A Most Inconvenient Marriage (38 page)

A brilliant energy coursed through Jeremiah. He had Abigail. That’s what mattered most, but the outlaws had been caught, as well. If they could recover the missing horses, well, then wouldn’t that be something?

For the first time in ages the weight of the world slid off his shoulders.

“There’ll be a lot of people excited to hear that we found the horses.” They could spread the word . . . right along with news of his and Abigail’s marriage.

Abigail could’ve grated the pokeroot quicker without Betsy’s help, but the child needed activity to draw her away from the window. In the parlor, Laurel and Hopkins had their hands full keeping an eye on Josiah, who wanted nothing more than to go to his father’s rescue, a sentiment Abigail understood. If it hadn’t been for the children, she probably would’ve sneaked over to the Huckabees’ cabin herself by now, but Rachel needed her. She lay on the only sofa in the parlor, with swollen joints and the return of the rash on her torso. Abigail had never seen Rachel so bad off. She wrapped the pokeroot into the steaming poultice she’d prepared and nodded at Betsy.

“Let’s see if this makes Miss Rachel feel better.”

Betsy’s tangled blond curls cascaded down her back and crowded her face. No smiles coming from the solemn child today. She followed Abigail into the parlor, not even acknowledging Ma pacing before the fireplace or Hopkins and Laurel showing Josiah the most exotic pictures they could find in Ma’s journals.

Abigail pulled a chair to Rachel’s side. “I have a poultice here. Where would you like it?”

Rachel’s eyes fluttered. “Over my chest, please. My heart, it hurts.” She held out her hand to Betsy and smiled when the child took it. “How’s your skunk?” she asked.

Betsy sighed dramatically. “Ma made me keep it outside, and it ran back into the brush pile. I haven’t seen it since.”

Ever so slightly Rachel nodded. “Then it’s with its family, and that’s good. No one puts up with your stink like family.”

Dragging himself away from Laurel, Hopkins placed a hand on Rachel’s forehead. “Do you want me to get my stethoscope?”

“I think we know what’s wrong with me,” Rachel said. “I’m content to rest.”

Laurel latched onto Hopkins’s arm, and he didn’t seem to mind one bit. “How about we make some gingerbread, Betsy? Do you think Josiah would help us?”

Waiting for Rachel’s permission, Betsy tiptoed to the kitchen with the couple.

Abigail suppressed a smile as she arranged the poultice beneath Rachel’s loose gown. “Poor Hopkins is about to burst. Until we know the Huckabees are safe, he can’t let on that he’s happy, but if he doesn’t let some of that joy out, he’s going to rupture his spleen.”

“So Laurel finally decided.” Rachel pulled in a short thin wheeze through her nose. “And you finally wore Jeremiah down.”

“If you weren’t so sick, I’d whup you,” Abigail teased. “You know good and well your brother pursued me.”

“Him on his cripple leg? You must run awfully slow.”

Abigail didn’t have the time to retort before Ma gave a small cry. Her hands flew to her heart and she pointed to the window. “They’re here.”

Out of the drizzly forest two men rode with their chests puffed up like bullfrogs. The kitchen door popped open as Josiah and Betsy raced by in a blur. Rachel tried to sit up.

“Do you feel like going outside?” Abigail asked.

Rachel paused. “Are they all right?”

“Yes, I think they are.” No mistaking the look of accomplishment on the faces of Hiram and Calbert, but where was Jeremiah? Abigail’s hand went to her throat before she remembered Rachel’s fragile condition. “Why don’t you stay here, Rachel? They’ll come in soon enough.”

As if in a trance, Abigail wandered outside. Ladymare’s ears perked, but she was still tied to the back of Hiram’s saddle. Calbert had his arms full of children, dispensing kisses generously.
Hiram was telling the tale of his adventures to Laurel, Hopkins, and Ma.

Ma? Was she so smitten with Hiram that she wasn’t concerned with the fate of her own son? Abigail’s skirt tangled between her legs as she stumbled off the porch. The gleeful activity swirling around her made her blood boil. Had they forgotten him?

Lifting two ladylike fingers to her mouth, Abigail took a deep breath and then ripped a whistle that could curl a horse’s mane.

