent’s jaw that he thought so, too. “I may be your little brother, Maggie, but I am responsible for you, and I’m telling you to meet us back here in two hours’ time.”
“Alright then,” she said, offering a smile that looked forced to me. “And don’t worry. I’ll stay right around here.”
Trent narrowed his eyes at her, and I wondered what he would do. My mouth dried at the way his frown changed his face. He no longer seemed like the light-hearted boy I’d met only an hour ago—could it truly have been only an hour?—but looked more a man who was self-possessed and authoritative. I could only hope that I would never give him cause to look at me in the same way.
“Alright then,” he echoed her words, even if he seemed unconvinced. He opened his mouth to say more, but after glancing at me, he seemed to relax. “Take care of yourself.”
By the way her eyes flashed, I thought Maggie might make a smart retort, but she only nodded. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Trent leaned in and kissed me lightly on the forehead. I smiled up at him and saw his eyes were following Maggie’s retreating back. “Maggie has a way of ignoring danger,” he confided.
I joined my gaze to his, and we both watched her walk away. She seemed so confidant—it was in the way she walked, with her head held high, her hips swaying as though she didn’t have a care in the world. I always found myself to be terribly shy and inept in social situations. Though I would never tell Trent, I had nervous butterflies in my stomach at the thought of eating in a hotel. I was more comfortable serving than being served.
Trent tugged my hand, breaking me out of my thoughts. I smiled at him again and with one more look over my shoulder, we walked side by side to the hotel he’d chosen for us to have dinner at. In minutes we were sitting at a table for two, staring at each other. The euphoria I felt only seemed to increase with every minute we were in each other’s company.
“Can I get you folks something to drink?” a lady asked as she came to check on us.
I looked to Trent, waiting for him to answer. “What do you feel like, Abby?”
“Ah…” I felt my skin flush again under their gazes. I’d never ordered for myself before. My father never asked what I’d like—he always got each of us a water. “Could I have a sweet tea?”
Trent’s smile was infectious, and I felt my nerves fading away. “I don’t know, darlin’, we’re celebrating. How about a glass of punch?” My cheeks bloomed with pleasure, and I nodded. “And I’ll take a Whiskey.”
As soon as she left to get our drinks, Trent took my hands in his. “You have such small hands,” he mused wonderingly. “Will you blush every time I give you a compliment or look at you?”
So he’d noticed that. “I’m sorry,” I said meekly, pulling my hands back. “I don’t mean to.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “You’re adorable,” he said, his words alive with warmth. “The very picture of a lady.”
“Does that please you?” I murmured, looking at my hands that I’d folded in my lap.
“Everything about you is almost too good to be true, Abby.”
I couldn’t help but feel my heart stir at his emotional declaration. “You hardly know me,” I pointed out, speaking aloud the words that perhaps neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
“What is marriage for, if not to get to know one another?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, even as I felt doubts ebb in on my happiness. Things felt so perfect right now, so wonderful. It was hard to believe that I’d never met the man sitting across from me before I’d become his wife. We seemed so at ease with one another, so comfortable, despite my blushes. I couldn’t help wondering how long that could last.
“What are you thinking?”
I bit my lip and nibbled on the tender flesh for a moment. I didn’t know how to put what I was thinking into words, or if I even wanted to.
“Abby?” Trent prompted. “Look at me, please.”
Without hesitation, my eyes flitted to his face. I saw that his brow had creased, and his eyes looked concerned. My stomach flipped—I could hardly believe the love that he seemed to have for me already. Every look, every word he had for me gave me the impression he thought me infinitely precious.
“I’m waitin’ for your answer, Abigail.”
At the full use of my name, my eyes scanned his face. I could see that he was growing impatient and perhaps even more concerned. “I’m sorry, Trent. I was just thinking—”
At that moment, our drinks arrived, and I fell silent as they were placed in front of us. Without taking his eyes from my face, Trent ordered us both the pork chops with fried okra, greens, and cornbread. When our attendant departed again, he nodded at me expectantly.
I found that with those dark, probing eyes on me, I could not speak. I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair, regretting my uncertainty. They were unkind, even if they were likely true. I knew I had to say something, but I couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t come out sounding reproachful. The silence surrounded us, becoming stifling until I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I was wondering at the wedding night.”
As soon as they were out, I knew they’d been said much too loudly and glanced around self-consciously even as Trent laughed. I blushed at the way he chuckled, ducking my head to hide from him. What must he think of me? No proper lady would speak of such things, especially not in public! It was just as I’d feared—he would soon wish that he’d waited for another bride that was more suitable.
When I dared look back at him, I could see he was trying to squelch a smile and failing. Even his eyes were laughing at me. “I think I have just the cure,” he suggested with a wink.
I watched, astonished, as he reached for my cup of pink punch that I’d left untouched. With a flick of his wrist, he poured the amber liquid from his cup into mine. Lifting it from the table, he shook it a little, and when the liquids were mingled to his satisfaction, he passed it back to me. “What…?
”
“Try that,” he suggested. “It will do wonders for your nerves.”
I could hardly believe his daring! For a woman to drink spirits! Especially in the middle of the day, in public. It went against everything I’d ever been taught, but my husband was beaming across the table from me, seeming so genuinely interested in everything I did or said. I wanted to please him more than anything. Taking a deep breath, I raised the cup to my lips. I took a deep whiff, but smelled nothing but the faint scent of lemonade.
Under Trent’s waiting eyes, I took a small sip, and then another before setting the cup down. Almost instantly my throat burned with the liquor. I could feel my entire body heating, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, every part of me burned as if on fire. I gasped and began to cough. Trent was out of his chair and at my side in an instant. He clapped me on the back gently, and when I was at last able to stop coughing, there were tears in my eyes.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I said, when I could muster the word with dignity. I saw some patrons staring our way and tried to ignore them. I certainly didn’t intend to set tongues wagging the very day I got married!
“I’ll get you another punch,” he offered, and I nodded.
“Why did you have me drink that?” I asked, my voice low.
“Truth serum,” he replied, his voice amused. “I thought it might loosen your tongue a bit.”
“What? I talk enough as it is.”
“Oh, no. I love the sound of your voice, Abby. This whole time we’ve been writing letters I’ve wanted nothing more than to hear you speak to me. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”
I sighed, long and happy. Could any woman be better married than I? I doubted it, since Trent Swift was not their husband. I knew he would make me blush more than I’d ever grow accustomed to, and he could be downright surprising at times, but I looked forward to learning to love him. We were off to such a good start already.
