A Most Inconvenient Marriage (31 page)

He turned back to his work. He hadn’t thought ahead to what marriage to Abigail would look like. She already cooked for him, did his washing, kept him company, and felt like part of his family, but besides the intimate, physical aspects of marriage, he would have someone he could share his heart with. Jeremiah had spent years protecting his mother from life’s harsh realities and hiding any vulnerability from Rachel. Abigail represented a safe place to share his dreams, his fears, his future. Hadn’t she already proven herself? Hadn’t she already walked him through the darkest days of his life? And from his knowledge of her home situation, he guessed that she needed a partner as desperately as he did.

By the end of the month? Jeremiah plunged his hands into
the soil and yanked up some sweet potatoes. The possibility was intriguing.

No longer bent over his hill, Calbert studied the road.

“What is it?” Jeremiah asked.

“Wagon coming fast.” Calbert instinctively reached for the rifle that remained nearby.

“Abigail,” Jeremiah called. “Go to the house.”

She rose, but before she could scatter, Laurel’s wagon burst pell-mell out of the forest. Her bonnet hung by its ribbons, her skirts blowing up to her knees. One look at her face and Jeremiah realized something was wrong. He hooted and she reined the wagon toward the garden, not slowing until she’d reached its edge.

“Come with me,” she panted, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Both of you. Pa needs you.”

A quick glance at Calbert told Jeremiah that the man would look after his ma and Rachel. He gripped Abigail by her sleeve and helped her to the bench seat before climbing up and taking the reins from Laurel.

Laurel collapsed against Abigail. “Pa got shot. You have to help him. He’s in a bad way.”

“Shh.” Abigail wrapped her arms around the crying girl.

Jeremiah scanned the sides of the road. “Who shot your pa?”

“He was bushwhacked while working in the field. I heard the shot and found him lying on the ground with Napoleon gone. I was able to help him to the house, but then he collapsed.”

Jeremiah’s jaw worked. “His blood is on Fowler’s hands. If he lied to us—”

“Jeremiah,” Abigail pleaded. “Not now.”

He slapped the horse’s reins against its back. “Abigail is a good nurse, Laurel. She’s seen a lot of gun wounds. And Hopkins will see that he gets his best care, too.”

“Hopkins”—Laurel gulped—“Hopkins is gone, too.”

“Gone?” Abigail clutched Laurel’s wrist. “He’s been murdered?”

“No, but he left me. We quarreled and he left. I can’t ask for his help now.”

Jeremiah shared the confusion that had Abigail’s forehead creased. Surely Laurel was overreacting. As soon as he had Abigail settled with Hiram, he’d find the doctor. Hopkins wouldn’t let a lover’s spat keep him from saving Hiram’s life.

After a couple of tense miles, the wagon bounced over the last rise, jangling as if it might fall apart at any moment, and sped toward the house. Narrowly escaping the wheels, Abigail bounded from her seat before Jeremiah pulled to a stop. With Laurel right behind her, they flew into the house, leaving Jeremiah to tether the horse.

He scanned the clearing around the pasture. Were they being watched even now? Would the outlaws swoop out of the trees and take this horse, too? Safest thing to do was to leave it harnessed. The wagon wouldn’t make a quick getaway, as he’d just proven.

Every impulse called to him to pursue the thieves, but if they were running, they were already too far gone. If they were hiding, he’d face them soon enough.

Blood on the porch. The trail stretched out to the deeper grass before reaching the garden, but it wasn’t smeared. Somehow Laurel had managed to get her father to the house, which boded well.

But she hadn’t got him any farther than the doorway. The soles of his boots were visible as Jeremiah ascended the porch. Kneeling at his side, Abigail had opened his shirt and was probing beneath his rib cage, the red starkly contrasting against his white skin. Laurel cowered in the corner, her fist to her mouth.

“Two entries.” Abigail pressed the heel of her hand against the lower gash. “One ball hasn’t exited. We need Dr. Hopkins.”

“I’ll find him,” Jeremiah said.

“Thank you,” Hiram rasped out. “Thank you for coming.”

