The troubled expression in the older man’s eyes warned Caleb that something was wrong. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” he said, eyeing the older man thoughtfully. “What is it? I can tell something’s wrong.”
Bart cleared his throat. “I hate to mention it with everything you’ve been through lately, but you’ll find out soon enough, I reckon.”
“Spit it out,” Caleb said, leaning against the counter.
“Well, uh, there are some folks in town making a terrible fuss about Mrs. Carter staying at your place.”
Caleb’s dark eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, fuss?”
“They don’t think it’s right, both of you being single and living under one roof.”
Caleb swore beneath his breath. Though he was far from perfect and couldn’t claim to be religious, the maliciousness of some so-called Christians never failed to astound him.
“Don’t they know I just lost my wife, and I have a baby who needs to be fed every few hours?” he demanded. “Besides, Abby is newly widowed. And just for the record, I’m staying in the bunkhouse.”
“I know, I know,” Bart soothed. “You’d think they’d be more understanding what with Emily—” he cleared his throat “—and all. I’m thinking the problem is that Abby Carter is young and pretty. Maybe it would be different if she was old and ugly.”
“And if she was old, I wouldn’t need her, would I?” Caleb countered. He pinned Bart with a hard look. “Who exactly is ‘they’?”
“Several in town,” Bart hedged. “But the main one is Sarah VanSickle.”
“The biggest gossip in three counties,” Caleb muttered. He slapped his list onto the counter. “When I leave here, I have some business to see about for Abby, and then I’ll go have a talk with Sarah.”
“It won’t do any good,” Mary said. “She’d just make something of that. She’s like a spoon, Caleb. She likes keeping things stirred up. The best thing to do is ignore it.”
“Ignore it? That’s easier said than done. I don’t fancy being grist for the town’s gossip mill, and I suspect Abby won’t like it, either.”
“I suppose not,” Mary said, frowning. “Will you tell her?”
“No!” Caleb said in near panic. “She might decide to leave, and there’s no way I could manage without her just now.”
“I see your predicament, son, but you really ought to tell her before she finds out from someone else,” Bart reasoned. “It’s just a matter of time before Sarah’s poison makes its way through the whole county.”
Caleb hadn’t thought of that, but knew Bart was right. He couldn’t let Abby come to town and face the gossips without even preparing her, but how would he tell her? What would her reaction be? Furious and fearing he already knew the answer to that, he ground his teeth. Was anything in life ever easy?
* * *
It was almost dark when Caleb pulled the wagon to the rear of the house. The temperature was dropping since the sun had gone down, and he shivered, dreading the conversation to come. The feeling of trepidation vanished somewhat the moment he opened the back door and felt the tide of warm, cooking-scented air rush out to meet him. Breathing in the delicious aromas, he shifted the heavy sack of flour from his shoulder to the floor. Venison. Purple hull peas. Cornbread. Every night since Abby had come to stay he’d come in at suppertime to find something simmering on the back the stove.
Never much of a cook, Emily had stopped all attempts to do so when she’d announced her pregnancy, complaining of nausea, backaches and a general malaise. Soon she declared she was unable to do anything but knit and read, and in the subtle way she had, she made him feel like pond scum for putting her in her delicate condition. Rather than let the whole town know the situation, Caleb himself did what cooking and cleaning was to be done. Coming in and finding dinner waiting was nice, cooked by a stranger or not.
“How were the Emersons?” Abby said, setting the plates on the round oak table.
“Fine.”
“Did you get the apples?”
He nodded. “Just picked.”
“Wonderful.” They sat down to eat, Ben said the prayer and after a few more questions that received short answers, Abby deduced that Caleb was not in the mood for any type of conversation and stopped talking except to ask if she could pass him any more food.
When the awkward meal was finished, she put Laura in the square, quilt-lined “pen” William had made for her and gave Ben a piece of butterscotch Mary had thoughtfully sent. Abby told him to eat it on the porch and to get ready for bed as soon as he was finished. Caleb helped clear the table, something he’d gotten used to doing while fending for himself and continued to do for Abby.
He was setting a glass into the dishwater when she turned suddenly, a frown on her face. She was so close that he could see the almost-purple flecks in her blue eyes. So close he could smell the faint scent of the gardenia-scented soap she used for bathing. The sudden rush of awareness that jolted through him caught him off guard. Bart was right. Abby Carter was pretty. Very pretty. The revelation was swept away on another tidal wave of guilt. He took a sudden step back. What was the matter with him? His wife dead not two weeks, and he already found himself responding to the nearness of another woman!
“You seem distracted, Caleb. Is something wrong? Did Mr. Haversham refuse to discuss the farm?”
“No,” Caleb said, thankful to turn his thoughts to something else. “As a matter of fact, he said he’d drop by on Sunday afternoon on his way back from his daughter’s.”
“Good,” she said, but the worry stayed in her eyes. “Do you think he’ll be open to what I have to say?”
Careful not to look at her, he wrapped the leftover cornbread in a flour-sack dish towel and lifted his wide shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t get into things with him, but Nate’s a fair man, so I’m inclined to think he’ll listen with an open mind.”
