by Kristen Iten
She hesitated as the realization of what was about to happen hit her. All of the questions that had swirled in her mind these last several months were about to be answered. Now that it got right down to it, the thought terrified her. Her pulse quickened as familiar visions of a bleak future without her brother replayed in her mind.
Get a hold of yourself, Abigail. Hiding from the truth won’t make it go away.
Abigail walked through the door and found herself in a wide open room that was simple and clean. Two rows of long benches lined the building from front to back. A small woman, not much older than Abigail, dusted a wooden cross hanging on the wall behind a small podium. Her long brunette braids were wrapped into a low bun on the back of her head. She wore a simple blue dress that complimented her fair skin. A broad smile lit her face when she saw Abigail enter with Pastor Holtz.
“Rebecca,” said David, “this is Miss Abigail Dodd.”
Her smile instantly faded at the sound of Abigail’s name. She dropped her cleaning rag and came to where Abigail stood. Rebecca took her by the hands and spoke with tears glinting in her eyes.
“I am so sorry, dear,” she said.
“I don’t understand,” said Abigail.
“Surely, you received my letter.” David gestured for Abigail to sit as he and his wife took seats side by side.
“I haven’t received a letter in months. That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to see how my brother is getting along,” said Abigail.
Rebecca reached out for her husband’s hand. “Then you haven’t heard?”
Abigail gazed at the couple in front of her with confusion etched on her face.
Pastor Holtz ran a hand over his beard, glanced at his young wife before addressing Abigail. “There’s no easy way to tell you this.” He filled his lungs deeply before exhaling long and slow. “Your brother took a nasty fall when he was building his barn. We did everything we could for him.”
Abigail sat motionless. Her eyes were fixed on the man in front of her, looking but not seeing.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” said Rebecca. “Jonathan has passed away.”
The words slammed into Abigail with such force they took her breath away.
“No, there has to be a mistake. Jonathan is busy building our ranch. That’s why I haven’t heard from him.” The room that seemed so spacious only moments ago now felt as if it were closing in on her. Abigail stood abruptly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to go now. I’m going to see my brother today.” She rushed toward the first door her eyes landed on.
Abigail staggered outside, pressing her back against the whitewashed slats that made up the back wall of the church. She found no relief. The open air felt just as suffocating as the room she had just left.
Abigail tugged at her dress. I can’t breathe. Her fingers fumbled blindly with the button on the back of her collar until she unfastened it. Her heaving chest pumped air into her lungs, but no matter how much air she took in, she still couldn’t catch her breath.
The ground felt unsteady beneath her feet. Stumbling forward with outstretched arms, she searched for something solid to latch onto, but found nothing until Pastor Holtz stepped in her path. She looked at him through a wall of tears that had yet to break free.
Pastor Holtz’s mouth moved, but Abigail couldn’t make out the words. The only sound she heard was the wild thumping of her own heartbeat. Her head swam as the world around her seemed farther away by the second.
Pastor Holtz caught her by the arms just as her knees buckled. Abigail looked up into eyes full of concern. She heard his voice when her head started to clear.
“Miss Dodd, please,” he said, “come inside and sit for a while.”
Abigail blinked back tears and shook her head. A sickening feeling had settled in her stomach. “No, I have to go to him.” Her throat screamed for relief from the pain her trapped emotions were causing. She swallowed hard. “Where is he?”
“I’ll take you to him,” said the pastor.
Jake emerged from the saloon several minutes later, but Abigail was not on the church steps. He craned his neck, looking up and down the length of the street. It was filled with miners, ranch hands, and townsfolk. A tiny herd of children darted in and out of all of the commotion, enjoying the spectacle while their mothers called out warnings from random windows lining the street.
Spotting Abigail would be no easy feat, but Jake knew exactly what he was looking for. A five foot, four-inch fireball who hadn’t yet discovered all of the inner strength she possessed. Just thinking about her brought a smile to his face.
Finally, his eyes landed on a beautiful young woman sitting in the grass in the side yard of the church. A full skirt the color of the sky cushioned her seat on the ground. Loose strands of sun-kissed brown hair blew in the breeze. The light of day accentuated her copper and blond highlights. Her hand rested on something in front of her. She was studying it intently.
The hard lines of Jake’s imposing stance melted away as he regarded Abigail from afar. He inhaled deeply imagining the scent of her hair and the sensation of her body close to his. My Abby.
His countenance suddenly darkened, his smile replace by a look of pain. She can never be my Abby. He removed his hat and slapped it into his leg. He put it back on his head and took a moment to compose himself before crossing the street.
After only a few steps he realized what she was looking at. A stake that had been fashioned into a cross stood in the ground. In fact, she was surrounded by small crosses. Each one stood resolutely above the surrounding grasses. Abigail sat in a graveyard.
Jake studied her face. He didn’t see grief. He didn’t see sorrow. He saw nothing. For the first time since they had met, she was expressionless. Lifeless. Her unblinking eyes seemed to be looking right through the grave marker.
