by Iris Kelly
Sebastian was touched and more than a little guilty. But mostly touched. Why should anyone else care so much about his happiness? Perhaps he could even credit his father with motives somewhat higher than merely continuing the family line. He certainly had given Abigail every bit of respect and kindness that she was due.
Even now, Jeremiah alternated between the desire to show off his new daughter in law and the urge to monopolize her all to himself. Sebastian could understand the compulsion. If his father’s days were numbered, then getting to know this new fledgling offshoot of the Knight family had a certain urgency. Thank goodness Abigail bore it well. In fact, she seemed to be in remarkably good spirits, all things considered. The good spirits of the occasion were undeniably infectious.
Abigail had surrendered to the merriment of the evening. When she had told Jeremiah that she and Sebastian had hoped to get married with their Cheyenne friends in attendance, nothing could have been further from the truth. They would have slipped into and out of the county clerk’s office in less than half an hour. But right now, there was no reason not to enjoy the festivities.
Everything would return to normal tomorrow, and the time between now and then would pass quickly enough. This little gathering wouldn’t last too much longer, consisting as it did of older people. Their train was fairly early in the morning. By tomorrow night, she would be back at Miss Mabel’s in her own bed, after a long and eventful time away.
But then an alarming thought kept nagging at Abigail. She and Sebastian still had one night left to spend under Jeremiah’s roof before their departure. Wouldn’t he consider it peculiar if they slept in the same guest rooms they had only the night before? Oh, dear. Why hadn’t she and Sebastian thought to discuss this matter this afternoon?
“Do you have a wedding journey planned?” one guest wondered.
“No, and that is entirely my fault,” Jeremiah said. “The timing of the ceremony was expedited for my sake, and they have hardly had time to make the proper plans. It won’t be too long delayed, though, I hope.”
“I do have some pressing matters to attend to at my paper,” Sebastian added.
“Yes, so they will spend their wedding night here, and then they will be off back to Cheyenne right after breakfast.”
The look on Sebastian’s face was a clear signal to Abigail that he’d finally caught up with her own recent train of thought. They exchanged a look of such intensity that it could only have been misinterpreted by all who witnessed. This was plainly a couple who couldn’t wait for their guests to leave so that the intimacies could commence.
In quick succession, everyone did make their exit, with their hearty congratulations filling the air.
“I’ve had the last guest room made up special for you. I told William and Ellen to move your belongings in there, so everything is all ready for you. I hope you enjoyed your wedding day.”
“It was lovely. Thank you, Mr. Knight,” Abigail said.
“Yes, Father, for most of my life, I had assumed that I would never experience such a thing. But it is just as I would have hoped. Even the . . . spontaneous nature of it was somehow fitting.”
“Glad to hear it. Now this old man is going to turn in. Good night, my dear.”
Abigail gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Breakfast will be at nine. You two be sure to pack before you come down, and William can take care of your bags while we’re eating.”
With a nod, Jeremiah disappeared, and Sebastian turned anxiously to Abigail.
“Forgive me for not thinking through the particulars. I can sleep on the floor, of course.”
“I suppose that will be fine. We shall endure as best we can, Mr. Knight.”
The room was small, but filled with flowers, artwork, and a number of luxurious touches. The carpet was lovely, but quite thin. Even a blanket thrown on it would make for quite an uncomfortable sleep. The oversized bed, on the other hand, looked soft and inviting.
“You are not a Labrador, Mr. Knight. It does not seem fitting that you should sleep on the floor in your own family home. It is a large bed. Under these regrettable circumstances, I think that it has to be shared. We shall simply face our respective walls, and it will be as if each of us were alone.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Miss Norris. Very practical. Very sensible. We are mature adults. Lie on our sides. Facing the walls. Excellent thought.”
“You must leave and give me ten minutes to undress and settle in.”
“Of course. Ten minutes. Forgive me, but I will have to enter without knocking.”
“I will be well under covers by then.”
And so, their wedding day continued its peculiar course. Sebastian returned at a suitable time, and with Abigail’s turned back, he was able to fumble his way into his own sleeping clothes and slip into the other side of the bed.
“Is this a comfortable arrangement for you?” Sebastian asked. “Sleeping on your right side?”
“It is fine. I have no preferences.”
“It is good for me as well, for I prefer sleeping on my left side.” After a moment, he added, “Although once a week or so, I do get the urge to switch over to the right side.”
“We are settled in place for the evening, Mr. Knight. How you choose to sleep on any other occasion will not be my concern.”
Sebastian scolded himself inwardly for his nervous chatter. “Then I’ll say good night, Miss Norris.”
“Good night,” Abigail said with a great deal more calm and indifference than she actually felt. Of all the rules and social mores that she had broken and flaunted in the past couple of months, her high level of discomfort was a reminder that there was still more of Abigail Norris in her than of Flamin’ Annie.
Agitated and preoccupied as they both were, sleep still managed to overtake them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Abigail woke up, very warm and unaccountably happy. As she tried to shift position, she realized that the warmth was accounted for by Sebastian’s body, which was huddled tightly against her back, with an arm encircling her waist. He was still in the deepest of sleeps.
