More Than Words Can Say

by Karen Witemeyer

  By the time Rosalind came down to open the shop, they’d stockpiled twelve dozen biscuits in cloth-covered baskets.

  “Don’t forget to eat,” Rosalind cautioned him as she neared the stove, where he stirred yet another batch of honey butter. She carried a coffeepot in each hand that she’d filled at the sink and set them on the hot part of the stove. When she opened the coffee tin to retrieve the grounds she’d milled last night, the scent hit Zach hard in the gut, setting his mouth to watering.

  “I’ve already snitched a couple biscuits,” he admitted softly, “but I sure could go for a cup of that coffee when you get it ready.”

  Rosalind smiled at him. “First cup’s yours.”

  Living in an all-female household did have its advantages. Coffee made by someone who knew what they were doing, for one. Having it delivered, for another.

  ’Course, there were disadvantages too, Zach recalled five hours later as he paced the length of the upstairs hall for the sixth time. How long did it take to throw on some clothes, for pity’s sake?

  The parade started at two o’clock. The float had to be lined up in its assigned position at one. Rosalind was supposed to report to City Hall at one thirty. Mayor Longfellow planned to declare her Queen Bee of Honey Grove for the Fourth of July Parade as part of his oration to kick off the festivities. But here it was, nearly twelve thirty, and she and her sister were still in their room, fussing with who-knew-what while he paced the hall. Again.

  He’d washed, shaved, put on his Sunday suitcoat, double-checked the biscuit baskets, and even made his bed. He never made his bed. At least not voluntarily. That was how desperate the situation had become.

  After the eighth pass down the hall, Zach huffed out a breath and knocked on the door to Rosalind’s room. “You gals almost ready? We gotta get goin’.”

  “Almost,” his wife called. She’d closed the shop in order to help Rosalind dress. Why a grown woman needed help dressing, Zach couldn’t fathom, but he considered sending out for reinforcements, since two didn’t seem sufficient for the task at hand.

  Abigail planned to attend the mayor’s speech and watch the start of the parade before hurrying back to reopen the shop. The parade route would start at City Hall, make its way down Hickory to Sixth Street, circle around the square, then head east down Main to finish up in front of the Christian Church. Once the parade vacated the square, spectators would disperse. Those who’d traveled a significant distance would seek provisions to see them through the journey home. Locals planning to stay for the fireworks that evening might be in the market for a snack to keep their energy up. Hence the biscuit stand.

  Zach, however, was going to need a lot more than a biscuit to get him through the rest of the day if those two didn’t speed things—

  The door opened. Zach spun around at the sound of the hinges.

  “It’s about t—” The complaint died on his tongue as his wife stepped through the doorway. She’d abandoned her work apron and changed her dark blue shirtwaist for a white lacy confection with a pleated front that highlighted her abundant curves. She’d tied a red sash around her waist that set off her blue skirt with patriotic flair and had somehow folded a scrap of leftover paper festooning from the shop’s decorations into a circle thing that looked remarkably like a flower. It was pinned to her blouse like a brooch. She’d also magically woven red ribbon through the braid on her head, a ribbon he was certain hadn’t been there when they’d been working side by side that morning.

  “Isn’t she stunning?” Abigail asked as she turned her face away from him.

  She? He only saw Abigail.

  When Abigail gestured behind her, Zach finally noticed Rosalind stepping into the hall. She didn’t make his heart pound like Abby did, but he had to admit that she was a right fine-looking female. They must have taken curling tongs to her hair, for it hung in blonde ringlets down her nape in a way that reminded him of the fancy women in New York who used to bring donation baskets to the orphanage at Christmas. Her clothes were much fancier than her sister’s too. All white and frilly. She’d taken some of the bunting fabric and fashioned an overskirt that draped down her front and pulled up into a big bow at the back. She wore a straw hat decorated with more of those red, white, and blue paper flower things.

  For someone who’d known for less than twenty-four hours that she was going to be the star attraction of the Fourth of July parade, she’d done an impressive job of improvising a patriotic ensemble that would no doubt put Sophia Longfellow to shame.

  Abigail shot him a look that felt remarkably like a kick to the shin. Obviously, she expected him to say something. And not to her.