It took every ounce of his strength to resist rushing to her side to give the comfort that she was obviously in need of. He longed to wrap her in his arms. Instead he removed his hat and found a place in the corner of the graveyard and allowed her to grieve in the privacy of her own thoughts.
Abigail sat unmoving, paralyzed by grief while Jake looked on.
She finally broke the silence without turning to look at Jake. “You don’t have to sit all the way over there.”
“I didn’t want to intrude.” Jake came and sat next to Abigail.
“It’s over. I’m going to sell up and go home.”
“I’m so sorry, Abby. I truly am.” Jake took her hand in his. His skin tingled at the touch. Time ceased to exist while they sat together in silence. One stared at a rugged cross, and the other at the delicate hand that rested in his.
Chapter 8
The sun beat down from directly overhead by the time Abigail stood.
“I can’t leave Texas without seeing what he built. Will you take me?” Abigail’s gaze was still fixed on the cross marking her brother’s final resting place.
“Of course,” said Jake. He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her away from the cemetery. They walked to the boardinghouse where his horse was still tethered to the hitching post. Abigail and Jake mounted the animal with practiced ease.
“Is it far?”
“It’s a fair piece down the road,” said Jake.
They left the commotion of town behind. All was quiet save the rhythmic plodding of Horse’s hooves on sun-baked clay soil. Miles of open country lay before them. The songbirds that Abigail had come to adore on her long journey to Sweet Creek were nowhere to be seen in this treeless stretch of ground. The only birds in the entire sky were two buzzards circling in the distance. How fitting.
Along the trail, stony ground choked out the grass, dry earth refused to yield fresh water, and barbed plants stood poised at the ready to prick with their spines. Everywhere Abigail looked she saw an unfriendly land lying in wait to catch her off guard and punish her for living.
Abigail’s voice broke the silence. “It’s my fault, you know.”
“What is?”
“I should have never let him come to Texas alone. Aunt Virginia was right about everything. If it wasn’t for our ridiculous plan, Jonathan would still be alive.” The quiver in her voice spoke volumes.
“You’re not responsible for what happened to your brother.”
“All it would have taken was a single word from me. One word and he wouldn’t have come,” said Abigail. “He’d still be alive.”
“You’re a strong woman, Abby, but you’re taking on a burden that no one is strong enough to carry.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to be responsible for the death of a loved one.”
Jake’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Actually, I do.”
Abigail swiped away a tear that ran down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no idea.”
“I’m the reason my brother got bit by a snake.” Jake’s voice was devoid of all expression, monotone like one who’s pain had eaten away at their heart for a long time. “I must not have closed the pen right that morning because when we got home that night, the hogs were gone.”
Abigail was silent while Jake continued his story.
“That was a lot of good eatin’ that had run off. We wanted to catch them before they got too far. Tracking in the evening light wasn’t easy.”
“And your brother stumbled onto a snake?” said Abigail.
“No. My horse got spooked by a rattler and threw me. I was knocked silly when my head hit the ground. The next thing I knew, Henry had jumped between me and the snake. He shot it but not before it bit him.”
Abigail took Jake’s hand in hers. “That must have been horrible for you,” she said.
“It was. I carried the guilt for years. I still feel the weight sometimes. It’s a heavy load to carry, Abby.”
Abigail nodded her head.
“Why did your brother get so close before shooting?” she asked.
Jake chuckled. “Henry couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a scatter gun. To this day, I don’t know how he managed to tag that snake even as close as he was.”
Jake veered off the main trail and crossed a shallow creek. “I always gave him a hard time for that.” He laughed. “Imagine being named after a rifle and growing up to be the worst shot in Texas.”
“Your brother was named after a gun?”
“My mother was not my pa’s first sweetheart. That honor belonged to his .44 caliber, breach-loading, lever-action Henry rifle. It was only natural for him to want to name his first born son after it.”
“Only natural?” Abigail felt a smile spread across her face for the first time in hours. She shook her head. “I certainly hope you don’t intend to name your first born daughter after your gun,” she teased.
“Oh no,” said Jake. “There’s only one Milly.”
Their laughter quieted when a small cabin came into view. They had arrived.
The scene was everything Abigail had ever hoped it would be. A single oak tree spread its ancient limbs wide, providing the cabin with shade from the afternoon sun. Tall prairie grasses bent in soft waves as a light breeze made its presence known. Clear water from the creek they had crossed cascaded down a rocky ridge nearby.
Jonathan and Abigail had planned to build separate homes when they were ready to marry. The ranch that they envisioned would easily support two households. They each wanted a big family of their own. Abigail’s eyes turned glassy when she thought of the children that would never run and play in these hills. Laughter of little cousins that would never be heard echoed in her mind.
She blinked back her tears and walked into the cabin. It was practically complete. All it lacked was a few finishing touches. The windows needed shutters, and the porch needed a railing. Other than that, it was a completely livable home.
Its two rooms were scantily furnished. Abigail looked in Jonathan’s trunk for the deed to the property but came up empty-handed. She stepped back onto the porch.