“That’s a relief.” Neither spoke for several seconds.
“Abby, I—”
“Caleb, what—”
They both started to speak at once.
“Ladies first.”
“It’s just that something’s wrong,” she said, her blue eyes worry-filled. “I can tell. Did Ben—”
Caleb’s first thought was that it was amazing that she could read his mood after less than two weeks, something Emily had never been able to do. “Ben’s done nothing that I know about.”
“Then what?”
He drew a deep breath, crossed his arms over his chest and plunged. “There’s gossip in town.”
“Gossip? About what?”
“Us. It seems Sarah VanSickle and some of the others in town think it’s morally indecent for us to be living in the same house.”
“But I go to church with Sarah,” Abby said, as if the statement would negate the whole affair.
“If that old battle-ax is a Christian, I want no part of it.”
“None of us is perfect, Caleb, and you’d do well to think twice about throwing out the baby with the bathwater.”
Though she said the right thing, in her heart, she wanted to go to Sarah, confront her about her vicious character attacks and demand an accounting. Had the spiteful woman given any serious thought to her actions? Did she have any idea of the harm she was causing two innocent people—even more if you considered the children? Abby blinked back the sting of tears. As much as she might want to confront her accuser, she knew she wouldn’t.
A sudden thought occurred to her. “Caleb, we aren’t living in the same house! If we make that clear, everyone will understand.”
Caleb set the towel-wrapped bread in the pie safe, rested his elbow across its corner and regarded her with angry gray eyes. “Believe me, that was the first thing I pointed out to Mary and Bart, but they reminded me that a trifling thing like the truth doe
s not matter one bit to Sarah. As a matter of fact, she’s notorious about never letting facts get in the way of her maliciousness.”
Abby cradled her hot cheeks in her palms. While the unwarranted accusations infuriated Caleb, the tears swimming in her eyes said she was more hurt and embarrassed than angry. He thrust his hands into his front pockets and stared out the window at the darkness, wondering what he could do to fix the mess they found themselves in.
“Do you think there are other people in town who feel the same way?” she asked.
He shot her a look that said he couldn’t believe her naïveté. “Count on it.”
“Well, then, I’ll leave first thing in the morning,” she said firmly, as if the decision would put an end to the whole matter.
“You will not!”
Shocked by his vehemence, she shook her head and said, “It’s the only thing we can do. My reputation is at stake. So is yours.”
“I’m not worried about my reputation,” he said, a muscle in his lean jaw tightening. “People have been talking about the Gentrys for years. But I am concerned about you. And I’m very concerned about my daughter.”
He took a breath and let it out slowly, as if he were trying to release the tension holding him. The fierce look in his eyes softened a bit as they met Abby’s. “Look, we’ve already been through all this and decided this is the best way.”
“But that was before Sarah’s accusations.”
“I understand, but we don’t need to let her wreck a perfectly good partnership. Why don’t we both sleep on it tonight. Things always look better in daylight. Maybe we’ll dream up some way to resolve things that even Sarah VanSickle can’t argue with.”
Chapter Four
Abby lay quietly in her bed, the covers clutched in her fists, and tried to keep from flipping and flopping and waking Ben, who slept beside her. Though Sarah VanSickle’s reputation as an inveterate gossip preceded her, the fact that Abby herself was now bearing the brunt of that hatefulness was a definite shock. The situation with Caleb was not what she would have chosen, but there was no denying that the opportunity to get her life in order had come along at a perfect time, and had seemed like the answer to her prayers. But if that were so, why was it being jeopardized by senseless gossip?
Dear God, what am I to do?
God was silent.
The faint fingers of dawn were poking through the window when she finally drifted off to sleep, tears of hopelessness drying on her cheeks as she faced the only moral decision possible. As much as Caleb might dislike her decision, as soon as she could gather her things, she was going back to her own farm.
With or without his daughter.
* * *
Being a man who preferred action, Caleb paced the path from the bunkhouse to the house over and over. He vacillated from self-pity over Emily’s death and his current situation to fury at Sarah VanSickle for making an already bad situation worse. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised by the unexpected turn of events. Hadn’t he always been the one saddled with the responsibility of doing the right thing?
As the older son of Lucas Gentry, it had fallen to Caleb to follow in his father’s footsteps, while Gabe played the spoiled, pampered son. Though both boys were required to work the farm, more often than not, Gabe’s contribution had been to keep everyone laughing at his jokes and antics, while Caleb was expected to toe the line and pick up the slack left by his younger brother. Caleb was the one who worked the longest hours and took the tongue-lashings and razor strap beatings, the one forced to learn farming from the ground up, including how to manage the soil and take care of the books. His father’s demands left no time for fun, something Gabe enjoyed to the fullest.
Eight years ago, when Gabe was twenty and itching to experience more than Pike County had to offer, he’d gone to Lucas to ask for his inheritance, instead of waiting for his father to pass away.
To everyone’s shock, Lucas had capitulated without argument, and Gabe had set out to see the world. Though there had been a few letters along the way, as far as Caleb knew, no one in Wolf Creek had seen his brother since he’d boarded the train for points east.
