* * *
Abby and Ben were in the parlor later, having their evening devotional, when Caleb came into the room. Abby looked up from the verse she was reading and found his gaze on Ben. She held her breath, hoping against hope that he would not fly off the handle.
“Ben.”
“Sir?”
Abby heard the quaver in his voice.
“That chess set was a gift to me from Doc Stone,” Caleb said in an even voice that somehow managed to fall just short of angry. “It isn’t a toy, son, and it isn’t to be played with unless you’re playing an actual game of chess. If you want to learn—”
“Don’t call me son!” Ben shouted, lifting his belligerent blue gaze to Caleb’s.
“Benjamin!” Abby cried, leaping to her feet. She was stunned by Ben’s sudden outburst, when Caleb had been trying to discuss the matter in a conciliatory tone. “You will apologize to Mr. Gentry at once.”
“I won’t!” he yelled, scrambling off the sofa and running to the bedroom. “I’m not his son!” The door slammed with a jarring thud.
Abby lifted her horrified gaze to Caleb’s, wondering if he would tell her to start packing “I—I’m so sorry,” she said in a near whisper. “I don’t know what got into him.”
His silvery eyes held a weary sorrow. “I do. I understand exactly why he’s upset. I’ve been where he is, remember?”
Abby recalled that he’d lost his mother when he was young. “You’re being very decent about this.”
“You told me yourself to expect that kind of outburst, and even though I may be short-tempered and stubborn, I like to think I am a decent man.”
“I never meant to imply—”
A fleeting sorrowful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I know.”
Abby regarded him thoughtfully and set out to try to make him understand. “Ben had no idea how expensive that chess set is, but that’s neither here nor there. He knows better than to bother other people’s things. I’m not trying to make excuses, but he just wanted something to haul in his train cars. He—”
“Leave it, Abby,” Caleb said, but the weariness of his smile took the sting from the command. “I was going to offer to teach him how to play chess in the evenings, but I don’t think he’d be very receptive to that just now.”
Without another word, he crossed the room and began moving the chess pieces, presumably where they had been before Ben confiscated them. Caleb had made no mention of sending them packing, and she wasn’t going to bring it up. She gave a rueful shake of her head, not fully understanding why he had not flown off the handle, but grateful that he had not. It was progress. Of sorts.
* * *
Bright and early the following morning, while dew still sparkled on the browning grass, Abby found herself seated in the wagon beside Caleb. Mary had arrived shortly after daybreak to take care of the children. She’d brought along a newfangled bottle from the mercantile so that she could give Betsy a little sugar water if she grew fussy before Abby returned. Frank, the older of Caleb’s two hired hands, followed the wagon on a bay gelding.
Caleb leaned forward, his elbows resting on his denim-clad knees, his tanned, callused hands holding the reins in a loose grasp. Completely and easily in control. Again, she thought that even though he was not what one might call handsome, there was something striking about him. It was no wonder that he’d once been the catch of Pike County, or little doubt that once a decent time of mourning had passed, he would be again.
It was only when it came to expressing the more tender emotions that Caleb Gentry seemed to be wanting. That and the lack of a relationship with God. She wondered why he had left no place in his life for a God who had been so generous to him, but she was far too cautious to ask. In truth, she spoke to him as little as possible, since she had the impression that he did not want anyone getting too close to him and seemed disinclined to get close to anyone, which was rather sad, even though it made her life easier.
She glanced again at his hands. They were strong hands, hands whose callused palms and scarred fingers spoke of hard work. She’d seen those hands move in unerring swiftness to soothe a nervous horse and calmly remove an adventurous kitten from the branches of an oak tree, proving he was capable of tenderness. Yet for some reason that kindheartedness was not extended to people—at least not that she had seen.
Well, that was not exactly true. Even in the few days she had been at the farm, she’d seen his softening toward Laura, who made a habit of pulling up to his legs and demanding that he hold her, something he did without hesitation or complaint. He even allowed her to explore his face, poking her tiny fingers into his ears and eyes, and once offering him a wet, openmouthed kiss. When he’d swiped a palm down his cheek and made a soft growling sound of disgust, Laura had laughed in delight, which only made his scowl grow fiercer. It was all Abby could do to keep from laughing herself, but she managed to stifle the urge, knowing it would not do at all.
She saw him growing more confident with Betsy, too, as he made time for her after the evening meal and before going to his study to work on his account ledgers. Abby wondered if he saw Emily’s face when he looked down at their daughter’s delicate features. Once, he ran a strong finger over the curve of Betsy’s cheek, and remembering the little shock that had run through her when their hands touched, Abby experienced a brief, sudden stab of longing. It seemed like aeons since she had felt the tenderness of a man’s touch. Would she ever again bask in the certainty that she was so cherished?
“Are you all right?”
The sound of his voice brought her wandering thoughts back to the present. Her gaze flew to his, which held a curious gleam. “Y-yes. Why do you ask?”
