A Most Inconvenient Marriage (21 page)

“That’s why I’m going to town, Ma. And I’m not likely to let my guard down.” He swooped in to kiss her forehead. “Not while Laurel’s with me.”

His mother patted his cheek. “That’s exactly when you’re most likely to be distracted.”

Abigail cleared her throat. As if he’d forgotten her. He straightened. “Let’s go.”

She followed him to the barn without saying a word. He gestured to the gelding, and she set to saddling it while he went to work on Lancaster. Did she notice that he didn’t need his crutch here in the barn? With his leg nearly straightened, he could now take enough weight on it to stand steady, even while handling the heavy tack.

She didn’t notice.

With a swift hop, Abigail sat astride the big horse. From her satchel, she pulled out gloves. Their existence surprised him out of his silence. “Where’d you get those?”

“I’ve had them all along.”

“I’ve never seen them.”

“I’ve never ridden to town before.” With a tug to pull them smooth, she clucked to the horse and directed him out of the barn. The dress was new, too. Proof that she’d taken particular care with her appearance. And why shouldn’t she? Maybe if she caught the eye of some old bachelor or widower in town, she could go on and leave. It’d be for the best.

He got in the saddle, easiest time yet, and loosened his pistol in his belt. Nobody better get in his way when he was heading to Laurel. She wouldn’t spend another day by the window wondering where he was. And he wouldn’t share that sentiment with Abigail, for likely Abigail would question whether she ever had.

Abigail didn’t know her. She didn’t understand how it was for a girl like Laurel, whose blood ran thin and swift in the summer but could barely move in the winter, almost hibernating like the little creatures she loved. Laurel’s decisions were based on instinct. All she needed was a steady hand, and that’s what Jeremiah offered. They’d be good for each other.

Not a word was said the entire journey over the mountain, and the closer Jeremiah got to the Wallaces’ farm, the less aware he was of his riding companion. The chickens scattered as they approached the door and the wagon parked before it. Laurel stepped outside and pulled on a poke bonnet. She tied the thick ribbon beneath her chin.

“Good morning, Jeremiah. Good morning, Abigail.” Her bright eyes sparkled.

“I’ll take my horse to the barn if you don’t think he and
Napoleon will bicker.” Jeremiah nodded as Hiram joined his daughter on the porch.

“Leave him in the barn. He’ll come to no harm,” Hiram said. “And since we have two bags of cotton, I hoped you’d be agreeable to driving the wagon.”

“Absolutely.” Plowing, hoeing, all those tasks that took two good legs were coming along slowly, but driving a wagon he could do.

“And I didn’t realize you were bringing Miss Abigail. I’d already sent out for another escort.”

“That’s unnecessary. I’d planned so that your daughter would be properly—”

“No matter. Newton is already stabling his horse.”

“Newton?” His stomach dropped. Laurel refused to look him in the eyes. Lancaster snorted, sensing his frustration.

Newton ambled out of the barn. “Good morning, Mrs. Calhoun.”

Jeremiah turned in his saddle to glare at Abigail. She smiled, obviously tickled by his discomfort. “Good morning, Dr. Hopkins. I hear you’ll be accompanying us this morning.”

“Yes, ma’am. And it looks like it’s going to be a fine morning for a trip to town.”

He hitched up his straight-legged trousers and climbed right up to the wagon bench.

“You can’t ride in the wagon,” Jeremiah sputtered. “There’s only room for three on the bench.”

“I thought I’d save you the trouble of getting off your horse.” Newton tilted his hat back to smile at Jeremiah.

He wouldn’t be replaced so easily. “I’m riding in the wagon. I asked Laurel’s pa if I could take her to town, and by george, I’m taking her to town.”

“Then I’ll be right here, too.”

“But you can’t leave a lady on horseback.” Suddenly finding a use for Abigail, Jeremiah motioned toward her. “Surely you don’t expect Abigail to ride just so you can sit in the wagon?”

“Why don’t you give up your seat for her?” Newton asked.