Rumors ran rampant. Word filtered back from friends of friends and even the pages of the big-city newspapers that were regularly shipped to Wolf Creek for the enlightenment of the few folks in town who liked to keep up with national happenings. Gabe’s name had been linked to those of actresses, wealthy men’s daughters and scandalous divorcées. He had a reputation of being a drinker, a gambler and a womanizer as he traveled California, New York, New Orleans, St. Louis and even Paris, London and Austria.
Five years after Gabe left to live the high life, and three years after Lucas browbeat Caleb into marrying Emily Emerson, Lucas died. Edward Stone claimed it was his heart. Caleb didn’t doubt it. Gabe hadn’t come home for the funeral; no one knew where or how to reach him.
And what did I get? A lifetime of work and responsibility, a wife I didn’t love as I should have and now this. A baby to bring up alone. It wasn’t fair, Caleb thought, feeling the rise of the anger that often simmered just beneath his calm exterior. But then, as Lucas had always declared when Caleb voiced that sentiment, life was many things, but it wasn’t always fair.
Dwelling on past injustices would solve nothing, he thought now, gazing up at the wispy clouds trailing over the face of the moon. All he could do was deal with it in the best way possible. But what was that?
If he were a betting man, which he wasn’t—he didn’t work from dawn till dusk to fritter away his profits—he would say that Abby would once again suggest taking Betsy to her place, and if he didn’t agree to that, she would quit. That meant that if he wanted to see his daughter, he would be running back and forth during the worst time of the year.
He wasn’t sure just how the fatherhood thing worked, but he realized he was obligated to do his best by Betsy. His own upbringing had taught him the hard way that doing one’s best involved being more than a tyrant who laid down the law and expected everyone to obey or suffer the consequences. He suspected that keeping a tight rein on his temper and being willing to listen to someone else’s perspective was involved...the way Abby’s husband had been willing to listen to her.
Caleb clenched his hands, and forced himself to consider every angle, something he did before making any major decisions. All right, beyond trips back and forth, what else would it mean if Abby left?
You’ll come in from work to a cold, empty, unwelcoming house.
The notion held little appeal. He recalled the evening before when he’d stepped through the door and was greeted by the mouthwatering aromas of supper cooking on the big cast-iron woodstove. It had not escaped his notice that the dust and cobwebs that had collected the past several months had disappeared. The rugs had been taken out and whacked with a wire beater, and the wooden furniture gleamed with a combination of elbow grease, beeswax, turpentine and something that smelled of lemon.
If he refused to let Abby take the baby to her place and she quit, he would have to find a replacement, which, as he’d told Bart and Mary, would not alter his current situation one iota.
Which brought him back to the root of his quandary and kicked up his anger. Rumors and gossip. Why should he and Abby be concerned by the venomous ranting of a few small-minded, hypocritical folks? After all, they both knew there was nothing untoward going on between them.
He heaved a deep sigh. He also knew Abby was a decent, God-fearing woman who would never consent to remaining in a position that might damage her or her children—or him and Betsy, for that matter. Furthermore, what kind of cad would he be if he let her stay in a situation that would cause her reputation such damage? She’d have to leave the state to find another husband.
A terrifying thought slammed into his mind, stopping him dead in his tracks. A harsh, heartfelt “No!” shattered the silen
ce of the moon-drenched night. Muttering about life’s injustices, he stomped across the yard some more. Thought some more. Weighed the good against the bad. Just before dawn, he gave a sigh of acceptance and made his peace with the inevitable.
* * *
When, weary and haggard, Caleb entered the kitchen from the barn the following morning, he saw that Ben was already seated, waiting for him. Though they were rarely seated before Caleb came in from his early chores, he’d told Abby he had no problem with her feeding the children before he got to the table. Abby had replied that unless it was some sort of emergency, she considered it the height of impoliteness to start a meal without the man of the house at the table.
Caleb’s gaze roamed the room. Betsy was in her cradle near the fire, and Laura sat in the high chair he’d brought over from Abby’s place, squishing a glob of sorghum and pancake into her mouth with the heel of her hand. A platter of sausage sat warming near the back of the stove, and Abby was busy taking buckwheat pancakes from a large cast-iron skillet.
It might have been a scene from a happy marriage, until you noticed the frown on Ben’s face and the dejected slump of Abby’s shoulders. He felt the almost overwhelming need to do something to improve the mood, but all he could manage was a terse “Good morning.”
Abby sent him a quick glance over her shoulder. “Good morning.”
She looked as tired as he felt. Dark smudges lay beneath her red-rimmed blue eyes. Her nose was reddened, too, no doubt from crying. There was an unhappy droop to her lips, which some still-functioning part of his mind noted were very prettily shaped. From what he’d seen in the mirror when he’d shaved, he looked no better than she.
Caleb noticed the way Ben’s gaze moved from his mother to Caleb, as if he somehow knew who was responsible for the unhappiness that seemed to roll from her in dark waves.
She set down the sausages, a platter of pancakes, a round of fresh-churned butter and a quart jar of sorghum molasses before returning to the stove for the coffeepot. After filling both their cups, she sat down to Caleb’s right and Ben gave thanks for their food.
Wolf Creek Wedding Page 6