“You made a strange sound, and I thought something might be bothering you.”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
She slid him a sideways glance and said the first thing that came to mind. “No offense, Mr. Gentry, but you don’t pay me enough to be privy to my thoughts.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could call them back. They were something she might have said to William. Almost...flirty, somehow. And totally inappropriate.
He regarded her for a moment, and then something bearing close kinship to a smile lifted one corner of his mouth for a heartbeat. “No offense taken, Mrs. Carter, and you’re right. It’s just that it’s seldom you’re so quiet. You’re always talking to the children about something—even Laura and Betsy, who have no idea what you’re saying.”
“I was just respecting your privacy. You don’t seem like the kind of man who indulges in idle chitchat.”
“You’re right,” he said with a slow nod. “I have little use for chitchat and gossip, but I enjoy an intelligent discussion now and again.”
Abby wasn’t surprised that he valued intelligence. Chess was not a game for dummies, and no man who handled the myriad business responsibilities he did could be lacking in intelligence. If his impressive book collection was any indication, he was well read. The shelves on either side of the parlor fireplace were filled with titles that ranged from F. H. Bradley’s The Principles of Logic to treatises on successful farming. There were many poetry and art-related books, no doubt Emily’s. Abby tried to envision the creative Emily sharing her views on art and literature with her husband.
“I suppose you miss those discussions with Emily,” Abby said, partly to keep the conversation going and partly because she was curious about his relationship with his dead wife.
“Emily and I had few common interests,” he told her in a tone that said that line of conversation had ended.
“So,” she asked after a few uncomfortable moments, “what shall we talk about?”
“You.”
“Me?” She choked back a laugh. “There isn’t much to tell, I assure you. You’d be very bored.”
&
nbsp; “That remains to be seen. From what you said the other day, your husband valued your comments and opinions, so I admit that I’m curious to hear some of them.” He slanted a wry look her way and added, “A bit taken aback by your forwardness, but curious nonetheless. I’m also interested as to why you agreed to help me with Betsy.”
“That’s simple,” she said with her customary bluntness. “Money.”
He shot her a shocked look. “Rachel never led me to believe you were the avaricious type.”
Again, Abby berated herself for speaking without thinking. This man was not William, and should not be answered with flippancy. “Oh, I’m not. Not really. I have little use for money for its sake, but we were forced to borrow against the farm, and the wages you’ve agreed to pay me will help me get caught up at the bank.”
Caleb frowned. “I thought you bought your place outright.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Ah. Gossip?” she challenged.
This time there was no denying his dry smile or the hint of color that crept into his lean cheeks. “The good old Wolf Creek grapevine,” he acknowledged with a nod.
“The good old Wolf Creek grapevine had it right,” she told him. “When my parents died, William and I used the money from the sale of their home to buy the farm and the equipment we’d need to farm it. And if you’ve heard that much gossip, you also know that he was a teacher, not a farmer. He had to borrow against the land.”
“I know he took a job with the Southwestern Arkansas and Indian Territory Railroad Company.”
“Yes,” Abby said quietly. Neither mentioned that William Carter had been killed a short time after his daughter’s birth while trying to connect two lumber-loaded railcars headed for an out-of-state market. Neither did Abby mention to Caleb that a few days before the accident, he had confided with an air of excitement that he had a potential buyer for the farm and he was thinking of taking the offer and moving them back to Springfield, Missouri, to be near his brother and his family.
Unfortunately, William was killed before anything could come of the deal, and Abby had no idea who the prospective buyer was.
“He should never have borrowed against the land,” Caleb said into the gathering silence.
“That’s an easy thing for someone like you to say,” she told him, the memories bringing past heartache to the surface.
“Someone like me? What does that mean?” he asked, his tone mirroring his irritation.
“Someone who has money, has always had money and who never has to worry about how to buy feed for their livestock, or put food on the table or buy shoes for their children. Someone who has options.”
Caleb didn’t comment for long moments. When he turned his head to look at her, there was genuine concern in his eyes, but Abby, who was looking out over the dew-drenched fields, didn’t see it. “So you did decide to take the job because of the money...because you had no other option.”
Her gaze flew to his. “Oh! You make it sound so mercenary. Yes, I needed the money, but I wanted to help, too. Believe it or not, I do not pull wings off butterflies, nor am I greedy and avaricious.”
Confusion filled his eyes. “I never thought you were. How have you managed these past months?”
Sensing that he was not angry, she gave a little shake of her head. “Though I hate to admit it, I’ve sold nearly everything I had that would bring a decent price.” When he made no comment, she added, “Your offer was the answer to my prayers.”
“Really?” he asked with an arched eyebrow of his own. “What took Him so long?”
“I beg your pardon,” Abby said, not following or understanding the sarcasm in his voice.
“God. What took Him so long to answer your prayers? Why didn’t He provide some sort of help sooner? Where was He when your husband died?”
Abby looked at him, taken aback. “It isn’t for us to question His plan for us,” she told him in an even tone. “Through faith, we believe that all will work out the way He wants it to, and for our benefit. And as for where He was when William died, I would imagine God was where He was when His son died.”
