Weighing her children’s requirements against the troublesome voice that whispered that she must be mad, she held out her own hand. Caleb Gentry’s was warm and strong and rough with calluses. When he released his hold on her, she took a step back. It was too late to renege now.
“I hear Laura,” Rachel said. “I’ll go tend to her and Ben while you two work out a few details.”
“Thank you.”
Once Rachel disappeared into the kitchen, Abby and Caleb spent the next several moments discussing how she would pay for the things she needed to run the household, and she explained the number and kinds of animals he would be taking responsibility for. He specified what times he liked his meals, and Abby explained that she spent a portion of each morning in lessons with the children, and had Bible time before bedtime, assuring him that she would not let it get in the way of her care of Betsy.
“There is one more thing,” she said, when it seemed they had most of the obvious wrinkles worked out.
“Yes?”
“Weather permitting, the children and I attend Wolf Creek Church every Sunday. I hope that won’t be a problem. Of course, it’s impossible to take Betsy out now, but I’ll be glad to take her when she’s old enough.”
“I have no problem with that, but I will not be accompanying you.” He excused himself, saying that he needed to unload her things from Rachel’s buggy and speak to his hands about moving her animals.
When he left the room, Abby drew in a shaky breath. She and Caleb Gentry would do their best to deal equitably with each other the next few months, since each had something the other needed. Simply put, neither of them had much choice. No matter what happened in the coming weeks and months, they would grin and bear it.
More likely they would grit their teeth and bear it, she thought, recalling the look on his face when she’d entered the parlor after the figurine had been smashed. She remembered the expression on Ben’s face when he’d said he didn’t like it there. Well, life had a way of throwing a lot of things at you that you might not like, a lesson Ben ought to learn sooner than later.
Putting on a determined face, Abby headed to the kitchen to relieve Rachel of the children and see if she could get to the bottom of what had happened to the shattered shepherdess. She prayed she could find the words to tell Ben they wouldn’t be going home for a while.
“Well?” Rachel said, when Abby entered the warmth of the kitchen.
Abby’s gaze found her son, who was helping Laura drink from a cup, holding a dish towel beneath her chin to catch the drips. At the moment, he was not paying any attention to the adults in the room. “It seems I have a job. Thank you.”
Abby leaned down and gave her friend a hug, then helped herself to a cookie and sat down across the table.
“I won’t sugarcoat things,” Rachel said with a grim smile and her customary honesty. “Caleb is a decent man, and I think folks who have business dealings with him would call him a fair man, but make no mistake, he is also a hard man and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. I’d be less than a friend if I told you the next few months will be easy...for either of you.”
Abby broke off a piece of cookie, her lips curving in a wry smile. “Believe me, I know that.”
She popped the piece of cookie into her mouth and Rachel sighed. “Somehow I feel guilty for putting you in this position, even though my intentions were the best.”
Abby smiled. “I know that, too.”
Once Rachel had gone back to town, Abby sat down on the bench next to her son, took Laura on her lap and handed Ben another cookie to help soften him up for the news she was about to impart. She decided to begin with the lesser of the two concerns. “The figurine that got broken belonged to Mr. Gentry’s mother,” she said. “It was very special to him. What happened, Ben?”
“It was an accident,” he told her, his blue eyes earnest. “You told me to be good and mind my manners, and I was trying. Dr. Rachel put Laura on the floor and told me to keep an eye on her. I was afraid Laura would get into something she shouldn’t, so I was trying to watch her.” He took a huge bite of cookie, as if he needed to fortify himself.
Good intentions, then, Abby thought with a feeling of relief.
“She was crawling around, and then she sat up real fast, and when she did, she bumped the table and the next thing I knew we were in trouble.”
“What did Mr. Gentry say?”
Ben shrugged. “Nothing much. He told me to sit down and then sat there just looking at me. I don’t like him,” Ben said. “I want to go home.”
Abby uttered a silent prayer for guidance. “We need to talk about that, Ben.” How did she explain the direness of their situation in a way he could understand without getting into past-due notes and bank foreclosures?
Loosing another sigh, she said, “I know you realize how hard it has been for us since your father died, and how I try to do not only my work but what I can of his, too. And you know how tired and cranky I’ve been sometimes.”
Ben gave a solemn nod and finished off the last of his cookie.
“Before we came, I told you that Mr. Gentry’s wife died today.”
Another nod of understanding. “Well, Mr. Gentry is in the same position that I am in—needing to be both mother and father.” How to explain in more detail? “Husbands and wives are partners.”
“Partners are people who work together toward the same goal,” Ben said.
“Yes.” Abby smiled her approval. Every day, she tried to give him a new word definition and encouraged him to use the word as often as possible to build his vocabulary. Partners had been the word several weeks ago.
“In the case of marriage, that goal is to be a happy, healthy family who believes in truth and honesty and responsibility and hard work, one that puts God first. In most circumstances, the father is responsible for the hard, outside work like plowing and putting up hay and chopping firewood, as well as handling the money and seeing to the bills. The mother is responsible for taking care of the home and the children, the cooking and cleaning...that sort of thing. Though,” she added, “in some cases, like ours and Mr. Gentry’s, it becomes necessary for one parent to take on the duties of both parents, the way I’ve been trying to do.”