Abigail became as still as possible. She had feared that in the middle of sleep that she would encroach on his territory, and now he had done exactly that. He would doubtless be full of remorse and apologies, and she herself rummaged around so restlessly in sleep that she really could not fault him.
But she did want to . . . enjoy this brief and rare moment of physical closeness with Sebastian and always be able to summon the memory of it. It would surely never happen again. How could it? Couldn’t she indulge for just a few moments in the thought of being truly married to him? Waking up at his side every day for all the remaining days of her life? And how bad was this really? It was a legally binding marriage, after all.
When she felt Sebastian stir, she instinctively thought it best to feign sleep. When Sebastian found himself holding his new wife in a warm embrace, he was both mortified and elated. How fortunate that he had awoken before her. He certainly wouldn’t want her to think that he had taken any liberties. But he had dreamt of her. And in that dream, they were in much the same position as now. Had the dream commanded his limbs to move, or had the involuntary embrace given birth to the dream?
Carefully and reluctantly, he extracted himself from the clandestine contact and eased himself off the bed. He quietly assembled his clothes and made a quick exit out of the room. Abigail opened her eyes and reached out to feel Sebastian’s side of the bed. Still warm, as she knew it would be.
*****
Back in Cheyenne, by mutual consent, Abigail and Sebastian decided that there was no need to inform their friends about the wedding. Ostensibly, this made sense because their lives had truly not been changed in the slightest, and there was no need to make a fuss over their meaningless and temporary new status. But the fact was that they both dreaded the barrage of questions that would follow and feared that their answers would be tentative and unconvincing.
What
had just happened in Denver felt confusingly real, to both of them. An excited father-in-law, congratulations and celebrations from beaming friends, a wedding feast, and rings—now carefully tucked away in the bottoms of their suitcases. They each knew that the person they just married had strong feelings toward them—of that, they had been assured. And their sleeping selves had just shared a wedding night embrace! What else was left to turn this fake marriage into a real one? The surrender of deeply held convictions, as well as respectively, the ambition and freedom that they held so dear.
Abigail’s return to saloon life was fairly seamless. As soon as she had known that her trip was going to be diverted to Denver, she had telegraphed Zachary to explain the delay. She said that most of her bequest had come in the form of a few large, valuable pieces of jewelry, and that she didn’t think that she could get a very price for them in Cheyenne, so she went on to Denver to take advantage of a better market.
Zachary was so glad to have her back at The Double Whiskey to help bring in the crowd that he didn’t want to raise a fuss over her absence. It would hardly help to persuade her that he was her ideal husband if he tried to restrict or question her actions in any way. For now, at any rate. After marriage, he’d see to it that she stayed pretty close to home. Not exactly the unlimited freedom he had promised her, but it had been an effective lure. It had an excellent chance of working.
After two more weeks passed, their story on the bank embezzlement was finally ready to come out. Sebastian felt a thrill of excitement that he had long ago learned to excuse in himself. Human frailties and bad news made for great sales—such was the nature of the newspaper business.
The local reaction was immediate and satisfying. Laramie’s banking scandal was the talk of the town. Sebastian couldn’t walk the length of Main Street without being stopped some twenty or thirty times to answer eager questions about the story. What about the local Cheyenne banks? Was their money safe there? Sebastian could give no assurances, but he did mention that regular, unannounced audits should be part of all banks’ protocols.
Of course, the Cheyenne banks blamed him for the rush of nervous inquiries about auditing procedures. Sebastian didn’t mind one bit. If a story didn’t lead to someone getting angry or being inconvenienced, then it probably wasn’t hard-hitting enough.
The embezzlement was also the talk of the saloon. Of course, Abigail couldn’t let on that she had any inside knowledge of the story, proud as she was of her contribution. But she got involved in many a discussion on the feverish grip of compulsive behavior that poor Mr. Simpson had fallen prey to. Most of the card players were able to comfort themselves that no matter how bad their habits might have gotten, they had never been anywhere near to that amount of trouble. Good reason to never get a job in a bank. Too much temptation.
Zachary was just sorry to lose his best customer. Why couldn’t Mr. Simpson have gotten away with it for another six or twelve months before he had gotten caught? Oh, well. He just had to content himself that even without Mr. Simpson’s help, The Double Whiskey’s profits were up over twenty percent from the same month last year. That was all the doing of the lovely Miss Norris, hopefully his soon-to-be bride. It was high time there was a Mrs. Scott in the world. What a team they would make.
Meanwhile, Sebastian was preoccupied with a more wholesome source of profits. Orders to distribute his paper were coming in, from New York to Seattle. He was easily about to quadruple his sales. And like Zachary, he largely had Abigail to thank for this turn of good fortune. How could he ever thank her? Not even with the most devoted members of his staff had Sebastian felt such a close and united sense of purpose as he had with Abigail.
Of course, things had gotten a bit muddied, what with her feelings and sleep-fueled wedding night embraces. Still, even there, it was comforting to know that someone else was wallowing in the same mess of delightful confusion. At any rate, it was time to celebrate a great victory.
