Summer of Promise (37 page)

“You’re probably seeing relief.”

“About your sister?”

“Partially.” Ever since the night Abigail and Ethan had brought Jeffrey back from the hog ranch, Charlotte had been glowing with happiness. The reason wasn’t hard to find, for Jeffrey was home every night. The evenings he played baseball, he returned with Charlotte as soon as the game ended. Other nights, he did not stir from the house unless he had duty. Charlotte was visibly pleased, and to her relief and Abigail’s, her mysterious ailments had disappeared. Perhaps Mrs. Grayson was correct in believing that Charlotte’s illness had been tied to tightly strung nerves.

“Charlotte is one reason. Woodrow is the other.” When Ethan frowned, Abigail’s heart skipped a beat. Was she right? Did he care for her? Was that why he didn’t want to be reminded of Woodrow? “You know I received a letter from him.” The frown disappeared. Though Ethan gave a short nod, he kept his face as expressionless as if she were discussing the color of thread for a piece of embroidery. Perhaps she had been mistaken in thinking he was bothered by thoughts of Woodrow. There was only one way to know.

“The letter told me of his marriage.” It was the first time Abigail had spoken the words. Charlotte had been so preoccupied with plans for tonight’s wedding that she hadn’t asked what Woodrow had written, and Abigail had been relieved, for deep in her heart, she knew that Ethan should be the first to learn that she would not marry Woodrow.

As she watched, Ethan blinked and shook his head, as if he could not believe his ears. “His marriage?”

“To one of the pupils at the academy.”

“I’m sorry.”

Was he, or was he simply murmuring the expected words? Abigail hoped it was the latter. “I’m not. As I said before, I’m relieved.” She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly in an attempt to control her emotions. So much depended on Ethan’s reaction when he heard the rest of her story. “Even before I received the letter, I realized Woodrow was not the man God intended for me. I was worried about how to tell him without hurting him.” Though she could barely keep her hands from trembling, Abigail managed a weak smile. “I should have trusted God. He had a better plan. Woodrow wasn’t hurt—at least not much—and now he has the wife he deserves.”

Though his face remained impassive, Abigail saw something—could it be relief?—in Ethan’s eyes. “What about you?”

“I’m still waiting to learn God’s plan for me.” Abigail knew what she wanted. She wanted to marry Ethan. What she didn’t know was whether that was part of God’s plan for her.

Ethan’s mouth started to quirk, as if he was going to smile or say something, but before he could do either, Charlotte appeared at his side. “Oliver’s looking for you, Ethan. It’s almost time to begin.”

As he nodded, Ethan grinned and mouthed the word “later,” and a rush of happiness filled Abigail’s heart.

Two hours later, Abigail was still smiling. The wedding had been beautiful, the perfect inauguration for the new building. Now, as the guests began to leave, she looked for Ethan.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he appeared at her side. “I imagine Puddles is ready for a walk. May I accompany you?”

Though she welcomed the excuse to spend more time with him, Abigail had to shake her head. “Charlotte told me she and Jeffrey would do that tonight.”

“Then, may I suggest we walk along the river?”

Happiness bubbled up inside her. This was the “later” Ethan had promised. “I’d enjoy that,” she said as she reached for her cloak, smiling when Ethan took it from her and settled it over her shoulders. Perhaps it was only her imagination that his hands lingered a bit longer than necessary and that the warmth from his palms sent currents of excitement flowing through her blood. Perhaps, but not likely. All evening long, she had remembered his smile and the way he’d mouthed “later.” Later had come, bringing with it an almost unbearable sense of anticipation.

They walked slowly, her hand on his arm, his placed on top of hers. It was a perfectly proper gesture, the act of a gentleman. It need not signify anything more than common courtesy, and yet Abigail could not ignore the waves of pleasure that swept through her, all because of Ethan’s hand on hers. She had never felt this way with Woodrow, but then, she had never loved Woodrow the way she did Ethan.