Caleb had the grace to look bowled over by that answer. Though he wanted to ask if she dealt with William’s loss by trusting that everything would come out all right and that something better was around the corner, he was silent.
“Surely you believe in God.” The statement was simple and to the point.
“I suppose so,” he said with a negligent lift of broad shoulders. “It’s just that my brother and I were taught to rely on ourselves, so I haven’t had many dealings with God.”
“On the contrary,” she argued, wondering how he’d lost his mother. “You deal with Him many times a day. Every day. Just look around you! It’s beautiful!” Abby spread her arms wide, encouraging him to look at the world around him, to see and acknowledge the glory of it all.
But Caleb wasn’t looking at the fallow fields or the red and gold of the changing leaves. He was looking at Abby. Bonnet-free, she had thrown back her head and lifted her face to the soft shine of the sun. A capricious breeze had tugged tendrils of blond hair from the coil at the nape of her neck and whipped delicate rose color into her cheeks. For the first time, he realized that Abigail Carter was a very pretty woman.
Caleb forced his eyes back to the road. “Yes. It is beautiful,” he said in a husky voice.
Abby glanced at him, saw the set of his jaw and decided that she’d said enough on the subject for the moment. She knew from past experience that the best way to teach was by example. There would be plenty of time to show him in small ways that God was present and working in his life.
* * *
Almost a week had gone by since she and Caleb had made the trip to her place. The intervening days had passed quickly, and things had been going as well as could be expected. Abby’s new routine had taken on a familiar rhythm as she grew accustomed to her new station in life and her new home. So far, neither Ben nor Laura had done anything else to antagonize the prickly Mr. Gentry.
As was her custom, Abby spent thirty minutes each night with Ben in Bible study. On two separate occasions, she had looked up and seen Caleb leaning against the doorjamb of his study, arms folded across his chest, listening as she read or questioned Ben about certain verses. He never commented, and on both occasions, he had quickly shut the door, bade them good-night and headed for the bunkhouse.
Today he was going into town for some feed and to pick up some pantry items Abby needed. When he came into the kitchen to tell her he was leaving, she said, “If you have time, I was wondering if you’d deliver a message for me.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he only nodded. “I’d be glad to.”
“I’m not used to dealing with this sort of thing, but I can. It’s just that William always did, and you’re familiar with business, so I thought...” She drew in another breath and rushed on. “I know it’s an imposition, certainly beyond what most employers would do, but it will be so hard for me to get away with the babies, and—”
“Stop dithering, woman, and spit it out,” Caleb said, scowling at her.
Abby’s eyes widened and she bit back a sharp retort. Dithering? Woman? She lowered her gaze to his shirtfront and struggled to keep her tone pleasant. “It’s just that...would you mind stopping at the bank to let Mr. Haversham know that I’m working for you now, and that I’ll start making up the back payments as soon as possible?”
Some emotion she couldn’t place flickered in Caleb’s gray eyes. “I’d be glad to,” he told her. “Anything else?”
“No. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She watched the wagon disappear down the lane with a sigh of relief. He had agreed readily enough, and didn’t seem to mind any inconvenience it might cause. But it was business, after all, and business was something he understood w
ell.
* * *
“How are things, Caleb?” Emily’s mother asked as he glanced over the list Abby had given him after making a thorough check of his pantry shelves.
What could he say to his dead wife’s mother? He suspected that neither Mary nor Bart suspected the true circumstances of his marriage and how even though he had more money but was self-educated, he had always felt intellectually inferior to Emily, who had received her education at a fancy girls’ school in St. Louis. He doubted they knew that Emily had taken far more joy from her drawing, reading and poetry writing than in making a home, or trying to build a marriage, so that when she had announced she was expecting a baby, it had come as a bit of a shock to them both.
Throughout the following months, her inability to come to terms with the whole idea of motherhood had left Caleb feeling as if he were solely to blame for her miserable pregnancy...and now her death. Thus the daily guilt he suffered.
Her dying had ended the steady ebb and flow of his life. Though Abby had a hot meal waiting for him when he returned to the house each evening, it was difficult for a man who liked the status quo to walk into the house and find strangers there. Being unable to enjoy the quiet peace and comfort of his home in the evenings made him nostalgic for the uncomplicated life he’d grown accustomed to during his marriage. Being with someone for six years forged habits and rituals that, when they ceased to exist, were missed nonetheless.
“I miss having her around,” he told them truthfully.
The smile on Mary Emerson’s face told him that his answer had pleased her, and that was all the thanks he needed.
Consulting Abby’s list, Mary helped him select some just-picked apples and a small tin of cinnamon. He had a hankering for an apple pie, and so far, Abby hadn’t balked at anything he’d suggested she fix, which, he had to admit, was a pleasant change.
“How is the arrangement with Abby Carter working out?” Bart Emerson asked, as if he could read his thoughts.
Wolf Creek Wedding Page 5