Her faltering smile was sorrow-filled. How could she tell him that her present circumstance was due in part to William’s inexperience, which had forced him to borrow from the bank? Or how she had sold almost everything she owned of value to try to satisfy the loan? She couldn’t. Not now or ever. Ben had adored his father, and she would not be the one to say anything to lessen that feeling.
Her voice was thick with unshed tears when she spoke. “I’ve been having a hard time dealing with your father’s responsibilities, Ben, and I’ll be frank, I’m not doing a very good job.”
“I think you’re doing fine,” he said. “I’ll bet Mr. Gentry won’t do nearly as good a job of being both parents as you do.”
“Thank you, Ben. And that’s the thing. Mr. Gentry already knows he can’t do a good job as Betsy’s mother.” Dear Lord, help me find the words. “Men just aren’t...equipped with the right...trappings...to be a mother. That’s why Dr. Rachel came to me. Mr. Gentry would like for me—us—to stay here for a while so I can take care of Betsy.”
Abby watched Ben’s lower lip jut out and his eyes take on a familiar belligerence.
“It won’t be forever,” she hastened to say. “Just until Betsy gets a bit older, or until Mr. Gentry finds someone else. Until springtime, maybe. He and I will be partners, in a way. He will take care of our place and our animals, and I will take care of him and Betsy and the household chores. He will pay me a wage, just as if I had a job in town at the mercantile or the restaurant, and that money will help me take care of our obligations. That can be our word for the day.
“Obligations are things that are our responsibili
ties. Like what I was talking about when I described the duties of fathers and mothers. Parents have the obligation to bring up children to be good, God-fearing citizens. You are responsible for keeping your room clean and setting the table and feeding the animals and milking Nana. When I tell you to keep an eye on Laura, it is your obligation to see that she’s safe. Sometimes, obligations involve money. Things we must pay for.”
There! She had prepared him as best she could, though she felt she had done a poor job of it. To his credit, Ben did not spout off or throw a fit. Only the downward turn of his mouth and his refusal to meet her gaze spoke of his misery. Finally, he looked up at her.
“Like buying eggs when the hens stop laying and sugar and flour and coffee?” he asked.
“Yes.” And shoes and shirts and medicine when your children get sick, Abby thought as she pulled him close to her side. “I have always been as truthful with you as I have felt you could understand, so I will not lie to you now. This will be hard on all of us.”
Ben pulled away and regarded her with a solemn expression. “It won’t be hard on Mr. Gentry. He doesn’t have to live somewhere different.”
“Actually, he does,” Abby said with a gentle smile. “He won’t be staying in his house while we’re here. He’ll be moving into the bunkhouse with his hired men. He will just take his meals here and use his office when necessary. That’s quite a sacrifice for him, as well as having people he doesn’t even know taking over his home. And we mustn’t forget that his wife just died. I want you to think about how you felt when your father passed away. You were sad and angry with him and God for at least a month, and you took it out on your sister. Remember?”
Ben nodded.
Abby smiled and brushed back a lock of his fine blond hair. “Just remember that Mr. Gentry may be feeling the same way for a while, and try to be patient and forgiving. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask,” Abby said.
She gave him a final hug and stood. As they were about to leave the kitchen, Caleb came through the door, looking rugged and unyielding, his arms laden with things she’d brought from her own kitchen. He set a loaf of bread wrapped in a clean dish towel onto the table next to the basket of cookies, and put a heavy cast-iron kettle of squirrel and dumplings on the stove.
“I’ve put your things in your room.”
“Thank you,” Abby said.
“Would you mind if Ben and Laura sleep with you for a day or two? I’ll have to move some things from Emily’s room into the attic for Ben to have his own room.”
“That will be fine.”
“I thought I’d put Betsy’s cradle in your room, too, so you can be near both girls.”
“Perfect.”
“Let me show you around,” he said, relieved that there were no objections.
He led the small procession down the hallway. The bedroom was furnished simply with a bed, an oak armoire and a highboy. Abby noted that he had built a small fire to combat the autumn chill, and warmth was already starting to spread throughout the area, which was far larger than any room at her home. As spacious as it was and even though she knew the furnishings were of good quality, the house seemed sterile somehow, as untouched as Caleb Gentry’s heart. Shifting Laura on her hip, she ran her fingertip through the dust that had gathered on top of a chest of drawers. And it could use a thorough cleaning.
“I guess it needs a good cleaning,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
The sound of his voice sent Abby’s gaze winging to his, and she saw that the dull red of embarrassment had crept into the harsh sweep of his cheekbones. Too late, she realized what she had done. Oh, dear! Could she and the children do nothing right?
“Emily didn’t have much energy the past few months, and I—”
“There’s no need to apologize, Mr. Gentry,” she rushed to assure him. “Any woman who has carried a child to term understands.” She offered him a nonjudgmental smile. “It’s a lovely home and it won’t take much to get things in order.”