Conversations ceased, heads turned, and eyes widened.

“What’s a matter, Miss Abigail?” Calbert remained on his knees with Josiah and Betsy in his arms.

She tried to keep her voice even. “Where is Jeremiah?” That’s all. A simple question.

Hiram raised an eyebrow. Calbert smiled gently. “He’s not here? Well, we took the bushwhackers to the county jail, and I assumed he’d beat us back. I guess he took longer than—”

“Where is he?” she asked again.

“And we got your horse back,” Calbert added. “Those men had yours, Varina’s, Hiram’s, and a whole slew. On the way home we took back those we recognized, but there’ll be some who never thought to see their animals.”

“Where. Is. Jeremiah. Calhoun?” If Calbert didn’t understand English she’d do a pantomime, but someone was going to answer her question.

“Oh, he got messed up something awful. He’s down at the river, trying to put himself back together.”

Next thing she knew she was on Ladymare’s back, steam coming from her ears. How dare they leave Jeremiah to tend his own wounds?

“Now, Miss Abigail, don’t you go looking for him.” Calbert stood. “Considering the state he’s in—”

But she spurred Ladymare before he could stop her. She was a nurse. No way in creation would she let Jeremiah suffer alone. How could they be so cruel?

Ladymare flew down the road. Up over the ridge they pushed and then descended to the river bottom. Had Abigail been cooler she might have asked exactly where on the river they left Jeremiah, but she hadn’t had time. She’d just follow it toward Calbert’s house. He had to be somewhere in between.

She slowed as she approached the low bank. What if he’d lost consciousness? What if she rode right past him and wasted valuable time? Why hadn’t she insisted that Hopkins accompany her?

A splash sounded ahead. Ladymare’s ears turned toward the disturbance. Abigail wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, praying that the man on the other side of the undergrowth wasn’t another bushwhacker.

Cautiously she eased Ladymare forward. The man turned and his smile transformed his face.

“Jeremiah!”

She dropped off the horse like an anvil down the well and ran to him. His shirt was gone, his shoes missing. In fact, the only piece of material covering him was a pair of pants that were too short and a mite too tight.

“Where are you hurt?” She grabbed his forearms and spun him in a circle. “Nothing on your chest. Is it your leg again?” Kneeling Abigail ran her hands down one leg then the other.

“What are you doing?” He stepped backwards, but she followed him.

“I can’t believe those men left you alone.” She didn’t see any bloodstains. The only injury needing her attention was a scraped shin visible beneath his high-water trousers. “Why is this rubbed raw? Is there more?” With a tug she worked his pant leg up.

“Really, Abigail, if you’d just get up—”

“So this is your intended.” At the sound of another man’s voice, Abigail fell hard on her backside, making a splash in the shallow puddles of the bank. She scrambled to her feet as the young man rode out of the trees.

“Where’s your gun?” she whispered to Jeremiah, spreading her arms in a vain attempt to shield him from the intruder.

Jeremiah took her by the shoulders. “This is the parson, Abigail. You asked me to fetch him. Remember?”

In Abigail’s opinion, a man of the cloth shouldn’t look so amused.

“I thought your request for a quick wedding was unusual, Captain Calhoun, but I think your bride is even more urgent.”

Her faced burned. He’d seen the whole inspection. But then she remembered Jeremiah’s injury.

“Your leg. What happened to it? And what happened to your clothes? And there’s a skunk nearby. Phew. Let’s get on home.”

Jeremiah held her by the wrist. “Excuse me, Reverend. I need to throw the brakes on this mouth if we’re going to get anything accomplished today.” Then, before she could exclaim over his arrogance, he caught her and pulled her to him for a firm, hot kiss.

There her hands went again, inspecting his bare skin right in front of the preacher.

“I love interrupting you.” Jeremiah’s eyes smoldered and she dearly wished the parson would go away. But no, they needed him. Oh, whatever.

“Now,” Jeremiah paused with a raised eyebrow, and Abigail reluctantly removed her hands from him. “Now, the skunk . . . that would be me, or rather, my clothes. Mrs. Calhoun sent me away with a pair of Calbert’s old britches and lye, baking soda, a pint of tomatoes, a quart of moonshine—you can’t tell anyone the parson helped carry the moonshine—and I hunkered down
in this freezing river and scrubbed until my skin nearly came off because I wasn’t about to go home smelling like Betsy’s polecat.”