“He must have been so close to sending for me,” said Abigail. She looked around the corner of the cabin. A little way off stood the framework for what was going to be a small barn. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight. She placed a hand on her chest seeking relief from the throbbing ache that had settled in.
Jake walked over to take a look. He ran his hand along the unfinished wood. “Your brother did good, solid work. It wouldn’t take much to have this place up and running.”
Abigail walked over and glanced up at the framed-out walls in front of her. The sight of the building made her sick to her stomach. Her mind went back to their childhood home in Pennsylvania. Jonathan had fallen out of taller trees as a child. How could a fall from such a small outbuilding have killed him?
“It’s a lot shorter than I expected,” she said.
“It’s tall enough to stable a good sized horse. That’s really all you need,” said Jake.
“Something the pastor told me earlier made me imagine a taller barn, that’s all.”
A hammer lay on the ground where Jonathan had left it. Abigail stooped to collect the nails scattered around it. She shut her eyes tight and clutched the nails in her hand. Her white knuckled fist quivered before tossing the nails back to where she had found them. She swallowed her emotions and turned to Jake.
“I’m ready to go now. I have a banker to see.” Without another word, she left the homestead behind.
The street was much less crowded when Jake and Abigail arrived back in town. The late afternoon heat had settled in, and no one wanted to be out in the scorching sun.
“My stomach is telling me that supper time is fast approaching,” said Jake.
“I need to get over to the bank today before it closes. Hopefully, Jonathan stored the deed to the property in the vault.”
Jake steered Horse in the direction of the small building next to the jail. There was no better place to put a bank than next door to the law.
“Are you sure you want to sell? That was a gorgeous piece of ground,” said Jake.
“I can’t run a ranch on my own.”
“It seems to me that you’ve done a lot on your own. Have you considered the idea that you may be capable of more than you think?” Jake stopped at the general store before they reached the bank. He wrapped the reigns around the hitching post, and helped Abigail to the ground. He turned his head from left to right, eyes searching up and down the length of the street.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep on it?” he said.
“I’d rather get this over with as soon as possible.” Abigail gazed into Jake’s crystalline eyes. “Thanks for being there for me today. I know it couldn’t have been very pleasant for you. I want you to know that I’m grateful.”
“A day spent in your company could never be unpleasant, Abby,” said Jake. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
He reached out, pulling a single downy seed from her hair. “It hasn’t touched the ground yet,” he said. “You can still make a wish.” He held the tiny seed for her to see.
“You can have the wish,” said Abigail.
“I’ll wish for the both of us. This seed may be little, but I think it can handle it. Small packages usually pack the most punch,” he said with a wink. Jake closed his eyes and held his breath for a few moments before blowing the little seed out of his hand. “That should do it,” he said.
Abigail gave him a weak smile before turning to walk over to the bank.
Chapter 9
Abigail sat across the desk from James Penlapp. He was quite different from what she had come to know as a typical banker back home. Where she expected to see a slight man with soft hands sat a barrel of a man with hands the size of dinner plates. His thick handlebar mustache connected to long sideburns that extended along his jaw line. The hair on top of his head was parted in the middle and greased down so well that not even a strong north wind could disturb its perfection.
“It is a shame about your brother, my dear.” His deep voice filled the room. “A very
sad happening indeed.”
Mr. Penlapp pulled a handkerchief out of his vest pocket. He dabbed at beads of sweat on his forehead that fought to maintain their independence from the melting lard that trickled from his hairline. “Do you mind if I open a window? It is stifling in this oven that I call an office.”
“Of course not. Please do,” said Abigail. The open window brought little relief from the heat. “I have come to see if my brother kept the deed to our property in the bank’s vault.”
“Yes, he did.” Mr. Penlapp stepped partially out of the door of his office and ordered the papers to be brought. “He needn’t have bothered himself about it. No one would want to steal a deed to that worthless piece of property.”
Abigail gave him a puzzled look.
“I warned him about that land, you know. I told him it wasn’t worth his money. As it stands, the property you now own is worth little more than the ink it took to write up the deed.”
A clerk entered the room with a stack of papers tied neatly together with a piece of twine. He laid them on the desk and exited the room without a word. Penlapp untied the bundle and rifled through the pile in search of a single piece of paper.
“May I ask what your intentions are, Miss Dodd?”
Abigail felt Penlapp’s shifty eyes on her. Though his voice sounded passive and uninterested, his eyes were riveted to her, taking in her every move. Nothing seemed to escape his keen eyes. It made her skin crawl.
“I plan to sell the property and go home,” she said.
Penlapp’s left eyebrow twitched when he heard the news. His lips tensed up like someone trying to hold in a smile that the world was not meant to see. He flipped through a few more papers.
“Ah, here it is.” He held the document at arm’s length, looking down the bridge of his nose at what was written on it. “This is a bill of sale. I had it prepared when I learned the tragic news about your brother.”
“You drew up the papers before I even decided to sell?” She was growing to dislike this man more and more every second.