“I suppose not.” Clearly eager to be away from the house and all the turmoil and unhappiness in it, he said, “I need to get one of my hands to go over to your place and see to your animals tonight. We’ll move them tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to put you to the trouble.”
“It’s not a problem.” She told him how to find her house and he gave a sharp nod. He looked as tense as she felt. It seemed as if they were both trying to outdo the other in civility.
She offered him a thin smile. “I’ll just get our things put away and check on Betsy again.”
“I have to go into town and make arrangements at the, uh—” he cleared his throat “—funeral home, so I can’t stay to see that you get settled in. Feel free to just...look around if you need something. I’ll be back by dusk for supper. Just fix whatever you want.”
Laura muttered something that sounded remarkably like “supper” and offered Caleb one of her incredible smiles. Just as incredibly, the bleakness in his storm-gray eyes dimmed the tiniest bit. Though it in no way could be called a smile and was so fleeting that Abby was certain it must be a trick of the light, it seemed that just for a second, the unyielding firmness of his mouth softened somewhat.
She gave her daughter a squeeze. It seemed that at least one of the Carters was not intimidated by the overwhelming presence of the man, and even seemed to be taken with him! Much to her own mortification considering the circumstances, Abby realized that in his own rough, brooding sort of way, Caleb Gentry was an attractive man.
* * *
Caleb rode his gelding into town, his body past weariness, sporadic images flitting through his weary mind like flashes of lighting against a sullen sky. Rachel coming from the room where a baby’s crying was the only sound after Emily had gone suddenly quiet. His gaze straying to the bed, where a sheet covered Emily’s face. His heart stumbling in his chest, and the resolute, relentless ticking of the clock, while his exhausted brain struggled to assimilate what his eyes were seeing. Rachel’s voice, filled with weariness and regret. Emily was dead and his baby daughter needed someone to take care of her, to feed her. An overwhelming certainty that there must be something terribly wrong with him for his inability to feel anything over his wife’s death but panic and fear....
The random images faded, and reason—of sorts—returned along with memories of the past couple of hours. He conceded that he had jumped to conclusions with Mrs. Carter’s boy. It wasn’t his fault his sister had broken the shepherdess, but with Caleb’s own emotions so raw, and his feelings of inadequacy at the surface, he had been eager to place blame. The truth was that his whole world was turned upside down. Nothing would ever be the same, so he might as well get used to the idea of Mrs. Carter and her children being around, at least for the foreseeable future.
Whether he liked it or not.
With a grunt of disgust, he guided the horse down Antioch Street, and took a right toward the railroad tracks. The house Rachel Stone shared with her father, which also housed her medical office, sat on a corner beyond the tracks that ran a block down from and parallel to Antioch. The funeral home was situated at the rear of the house, added a few years before, when Rachel’s father, Dr. Edward Stone, had suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed.
Caleb rode around back, tied his horse to the hitching post and stepped through the doorway of the funeral parlor. Edward, who sat behind a gleaming desk, looked up when he heard the bell on the door ring, a solemn expression on his lined face. He rolled his wheelchair around to greet Caleb with his hand extended.
“I’m sorry, Caleb.”
Caleb only nodded.
“Bart and Mary picked out a casket and brought her a dress. I didn’t think you’d mind.” When Caleb shook his head, the older man said, “She’s ready, if you want to go on in.
”
Caleb nodded, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He entered the viewing room, where Emily lay dressed in a frilly gown of pale pink, her favorite color. Her dark lashes lay against the delicate paleness of her cheeks. If he didn’t know better, he might think she was sleeping.
Dry-eyed, he stared down at the woman who had been a part of his life the past six years, waiting for the grief to overtake him and wondering if he should pray. But grief for losing a beloved wife did not come, and he had no idea what he could—or should—say to a God with whom he’d had so few dealings. The only sorrow he could define was sadness that Emily had been taken in her prime and would not be there for Betsy.
There was guilt aplenty.
Guilt aggravated by the nagging memory of the jolt that had passed through him when his fingers had touched those of Abby Carter. What kind of man was he to feel anything for any woman so soon after his wife’s death?
The answer was clear. He was, perhaps, a man who hadn’t tried hard enough to make his marriage a good one. A man who’d let someone else plan his marriage and shape his life...which might explain that unexpected awareness of Mrs. Carter but certainly did not excuse it.
He and Emily were both twenty-four when they married. Pretty enough, but thought to be a bit uppity, she was considered to be the town spinster. Caleb’s father had instigated the notion of his marrying her. His father stated that since Gabe, whom Lucas Gentry bitterly referred to as the “prodigal,” had shown no signs of abandoning his wayward lifestyle to come home and share the burden of labor, it was past time for his elder son to choose a wife and sire a son to inherit the Gentry fortune.
Emily’s parents had encouraged her to accept Caleb’s offer—most probably her last. So they married and lived with Lucas in the house he had built for his own wife, Caleb and Gabe’s mother, Libby.
Unfortunately, Lucas had died of a stroke three years ago, without seeing the birth of his grandchild. More regrettable perhaps was the fact that despite the tales Caleb had heard about love often following marriage, for him and Emily it had not.
Wolf Creek Wedding Page 3
