A Most Inconvenient Marriage (34 page)

Abigail already held Rachel’s wrist and was monitoring her heartbeat. “How are you feeling, Rachel?” she asked. “Can we move you inside?”

“I’ve never died before, so I’m no expert, but I’d rather be in the house.”

Gently Jeremiah slid his arms beneath her knees and shoulders. She wheezed at every step. He didn’t know whether to ease along or rush her to the house as quickly as possible to end the painful transit. He settled for keeping Abigail at his side and holding a steady pace.

Rachel’s eyelids fluttered. One of her slippers fell off, and her hands flopped uselessly, but she was still breathing. What had she been thinking running outside like that? She barely had the strength to move from the parlor to the kitchen. Of course she couldn’t make it to the barn.

When they stepped into the parlor, Laurel froze with her hand midair over Hopkins’s bare shoulder. “What happened to Rachel?”

Ma, who’d been on her knees, straightened. Her dustpan of glass fell to the ground. “Is she shot?”

“It’s her heart.” Abigail intercepted Ma, keeping Jeremiah free to carry Rachel up the stairs. “Stay downstairs for a while,” she said. “She needs to calm down before I can assess the damage.”

But Hopkins was already buttoning up his shirt. “Get my medical bag, Laurel. How’s her pulse?”

Let them talk their doctor talk. Jeremiah’s thoughts weren’t on blood flow, valves, or rheumatism. He was worried about his sister and still furious that she put herself in danger for him. He arranged her on her bed as best as he could.

“What can I do?” he asked.

Abigail and Hopkins darted about loosening buttons, fanning, holding a candle close, and prying her eyelids open.

Rachel groaned. “Make the two of them stop. That’s what you can do.”

Hopkins drew back. With a slight shake of his head at Abigail, he closed his doctoring bag. “Rest is the best thing we can offer. Do you want to sit with her?”

“I will,” Jeremiah said.

Abigail slid Rachel’s remaining slipper off her foot and covered her with a quilt. “Just call if you need anything.” She let her hand drop to his shoulder, and then with a squeeze she followed Hopkins downstairs.

The kink in his neck slowly unraveled. Maybe she’d survive after all. “I think you’re going to be fine,” he offered.

Rachel lay motionless on the mattress, her breath coming swift and shallow. “I’m running out of time. I can feel it.”

Through her thin mottled face, Jeremiah could still make out the features of his baby sister. He sat next to her. “Are you scared?”

“Not scared. More . . . regretful? Angry? There are so many things that should’ve happened differently.” She paused to catch her breath. “I didn’t want this, and it’s not getting any better. It’s not fair.”

A cold sweat beaded on her forehead. Not fair. Not fair. How many times had the same refrain echoed in his head? But what was fair about men lining up and shooting one another? Was there any sense as to who died when everyone stood a hair’s breadth between life and death? And why did Pa and Rachel get rheumatic fever when he and Ma didn’t? They’d breathed in the same dangerous vapors.

“I don’t know, Rachel. Things happen to good people and bad. God works behind it all, but if your time is short, do you want to waste it asking why?”

“I do have one last why, and this one was not God’s doing.” She opened her eyes, the whites dulled to a sickly yellow. “Why did you keep Alan away? He wrote me and told me, you know, that you’d forbidden him to confess his love. Why would you do that? What did it hurt for us to be together?”

How he missed Alan. His best friend, loyal even when it meant giving up Rachel.

“I was wrong, Rachel. Whatever excuse I give hardly matters. I had no business meddling between you. I thought I knew best. I thought I could predict what would come of your relationship.”

“And what was that?”

“Suffering. You weren’t healthy enough to marry. I couldn’t imagine Alan spending his youth watching you fade into an early grave. And don’t forget the war. Why should you tie your heart to a man marching into almost certain death? It wasn’t a safe gamble for either of you.”

“But that wasn’t your choice to make.”

His shoulders felt heavy. “I see that now. When he told me he loved you, I was scared. I told him to wait until after the war so he wouldn’t cause you more distress.”

“But he couldn’t hide it, even in his letters. I knew how he felt because I felt the same way. And when he denied it, I wondered what I’d done to upset him, or if there was someone else. He finally broke down and told me.” A rare twinkle came into her eye. “I can be very persistent when I want something.”

Although the room was cool, sweat beaded on her forehead. Jeremiah took up a cloth on the washstand.