“Really, boys,” Laurel said. “The way you’re carrying on gives me half a mind to stay home. How could either of you expect Abigail to ride—”

“I’m riding.” Abigail stretched her long fingers in their fitted gloves and lifted her reins. “I won’t ride in a wagon when I can be on a horse.”

Well, that was just dandy. The day had already soured. Jeremiah urged Lancaster to the barn. He’d find some way to get Laurel alone before they returned, but it wouldn’t be easy—not when Newton Hopkins guarded her like she was his pet bone.

Served him right. Jeremiah Calhoun pushed people around like chess pieces, all pawns sacrificed in the pursuit of the enemy’s queen. Abigail enjoyed seeing him taste his own medicine while crowded in the wagon with little Laurel smashed between him and Hopkins. Riding behind them, Abigail had a perfect view, but with her favorite dress pushed up around her calves, she must stay behind them, or they’d get more of a view than they bargained for.

Two suitors. A blessing or a curse? Laurel seemed embarrassed by the situation, but Abigail didn’t think her cruel. She’d tried to reject Jeremiah, and when he persisted, Laurel had agreed to give him a chance. How could anyone fault her for wanting to be sure of her heart? If Jeremiah would bow out, Abigail suspected that Laurel would embrace his decision enthusiastically or, more likely, embrace Dr. Hopkins. On the other hand, if Dr.
Hopkins bowed out, would Laurel be just as content? Abigail thought it possible.

No, Laurel couldn’t be faulted. Any hurt that Jeremiah incurred was the result of his stubborn pursuit. It’d take a much stronger woman to reject Jeremiah when he was determined. Even she’d weakened when he’d turned his attentions . . .

Abigail cleared her throat. Better to thank her stars that he had another victim to trap. Otherwise she might find herself being hounded by the arrogant cad. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but if Laurel kept another innocent woman from trouble, then God bless her.

She rode all morning, dallying behind the wagon, preferring to listen to the birdsong rather than the occasional caustic conversation ahead. The longer she stayed in the mountains, the harder it was to imagine leaving them. God hadn’t forsaken her but had led her to a nurturing home where she’d be loved. Now, if she could only convince the rest of the family that she belonged.

The valleys they traveled through remained cool despite the strength of the late-morning sun. The rugged green mountains, so foreboding at first acquaintance, had grown familiar. The gelding’s hooves slid occasionally on the loose rocks dotting the hills, but he gamely carried on up and over the mountains.

They stopped at a spring to let the horses drink. Laurel hopped from the wagon to kneel at the spring’s edge and scoop the cold water to her mouth. Abigail dismounted, but before she could join Laurel, Jeremiah intercepted her.

He took her by the arm and propelled her away from the others. “Are you tired?”

She wanted to slap him again, just for the memories his touch resurrected. “Me? Not in the least.”

“If you get tired, I’ll spell you.” His hand dropped from her arm. “I really thought that louse would’ve relented by now.”

So he was only being nice? Abigail smoothed her muslin bodice. “Not going well, is it?”

“I spent the first two miles avoiding Hopkins’s questions about you spanking me in the barn.”

She choked down a shocked giggle. “The Huckabee kids?”

“Naturally.” He looked over his shoulder at the couple by the wagon. “But please ride closer to me. I don’t want you to get picked off by a bushwhacker.”

“You don’t?” Abigail raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you are riding my horse.”

She caught a splinter of his smile and chuckled. After everyone had a drink, they loaded up and soon were pulling around a bend into the small community of Pine Gap. Evidently one store, a post office, and a dozen or so dogs was enough to be considered a town. Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. Through the trees she could make out houses dotting the hillside, and beneath the framework of new construction, rough pews were being assembled for a church building. If Abigail’s sense of direction served her correctly, the train station was probably just over the ridge, but from the isolated setting, you’d never know it.

Jeremiah found a shady spot, which wasn’t difficult considering the forest surrounding the little clearing was merely waiting to reclaim the land that’d been stolen from it. Mules, horses, carts, and wagons boxed in the buildings, with people wandering from wagon to wagon, seeing what they might barter.