  He smiled at Rosie. “I’ve never seen a prettier Lady Liberty.”

  Abby beamed at him, making him stand a little taller, since he’d somehow managed not to stick his foot in his mouth. Then she took her sister’s hand. “You’re beautiful, Rosalind. No one deserves the title of Honey Grove’s Queen Bee more than you.”

  Rosalind ducked her chin. “I just hope all this hoopla is worth the effort.”

  “It will be,” Abby assured her. “You’ll see. We’ll break all kinds of sales records today. I just know it!”

  Zach wanted to share her optimism, but his instincts warned that trouble lay ahead. And his instincts were rarely wrong.

  CHAPTER

  33

  “There you are, Miss Kemp.” Sophia Longfellow separated herself from the group of aldermen’s wives in front of City Hall and crossed the street to meet Abigail and Rosalind. Her face pinched, Sophia clicked her tongue in displeasure. “If you’re going to represent Honey Grove, you really ought to have a care for punctuality. The photographer’s been waiting for an age.”

  “Ph-photographer?” Rosalind’s gaze darted to the men gathered beneath the clock tower at the front entrance of the stone building. “No one told me anything about a photographer.”

  Abigail touched her sister’s arm, scanning the crowd herself. Thankfully, the man holding the box camera and tripod was Alexander Westman, the local portraitist who doubled as the photographer for the Honey Grove Signal, the local paper. An older gentleman, a church deacon, nothing like that perfidious Julius. Nevertheless, Abigail felt a tremble course through her sister, and her steps slowed.

  “Of course there’s a photographer,” Sophia said as she whisked Rosalind away from Abigail’s side and drew her toward the group of women who were timidly edging near. “We commemorate every Fourth of July with a photograph of our civic leaders prior to the mayor’s speech. You know that.”

  “Yes,” Rosalind replied, pulling her arm from Sophia’s grasp, “but no one mentioned that I would be a part of it.”

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “You’re the first Honey Grove Queen Bee. Of course you’d be in the picture. Really. I thought you Kemp girls were sharper than this.”

  Abigail inserted herself between Sophia and Rosalind. It was a tight squeeze. She might have belly-bumped the mayor’s wife a bit as she forced her way in, but one did what one must when defending one’s sister.

  Pasting on a smile, Abigail demanded Sophia’s attention as she planted herself directly in her path, bare inches from her face. “I’m terribly sorry we’re late. The fault lies entirely with me. I was so excited by the idea of a Taste of Heaven Bakery float that I rose well before dawn to bake treats for the occasion. I’m afraid all that cooking caused us to fall a bit behind schedule.” She turned a woeful gaze toward the parade committee ladies. “If only we’d had more than a single day’s notice. Decorating the float wagon and preparing the treats that Mayor Longfellow so cleverly suggested we distribute left little time for guessing the city council’s unspoken expectations.”

  Abigail slanted a hard stare at Sophia, one that made it clear that picking a fight with her was fine, but condescending to a nervous seventeen-year-old girl was not.

  Sophia’s eyes narrowed as she glared back.

  “All is forgiven,” Mrs. Jones announced, bustling forward and wra
pping an arm around Rosalind’s waist. The kind older woman smiled as she steered Abby’s sister closer to City Hall. “It never hurts to make the menfolk wait a minute or two, does it, ladies?” Like hens, the others circled around the young chick. “Have to make sure they appreciate all the effort we go through to make ourselves beautiful, don’t we? And just look at the results. My goodness, Rosie. I’ve never seen you look so fine. And look at that clever use of bunting cloth on your skirt! Never in a thousand years would I have thought of employing such a technique, yet the result is utterly charming. You, my dear, are going to be the star of our parade.”

  Rosalind offered a hesitant smile but still cast a glance over her shoulder that pleaded with Abigail not to leave her alone. Abby turned to follow, then stopped and, recalling the verse from Romans about heaping burning coals on an enemy’s head by treating them with kindness instead of evil, she tossed out a parting shot.