“His last thoughts were for you. He sent Abigail to take care of you. Denied himself a tombstone, let his name disappear from the records for you.”

“Don’t mess up again, Jeremiah.”

His eyes tightened. “What do you mean?”

She placed her swollen hand against her chest and wheezed. “You’re interfering again. You chased Laurel, hounded her, begged her to accept you. Now she has and you’re not happy. I know what you’re up to, moping around. You can’t do that. Laurel and Abigail aren’t chess pieces to be moved at your will. You spoke your offer, now you need to stand by it. Stop playing with them. Send Abigail home. It’s killing her to watch you with Laurel.”

Guilt clogged his throat. He couldn’t let Abigail go. Who would take care of her? Who would take care of him?

“I don’t know what to do.” He set the cloth on the stand next to Alan’s picture.

“That’s the problem. You keep trying to do something. You’re using Abigail to heal you, to take care of me, to run the farm. You’ve spent your time winning Laurel, and now that you have her, you’ve reversed your decision and are acting like a donkey to drive her away. Do you expect her to be as fickle as you? Stop doing. Stop arranging and maneuvering and let the garden grow. It’s coming up exactly how you planted it.”

Exhausted, she sank further into the pillow and closed her eyes. “Now go. Just when we got the Huckabee kids to stop bothering us, we have bushwhackers shooting out the windows. I’ll rest better alone.”

He looked once again at his baby sister and tried to imagine her life if it hadn’t been for her cursed body. “I’ll try to keep everyone quiet.”

He stood to leave.

“Oh, and Jeremiah,” she said.

“What?”

“I risked my life to save you, but just in case you’re too dense to realize it . . . I forgive you.”

A very unmanly lump formed in his throat. “You’re right. I might not have known for sure. Thank you for saying it.” He’d heard what he needed, and rather than embarrass the both of them with more sentimental nonsense, he let the door click closed behind him.

C
HAPTER 23

Because the intriguing narrow trails through the mountains held a very real threat, exercising Josephine wasn’t nearly the diversion Abigail had hoped for. The only duty worse than walking each horse around the pasture for an hour would be helping Jeremiah and Laurel do whatever they were doing today. From the looks of it, Laurel’s task was to meander around the property like a tipsy butterfly looking for a place to land, and while Abigail hadn’t meant to note Jeremiah’s whereabouts, she did notice that his leg seemed to be giving him trouble again as he chopped firewood.

If he’d ask for her help, she’d give it, but he wouldn’t ask. He was keeping good on his promise to Laurel. And Abigail was doing all she could to turn Laurel from this decision. She’d hoped that having Laurel bandage up Hopkins’s superficial scratches would rekindle the spark, but then Rachel’s spell had interrupted their time together. For the life of her, Abigail couldn’t think how to injure Hopkins again without getting caught. If only she could create a situation where Laurel had to nurse the
doctor back to health. Such vignettes were especially suited to softening a woman’s heart. Or that’s what she’d heard, anyway.

But no one was leaving home with the bushwhackers riding brazenly. No one except Josiah and Betsy.

Josiah’s pant legs only reached midcalf, and Betsy’s dress was threadbare. Abigail would need to see that they had warmer clothes for winter, if she still lived there in the winter. She rode Josephine into the barn and unsaddled her while the children watched.

“Looky what I’ve got.” Betsy cuddled a bundle up to her chest and flipped her braid behind her shoulder.

“Stay back, away from the horse,” Abigail said. “Wait until I get her in her stall.”

“How about we wait for you at the house,” Josiah said. “Ma sent some fig preserves for Miss Rachel.”

“That’d be fine.” Abigail removed the saddle blanket and dried the dampness from Josephine’s back and legs. She’d find the time for a full grooming that afternoon, assuming Jeremiah wasn’t loitering out there.

Currently he was wrestling an armful of firewood into the house, difficult with the rough cane he’d fashioned. Back to a cane? Although she’d rather not go inside, she’d already sent the children. She might as well make over Betsy’s new kitten and be done with it. She entered the parlor just as Jeremiah dumped the firewood on the hearth.

“They goodness me!” Hiram chuckled. “You trying to scare me out of here?”

Laurel popped out of her chair. “It’s high time we left. I’m ready to go home.”

“Sit down, Laurel.” Ma looked up from her ladies’ journal. “You can’t leave until your pa is fit as a fiddle.”