Abigail looped the horse’s reins around a wagon spoke and pulled them firm. A few tufts of grass poked out between the rocks, and there was hay scattered about, dropped from farmers coming to exchange their pasture’s produce for some people food. It was enough to keep the horse satisfied for the afternoon.

Jeremiah and Dr. Hopkins jostled to take Laurel’s arm. Abigail adjusted her lace collar. Since they were occupied, she’d have to go around by herself. Although not shy, Abigail hesitated. Was she imagining the cold stares? Or had these people formed their opinions of her already?

Jangling the coins in her pocket, she headed toward a rack of lace displayed over the back of a wagon bed. A toothless granny licked her lips. “Where you from?” she asked, bright eyes peering from a face withered like a dried apple.

“Me? I’m from Ohio. I’m staying with Mrs. Calhoun.”

The woman spit a brown stream into the gravel. “You don’t say! The Calhouns?” Her head drew back. Abigail followed her gaze to a displeased Jeremiah bearing down on her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“I’m making friends. Even considering purchasing a new lace collar.”

“Come on.” He spun around and marched toward the wagon where Dr. Hopkins and Laurel were sharing a stick of horehound candy.

“We just got here.” Abigail hopped a few steps to catch up as he hurried away, barely relying on his crutch at all.

“You can’t go to that wagon. We don’t trade with them. The McLouds are Union sympathizers.”

Abigail planted her feet. Jeremiah had traveled the length of a six-horse pulling team before realizing she wasn’t with him.

“Union sympathizers? What if they were full-out Union supporters? A soldier or nurse, for instance?”

“They were. Their son fought for General Lyon at Springfield. They’ve done enough damage, and now so have you. How can I pay any attention to Laurel when I have to keep you out of trouble?”

Laurel sure didn’t look like she lacked for attention with Dr.
Hopkins leaning toward her like a lovesick puppy. She waved gleefully, her bonnet hanging by its ribbons around her neck and a daisy stuck behind her ear.

“The war is over, and I disagree with this division,” Abigail said.

“Fine. Varina’s by the post office if you want to jump into the fire.”

Abigail bit her lip. “It wouldn’t hurt me to inquire after her horse.”

“You’d do that?” Jeremiah frowned. “I wouldn’t suggest—”

“But it might clear the air. At least she should know I don’t hold a grudge.” Abigail took out before she lost her nerve. She wanted Jeremiah’s trust in her to be justified. She wanted the issue settled so he could see that he’d been right to defend her. She turned the corner of the tiny post office and nearly ran straight over Varina.

“What do you want?” At Varina’s startle the crate of chicks beneath her chirped in alarm.

“I just wondered if you’d found your horse.” Abigail smiled at the jowly woman knitting next to Varina. Her mother perhaps? With the back of her hand, the woman wiped a stream of tobacco from her mouth and continued knitting.

“I didn’t misplace the horse.” Varina’s thin whiskers twitched like a mouse’s. “It’s gone.”

“I realize that. I just thought maybe you’d caught someone with it. I’d hoped, anyway.”

“I haven’t.” The squeaking chicks quieted. Varina continued to stare, without interest but perhaps without malice.

Abigail picked at the neat tucks adorning the waist of her bodice. “Well, please let me know if you do. I’d be relieved on your account.”

She’d done her best. As she made her way toward the hitching post, she heard the old woman ask, “Who was that?”

Varina answered, “She’s a friend of the Calhouns. Decent nurse, if you’re in need of one.”

A small victory, but she’d take it. With a quick prayer of thanks Abigail approached a crowd that was gathered around an arena of sort. Maybe she’d be welcome there. A gray-haired man stood on a makeshift platform consisting of raw lumber nailed over three large barrels.

The man’s words shot out like a volley from sharpshooters. Sometimes singing, sometimes yelping, the auctioneer’s cadence brought whoops and hollers from the crowd. Straining over the shoulder of a man clad only in his flannels, floppy hat, and trousers, Abigail caught sight of a gaggle of geese. Bids flew until the geese found a new home. Money exchanged hands and two handsome mules were brought forward to be the next items for sale.