Abigail’s eyes darted between him and Laurel. “Before you go, can you help Laurel find bandages? She can’t quite do it on her own, and we need to staunch the bleeding.”

Poor Laurel. She was no help at all. He took her arm and dragged her to the kitchen. “Towels, Laurel. That’s what we need. Or even laundry. Do you have a basket of laundry?”

“Oh, Jeremiah.” She lifted her blotchy face to him. “I’m so sorry for all I put you through. I don’t know how I thought Newton could take your place.”

This conversation was important, Jeremiah understood that, but not as important as saving her father’s life.

“We’ll talk later.” He threw open the doors to the cupboard. “Where are your towels?”

“But you must know before you see Newton that I rejected him. Flat out told him that I never want to see him again, because I’m marrying you.”

Jeremiah stopped. “You’re what?”

“I’m saying ‘yes,’ Jeremiah. I choose you. I wanted to tell you on a happier occasion, but now you see why you must help Pa and you mustn’t send for Hopkins.”

“It’s too late. I’m here already.” Hopkins strode into the room and practiced violence against the pump handle until water spewed. “I was coming to see you this morning, Jeremiah, to congratulate you, but Calbert sent me this way.” He plunged his hands into the water and scrubbed vigorously. “Excuse me, Laurel, while I try to save your father’s life.” And he stormed back to Hiram’s side.

Finally locating the towels, Jeremiah grabbed a handful, moving through the room, stunned. Laurel halted him.

“Pa already knows. You don’t need to explain anything to him.”

With heavy feet he strode away, unable to form any argument against her. Hadn’t he told her that he’d wait for her? Hadn’t he promised his undying devotion? Was he a man of his word, or not?

And there sat Abigail, unaware of Laurel’s decision. He passed her the towels. Her eyes met his, full of adoration. She took the cloths with blood-stained fingers and reported her findings to Hopkins as she held a man’s life in her hands. Jeremiah would trust his life to her. With the use of his leg, she’d already given him back his health, but would he be able to offer anything in return?

“Help me carry him to the table,” Hopkins said. “Then you should take Laurel out of the house until I’m finished.”

Hiram groaned as they lifted him. Blood poured from his side like thin syrup. Abigail squeezed through the doorway with them, never releasing the pressure over two of the wounds, but ordering Laurel to clear the table before they centered her pa onto the smooth boards.

“Laurel, come talk to your Pa while I get the ether from my bag,” Hopkins said, then pulling Jeremiah aside he whispered, “Make sure she says what she needs to say. This could be her last chance.”

But Laurel seemed to understand. Taking her father’s hand she finally found the fortitude to face his injuries.

“I love you, Papa.”

“I love you, too, pumpkin. And you know everything’s going to be fine. You’ve got Jeremiah here. He’s going to take care of you.”

Jeremiah’s vision narrowed. He couldn’t bring himself to
look where Abigail labored. Laurel took his hand. “Don’t worry about me. We’re going to see that you get better.”

This was what he wanted. For four long years of war he’d dreamt of hearing her words, but now they made him ill.

Hiram held his gaze. “If something happens to me, I’m trusting you, Jeremiah.”

What could he say? He’d made too many promises already.

C
HAPTER 21

If his recovery was as successful as the surgery, Hiram would survive. Abigail dropped the bloody rags into a basin and twisted her head from side to side in an attempt to work out the kinks. Before she retired for the evening she’d perform a few of Dr. Ling’s gymnastics herself to relieve the tension that’d taken up residence at the base of her neck.

Hopkins dropped his probe and scalpel into the basin.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “I’ve never seen better work.”

His gray face evidenced his stress. “That was worse than anything I had to do in the war. It’s a lot different operating on someone you know.”

“Like your future father-in-law?”

“No, not like that.” He dried his hands. “As much as I thought, but that’s not the case.”

“Laurel will come around. She’s just upset. Once she knows—”

“He hasn’t told you?” Hopkins paused from rolling his sleeves down. “I guess he hasn’t had time. Laurel and I won’t be seeing each other anymore. She and Jeremiah are getting married.”