  “I haven’t had the chance to thank you, Sophia, for recommending Rosalind as Queen Bee. I know the council would never have thought of such an idea without your direction. And allowing the bakery to sponsor the float?” She pressed a hand to her bodice. “What a generous gesture. Thank you.”

  Before Sophia could do more than blink owlishly, Abigail pivoted and strode toward the ladies who were fitting a bright red sash over Rosalind’s torso. Was it wrong of Abigail to hope that her coals of kindness were singeing Sophia’s perfectly coifed head? Probably, but she figured that verse had been recorded in scripture for a reason. Enemies of the mean-spirited, shrewish variety seemed particularly singe-worthy, in her estimation.

  “This windbag’s speeches get longer every year,” Reuben grumbled near Zach’s ear. “I can’t believe you dragged me down here.”

  They had left the float wagons farther down Hickory Street and skimmed the edges of the crowd that had gathered to hear Mayor Longfellow’s oratory on the history of Honey Grove and the blessings of freedom.

  Zach couldn’t care less about the speech. He’d come to lay eyes on the orator’s wife. Sophia Longfellow stood on the dais a few steps behind and to the right of her husband as he gave his address, her bright red dress drawing Zach’s attention and animosity like a matador’s cape taunting a bull. Her smug expression made his skin itch.

  “I can’t see, Papa.” Zeb yanked on his daddy’s pant leg. “Lift me up.” Reuben grumbled about there not being much worth seeing, but he reached for his son anyway.

  “Me too, Mr. Zach.” Ash didn’t bother asking permission. He just grabbed Zach’s arm as if it were a rope and planted a foot on his leg, ready to make the climb.

  Before the scamp could get his second foot off the ground, Zach bent down and scooped him up. He settled the boy on his shoulders and grabbed his ankles to keep the little daredevil from attempting any unsupervised dismounts.

  Would he someday be lifting his own son onto his shoulders to watch the parade?

  The thought rocked Zach back on his heels. Abby was in no hurry to have children, but odds were good that when they finally stopped sleeping in separate beds, a child would eventually result. His gaze skittered over to where his wife stood, off the dais but close to her sister, who was positioned behind the mayor on his left. Zach’s gaze fell to Abigail’s belly, and an image of it rounded with a babe sprang to mind. His chest tightened as something primitive, protective, and downright prideful sprang to life inside him. Then Ash grabbed hold of his ears, and the feeling dissipated beneath the prick of little fingernails.

  As Chester Longfellow brought his remarks to a close, Reuben gestured with his head that he and Zach needed to get back to the float. Zach nodded, though he shot a handful of glances Sophia’s way as he went. That woman had something up her sleeve. He just didn’t know what.

  Audrey Sinclair waited at the float wagon with Dinah and Simeon. She had tied paper streamers to the bottom of the basket handles to make them more patriotic and even twisted some into a wreath for Dinah’s hair. Thankfully, Simeon had escaped the decorative additions. For the most part, anyway. A red, white, and blue armband circled his left sleeve.

  “There you are!” Audrey rushed forward and held her hands out to the son on Reuben’s shoulders. “The parade is fixing to start.”

  Reuben lifted Zeb down and handed the boy over to his mama. “We’ve got plenty of time. The band’s not even playing yet. The crowd has to thin out after the speech before we can go anywhere.”

  “Even so, it’s better to be early and prepared than late and scrambling.” She aimed a pointed look at her husband that clearly warned against arguing.

  Being an intelligent man, Reuben nodded.

  Being a somewhat clever hombre himself, Zach kept his mouth shut altogether, turned Ash over to his mother’s care, and got out of the way.

  While Audrey fussed over her children’s clothing and gave the twins last-minute instructions about behaving themselves on the float, Zach double-checked all the rigging and extracted the driver’s promise that the team would be held to a walk for the duration of the parade. The alderman in charge of the queen’s float was a staid fellow in his forties with grown daughters of his own. He didn’t seem the sort to willfully put a young woman in harm’s way.

  “Here’s the lady of the hour,” Reuben announced, stepping forward to greet Rosalind and Abigail as they wove between the people setting up the float ahead of them in line. Rosalind looked a bit dazed, surely from all the unwanted attention she’d endured for the last hour, but her step was steady and her chin held high.