Abigail wrinkled her nose. “You were sprayed?”

Jeremiah crossed his bronzed arms in front of his white chest. “Don’t make that face. You’re just smelling my clothes and they aren’t coming home. Ever. I don’t know quite what to do with my boots . . .”

“But you aren’t hurt?”

“No, ma’am.”

“And the parson? He’s really going to marry us?”

His face lit up. “Today.”

Abigail could only stare. That morning she’d packed her bags, prepared to say good-bye forever, and now . . .

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she said.

“Me too.”

“And that Laurel didn’t mind changing her decision one last time.”

“Absolutely.”

“And that Rachel has decided to behave herself—”

“Um, Abigail? It’s mighty cold to be standing around half dressed.” As if she hadn’t noticed. “Can we finish this list at home?”

The reverend had the nerve to laugh. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get this over with. I can’t afford to give you my whole day.”

Abigail took Jeremiah’s hand as they walked to their horses. She had all day. She had all the rest of her life.

E
PILOGUE

“Come on. You can do it,” Jeremiah encouraged. “Push one more time and you’ll see your baby.”

Abigail clutched his hand and squeezed. They’d waited for this day for months, but it was taking longer than she’d expected. Finally, water gushed and the last two hooves dropped. The black foal lay on its side, dazed but beautiful.

“Good girl,” Abigail crooned to Josephine. “You did it.”

Josephine’s nostrils twitched as she tried to catch the scent of the strange beast that had just burst from her. The foal rocked, working its way closer to the warmth of her mother.

“Just what I need,” Jeremiah said. “Another female around the place.” But he wrapped his arm around Abigail’s shoulders and pulled her against his side.

Abigail laid her head against his chest and watched as Josephine nuzzled her foal. A year ago she gave almost everything she’d had for this animal. At times she’d dreaded this day, knowing that the birth of the foal could mean the end of her welcome, but God had fashioned another plan.

“What a gift Alan gave me.” She took a deep breath of Jer
emiah’s scent—clean cotton and pine. “If only he’d lived to see it.”

“I’m sure Rachel’s told him by now, if he didn’t know already.” Jeremiah lowered his head to rest atop hers. “I miss her,” he said. “I’m glad her suffering is over, but I miss her.”

Rachel’s passing had been a peaceful, sacred transition. She’d had a few weeks of reprieve from her pain, during which she’d restored her relationships and made some new friends, not the least of whom was little Betsy Huckabee, who’d kept vigil at her side until the end.

Abigail wrapped her arm around his back, sliding her hand through his suspenders. “On our way to Ohio, we’ll take some of Rachel’s roses to leave at Alan’s grave.”

“Will the new tombstone be up?”

“Should be. No more Jeremiah Calhouns buried there.”

He rubbed his bristly face against her forehead. “In a way, it was an honor to have my name on the grave of such a man, but Alan deserves recognition of his own.”

The horse had found her way to her feet. The foal stumbled as her rickety legs discovered their purpose.

“Not too long ago I had the same trouble walking,” Jeremiah said.

“You weren’t quite that bad.” Abigail patted his stomach. “Aren’t you hungry? Let’s see if Ma saved us any supper.”

But he was in no hurry to leave the warm barn. He hummed a lullaby as Josephine tended her foal. “You know, when I heard it was Alan who sent you here, I thought he was trying to ruin my life.”

“Sometimes the best gifts aren’t convenient at the time.”

“Convenient? Convenient is boring.” With a laugh he swung her off her feet and into his arms. “Give me difficult any day.”

He carried her outside, stealing a kiss every few steps. Their
breath steamed in the cold air. The February wind rustled the bare branches above them and sped over the hills where, just on the other side of the mountain, Laurel and Hopkins were enjoying their first winter together, reveling in each other’s company and the privacy the new cabin afforded them. And soon, if Abigail had to guess, Hiram would find the nerve to ask Ma for her hand so he wouldn’t have an empty house any longer.