“Well, I’m on the mend, and I don’t think I would’ve healed
nearly as fine if it weren’t for your cooking.” Hiram patted his stomach and winked at Ma. “Now that I’m on my feet, I’d be obliged if you’d learn me some of your secrets.”

“Pshaw.” Ma slapped at Hiram’s arm. “If I teach you my secrets, then what reason have you to come back and eat with us again?”

From her usual spot on the sofa, Rachel groaned and covered her eyes with her arm. Hiram followed Ma into the kitchen.

“I’ll find a reason to come back,” he said. “Don’t you worry.”

The door closed on the conspirators. Josiah and Betsy stood by the entry with their backs against the wall, staring in terror at Rachel.

“I’d say he’s feeling well enough,” Rachel said.

“I agree.” With reluctance, Laurel lowered herself into her seat. “Newton has been watching the farm for us, but now that Pa is doing better, we can’t expect him to keep it up. We should go home.”

“Please do, before this goes any further.” Rachel grimaced as Ma’s delighted laughter could be heard from the kitchen.

Doing his best to ignore the conversation, Jeremiah knelt over the hearth and swept the debris into a bin.

“Just think.” Abigail waited until Laurel turned to her. “You and Jeremiah could be brother and sister one day.”

Laurel’s brow wrinkled as she shook her head. With a hop she turned her chair away and stared out the window. Watching the road? Waiting for Hopkins to return?

Movement caught Abigail’s eye. Betsy struggled to control the bundle trying to squirm out of her arms.

“All right, Betsy,” Abigail said, “show me your pet and then you better head home.”

But Betsy shook her head. “On second thought, ma’am, I think I better just take it outside.”

“C’mon, Betsy,” Josiah said, “that’s why we came. To show them your baby.”

“I didn’t know Miss Rachel would be in the parlor.” A furry black paw emerged. Betsy tucked it back inside the dingy cheesecloth wrap. “I don’t want to upset her nerves.”

Rachel groaned. “Oh, what’s it matter? If I survived the excitement of the bushwhackers, I don’t think Betsy’s kitten will do me in.”

“Told you.” Over Betsy’s protests Josiah ripped the bundle out of her arms and dumped it on the floor.

Laurel squeaked. Rachel rolled to her side, shielding her face. And then Abigail saw it wasn’t a kitten after all. They’d released a baby skunk.

“We got you, Miss Abigail,” Josiah sang as Laurel scrambled out of the room.

“Josiah Huckabee!” Jeremiah brandished the fireplace poker. “You get that animal out of here right now.”

The kit scurried under the sofa, right beneath Rachel. Abigail covered her mouth and nose. Should she try to capture it and risk an eruption?

Betsy boxed her brother’s ear. “I told you it wasn’t funny.” She turned tear-filled eyes to Jeremiah. “It’s just a baby. Please don’t hurt it.”

The baby skunk didn’t seem to feel threatened by any of the goings-on. Nose to the ground, it sniffed around the sofa legs.

“Pick it up slowly,” Abigail suggested, “and get it out before Ma hears.”

The skunk lifted its head and its tail perked up. The sofa above it shook.

“Rachel,” Abigail said, “are you having an attack?”

But Rachel cackled. “A skunk in the house? This is even better than the horses. We need to let these kids in more often.”

Jeremiah stepped closer. “You won’t think it’s so funny if you spook the critter.” He motioned to Betsy. “Go on. Pick her up.”

With two hands around its belly, Betsy scooped up the curious animal. She settled it against her thin body and, with a murderous look at her brother, snatched the blanket off the floor.

Still smiling, Rachel motioned Betsy closer. “I don’t know when I’ve had such a good laugh. Can I see your pet?” Betsy edged closer and slid the blanket away from its face. Black eyes shone above a twitching nose.

“We have a whole litter of them in the brush pile,” Betsy said. “I was afeared at first, but I finally caught one to tame.”

“What a brave girl you are.” With one finger Rachel stroked the animal’s head. “Don’t ever let fear keep you from an adventure, little Miss Huckabee. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rachel smiled as the skunk sniffed her fingers. “Do you think, if it’s all right with your ma and pa, you could come back and visit me again?”

Betsy squirmed. “I’d like that a heap. That is, until you’re dead. I don’t want to visit a dead person.”

Jeremiah caught Abigail’s eye. He opened his mouth, but Rachel just laughed. “I don’t blame you. Dead people aren’t much fun, are they? Just lying around doing nothing? If I’m alive I’ll try to act like it.”