  Audrey unfolded from her crouch where she’d been spit-polishing Ash’s cheek and clasped her hands together. “How beautiful you look!” She rushed over to Rosalind and wrapped the younger woman in a hug. “I might not agree with all of the decisions the council has made of late, but naming you the first Queen Bee of Honey Grove has my full support. There is no lady fairer of face or kinder of heart than our Rosie.”

  “Hear, hear!” Reuben stepped forward and gallantly held out his arm. “Might I assist you into your carriage, Your Majesty?”

  His silly charm erased the dazed look from Rosalind’s eyes and instead had them twinkling by the time he lifted first her, then her two lads-in-waiting into the wagon bed. Abigail reached over the side and handed each boy a stick flag and told them they were the official flag bearers for the float and must wave their flags with national pride and enthusiasm. This, of course, set the two boys off in a contest to see who could wave more vigorously.

  While Rosalind laughed and gave the twins instructions on proper flag waving, Zach collected two biscuit-filled baskets from the wagon, sidling extra close to his wife as he did so.

  She smiled shyly at him, and his chest muscles flexed in response, remembering the heated way she’d looked at him that morning. He might as well flaunt his good points. Heaven knew he didn’t have many, so he’d better make the most of what he had. The way her gaze skittered along his arms as he curled the baskets over the wagon’s side tempted him to find something even heavier to lift for her. Too bad there weren’t any giant rocks in the middle of the road needing to be moved out of the way or a stack of lumber to clear out of their path. The best he could do was slow the basket-fetching down and soak up as much admiration as he could before it ended.

  “Need some help there, speedy?” Reuben thumped him on the back and reached for one of the baskets, a crooked grin sprouting on his impertinent face.

  Tempted to straighten that crook with his knuckles, Zach settled for a glare instead as he bypassed his smart aleck partner to hand the basket to the sweet little girl standing behind her daddy. “Here you go, Dinah.”

  She reached for the basket handle with both hands.

  “It’s not too heavy for you, is it?” Zach asked.

  They’d opted for multiple smaller baskets that could be switched out during the parade instead of larger baskets that would cause the children’s arms to tire. He and Reuben would handle fetching the replacements. Two extra baskets had been placed on ea
ch side of the wagon in readiness.

  She shook her head. “I can do it.”

  Zach tweaked the end of her nose. “Of course you can.”

  As he turned to hand the second basket to Simeon, the band struck up the opening notes of Sousa’s “The Liberty Bell.”

  “Hurry, children.” Audrey clapped her hands. “Dinah on the left with your father. Simeon on the right with Mr. Zach. Don’t give out the biscuits too quickly, now. Make them last.”

  Zach moved to take up his assigned position, happy when Abigail came with him. Though when he smiled down at her, he realized her attention was focused on her sister, not him.

  “I’ll watch out for her,” he vowed.

  She looked up at him, touching his arm. “I know.”

  “The mayor and his wife are in the buggy directly behind the band, so there shouldn’t be any trouble from that quarter while the parade is going on. But I’ll keep an eye on them too.”

  “Thank you.” Grabbing his shoulder for balance, she rose up on tiptoes and aimed a kiss at his cheek.

  He bent sideways to close the distance for her, his heart thumping like one of those bass drums in the band. All too soon it was over, and his wife was letting him go.

  “I’ll take the back road down to the bakery and open the shop so we’ll be ready for customers once the parade ends. I’ll wave at you and Rosalind from the doorway.”

  He gave her a nod, then watched her scurry away, his heart starting up a second cadence when she glanced back at him and waved before turning the corner down Seventh Street.

  Abigail hurried down Seventh with a giddy energy that a woman who’d risen before four in the morning shouldn’t be feeling. Then again, any woman fortunate enough to be married to Zacharias Hamilton had to learn to expect flutters and tingles and excessive giddiness from time to time.

  Biting her lip to keep her smile contained, she reached into her skirt pocket to retrieve the key to her shop. Entering the alley, she checked to make sure she had the key situated correctly for sliding into the lock. Before she could reach for the handle, however, the door flew inward, and a boy flew outward. He barreled past her, knocking her to the ground.