Abigail huffed like she’d been kicked by a mule. She didn’t know what he and Laurel had fought over, but Hopkins couldn’t believe that was the end. Her stomach churned.

Abigail wrung out the last of the rags as the niggling of doubt tickled the back of her throat. Was she only an option when he thought Laurel was unavailable?

No. Jeremiah wouldn’t play with her. He’d kept her at arm’s length for months. His actions weren’t dalliances to pass the time. Yet she was eager for his reassurance.

Only then did she feel Hopkins’s gaze. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I should’ve thought before I spoke, but you need to know Laurel has made her choice.”

Unsure whether to deny her involvement with Jeremiah or deny that he’d act so fickle, Abigail only waved away his apology, too shaken for further discussion.

“Laurel will be anxious to hear about her father,” Abigail said.

He cast a nervous glance to the front door. “I’d rather not go out there just yet. Please send Jeremiah inside. We need to discuss what to do with Hiram. He’s Jeremiah’s responsibility now.”

Abigail turned and caught her foot on the rag rug. The old injury to her ankle twinged. She straightened the crockery jar that’d almost toppled from the table, then from habit she assessed her dress before she went any farther. You never wanted to carry blood from one site to the next, but in this case she had no apron or uniform to change. The dark red spots blended with her deep plaids, so hopefully Laurel wouldn’t recognize them for what they were.

Hiram rested peacefully on the kitchen table. His face was as white as Ma’s doilies, but he was breathing evenly. Feeling at home in the operation room, she gathered her courage and approached the front door. With her hand on the doorknob
she peered through the glass window. Jeremiah and Laurel sat on the front step, their backs to her. Laurel’s arm was tucked beneath Jeremiah’s, her body pressed against his.

Comforting, that’s all. Their friendship stretched back to childhood. Her father had almost died. Of course Jeremiah would hold her hand and allow her head to rest against his shoulder. He was only acting as a gentleman should.

When she turned the knob, Jeremiah tensed. Laurel turned, her tear-stained face expectant. She hopped to her feet and rushed to Abigail.

“How is he?” Her eyes darted over Abigail’s face, searching for a sign.

Abigail forced her worry away. “Newton removed the second ball. It doesn’t appear that any organs were damaged. If we can keep him from infection, he should recover.”

Laurel threw her arms around Abigail’s neck. “Can I see him?”

“He’s still unconscious, but you can go inside.” Laurel rushed past leaving Jeremiah standing before her.

“He survived?” Jeremiah unclenched his fists. “I knew he was in good hands.”

Abigail squinted up at him. Hopkins was probably mistaken. Had to be. “Hopkins needs your help deciding where to put Hiram. He’d like to have him situated before he regains consciousness.”

“Of course.” But no communication passed between them, not a hint of the camaraderie they’d shared as they’d worked in the field all day. Instead, he ducked his head and hurried inside.

A sickly black fear began to grow in her belly. Why wouldn’t he look at her? She couldn’t believe . . . couldn’t . . . that the love he professed could disappear so suddenly. But why was he so distant? Should she prepare herself for the worst, or trust him?

The green valley stretched before her, ending at the wooded hills that surrounded it. Evening was on the brink of gulping down the sun. The blissful day with Jeremiah had ended too soon, and she wondered if there would ever be another.

Never before had Jeremiah noticed every rocky bump and exposed tree root along the wagon trail from the Wallace farm. By the time they reached Calhoun property, Hiram’s medicine was wearing thin. From the wagon bed, Laurel murmured comfort to her father in a vain attempt to ease his suffering. It was a difficult journey, but he needed to be at the Calhouns’. He needed Abigail’s care, and it wasn’t safe to leave the ladies at the Wallace farm alone.

“We’ll have him settled soon, and he can rest,” Hopkins said.

Hopkins. He crouched in the wagon bed next to his patient. For a man who’d been spurned, he showed genuine care for Hiram. Not that Jeremiah expected anything less. His time spent with Hopkins had improved his opinion of him. If only Laurel’s regard for the doctor had grown, as well.