They convened at Beatrice and Avery’s house, along with Sebastian’s friend and former newspaperman, Lewis Carlyle, and his wife, Virginia. With three children added to the mix, it was a loud, joyful reunion. After the babies were bounced, carried, teased, and otherwise entertained, they were coaxed to sleep so the adults could enjoy a long, late supper.
“Did any of the New York distributors ask for exclusivity?” Lewis inquired.
“Three of them did, and I told them to stop being ridiculous. That city is a goldmine. Why would I want to limit our sales?” Sebastian replied.
“It’s funny, isn’t it—how curious people are back east about what happens in the west?” Beatrice noted.
“It is a common fantasy to imagine what it must be like to live in such a wild and savage place,” Avery said.
They all looked at the lovely china setting, the mouthwatering feast, and the tastefully decorated dining room, and they all laughed.
“Virginia and I would like to live as savagely as our hosts. We have begun to do a bit of house hunting. The apartment above the feed store has become a bit small with our latest addition.”
“I never thought to say it, but it will break my heart a bit to leave that lovely little apartment,” Virginia said. “After all, it was our first home. But Felicity loves to run about frantically, and I’m sure Samuel will be the same. A little outdoor place for them would be nice. And eventually, they will need their own rooms. Eventually.”
“You’re in a fine situation, Sebastian,” Avery said. “I imagine it will do nicely for your needs in the foreseeable future?”
Everyone’s attention turned to Sebastian and the unspoken question of whether there was a family in his future. He exchanged a hopeless look with Abigail and shrugged.
“We married in Denver, at my father’s insistence. It was a slight wrinkle, but our plans are unchanged.”
There was only a brief moment of stupefied silence before the questions began to fly. Why? Where? When? How? And the question they had hoped their friends would be too delicate to broach.
“So you got married the day before your departure. And then spent your wedding night at your father’s home, while he was under the impression that this was a normal meant-to-be-forever type of marriage?” Virginia inquired incredulously.
“Yes,” Sebastian said, seeing no need to volunteer further information. “My father is pleased and my inheritance is secured.”
The matter of the wedding night was a tantalizing specter in the room. To discuss it further in mixed company was unthinkable. But their friends would certainly never let it slide. In the three or four days that followed, Abigail received visits from Virginia, Molly, Beatrice, and Lydia Cooper—none of whom were shy about demanding a full account of the evening. Against her better judgment, and perhaps just a little weary of lies, Abigail confessed all.
“It’s the warmest feeling in the world, isn’t it?” Molly gushed. “Being in your husband’s arms.”
“It’s nearly impossible to lie to yourself about your own feelings when a man has his arms wrapped around you,” Lydia asserted. “At least, that was very true in my case.”
“He’s one of the finest men we know,” Beatrice said. “Worthy in every sense of the word. Is it possible that marriage would never have become so abhorrent to you if your first husband had been such a kind and principled man?”
“If you love him, don’t even try to fight it. It is a losing battle,” Virginia said gently. She folded her arms around a distressed Abigail.
Meanwhile, Sebastian’s friends pumped him for information with far less success.
“It was a morally faultless evening—unavoidably spent in close quarters.”
“He is not terribly forthcoming,” Avery noted. “I’m sure our wives will have better luck with Miss Norris, and then we will know all.”
“She is now Mrs. Knight,” Sebastian said quietly, mostly to himself. He looked at his friends hopelessly. “She is now my wife. I . . . want her to be my wife.”
“Hallelujah,” Avery cr
owed. He and Lewis were quite happy to see their friend in such turmoil.
*****
Abigail was making a point of showing up especially early at the saloon. It was a gesture intended to atone for her long absence and any attendant loss of income to Zachary. She knew that Sebastian had intended for her to extract herself from the saloon assignment as soon as their story was written. But that felt premature to her. Weren’t there other stories there to be told? There had to be.
On this occasion, she finally had the opportunity to speak to the second youngest girl working there, Lulu. She was a friend of Angel’s, and while it was extremely regrettable that they were both there, at least they provided some sisterly companionship to one another. As luck would have it, each of them was uncommonly pretty.
“Mr. Scott’s out for supper. Why don’t you sit a while and keep me company?” Abigail invited.
Angel had led Lulu to believe that Abigail was a trustworthy soul, so it wasn’t difficult to get the girl to open up about her background.
“Just two more days and we would have been safe. My pa was sure he could find work in San Antonio. Our train was at one of those rest stops to get some supper. It was a small town, but a proper town. Big enough to have a few saloons. Our train wasn’t due to leave for an hour, so Mr. Scott and my father went off to the saloon to get a quick drink.”
“Zachary Scott! What on earth was he doing there?”
“We met him on the train. He was on his way to visit some relatives. Turns out it was lucky for me that we did get to know him. While they was at the bar, my pa went out back to use the facilities, and he was robbed and killed.”
“Oh, Lulu. Did . . . they find the killer?”
“No, ma’am. That man was never brought to justice and ain’t likely to ever be. No one got a good look at him.”
“And Mr. Scott . . . came back and told you the dreadful news?”
“Yes, ma’am, he did. He even showed me my pa’s body, ’cause I just couldn’t believe it. I screamed and cried somethin’ terrible.”