Was it possible? Did she dare hope that he cared for her the same way? Could the reason Ethan sought time alone with her be because he wanted to speak of his feelings? A woman could not ask. She could not even hint at such matters, for that would be most unseemly. All she could do was wait.

They were within sight of the bridge when Ethan slowed his steps, stopping beneath one of the cottonwoods that had shed many of its leaves, allowing moonlight to spill through its branches. When Ethan removed his hand from hers, for a second Abigail felt bereft, but then he turned so he could face her, and as he gazed into her eyes, she saw the depth of his emotions.

“Abigail, I want—”

“Find the captain!” A hoarse shout rent the tranquil air. “A man’s been killed!”

What a night! Thoughts raced through Ethan’s brain faster than his feet raced toward the sentry. The evening had begun better than he’d dreamed possible. When he learned of Woodrow’s marriage, it had been all Ethan could do to keep from shouting in exultation. Abigail wasn’t promised or even almost promised to another man. He’d grinned like a foolish schoolboy at the realization that there was one less barrier between them. And then, just when he’d started to tell her how happy he was, Charlotte had interrupted. It was time for Oliver’s wedding. Throughout the ceremony and the reception that followed, Ethan’s heart had been filled with happiness, dreaming of the time when he would be alone with Abigail and could ask permission to court her.

The walk along the river had only heightened his anticipation. It would be the perfect place, the perfect time, and somehow he would find the perfect words to woo her. Everything was ready. Ethan was on the verge of speaking when he’d heard the guard’s shouts.

What a horrible way to end the day. Ethan had sent Abigail home alone, promising to come to her as soon as he could, and then he’d headed toward the bridge. The sentry stood there, his post unnaturally stiff, the stance of a man horrified by what he had seen.

Ethan slid to a stop. “Thank you, private,” he said, giving the soldier who was guarding the body a brisk salute. “Do you know who it is?” The dead man was dressed in an Army uniform but lay facedown. The brown hair protruding from his cap could have belonged to a hundred men.

“No, sir. I didn’t want to move him.”

Ethan understood the private’s reluctance. Facing death was never easy, but now it was Ethan’s job. He bent down and turned the body over, his lips tightening as he recognized the man. There was no mistaking those vivid green eyes, now staring sightlessly into the night sky. Johann Schiller, former Army private, deserter, and bandit, would never again menace a stagecoach. A single shot to his forehead had ended his life.

“No, sir,” Ethan said half an hour later when he stood in Captain Westland’s office. “I don’t know why the body was brought here.” When the men had lifted Private Schiller’s body into a cart, the absence of blood on the ground and the chill of the corpse had told Ethan that the murder had taken place elsewhere. Where? When? And why had Schiller been brought back to the fort? Ethan didn’t know.

“Perhaps it was a warning,” he suggested. But that raised another question. A warning for whom?

“Have you learned anything?” Abigail handed the leash to Ethan. With the way Puddles was jumping on him, it was clear that the dog wanted to be next to Ethan. So did she. It had been almost a day since Johann Schiller’s body had been found, a day when rumors had run rampant. Though Abigail had hoped the fort would return to normal by daylight, it had not. Everyone, it seemed, was disturbed by the news of the deserter’s murder, and everyone had a theory about the killer, each less plausible than the previous.

Abigail had seen Private Schiller only once. That had been under decidedly unpleasant circumstances, but no matter how often she had wished that Private Schiller would be brought to justice and that the robberies would cease, she had never wanted his life to end. Charlotte, who’d had only a passing acquaintance with the private, since he’d deserted soon after she and Jeffrey reached the fort, had shuddered at the news. Even Jeffrey, who had once declared that Ethan should have killed Private Schiller rather than simply wounding him, had seemed upset. As for Ethan, Abigail had had no chance to discuss the murder with him, for he had remained closeted with Captain Westland until late last night. This morning he had assembled a search party that had left the garrison at daybreak. Now he was back, perhaps with news.

“We’ve learned nothing.” Ethan shook his head as he bent down to ruffle Puddles’s ears. “I’m not surprised. These people are clever, but I had hoped for something. My men and I spoke to the neighboring ranchers and everyone at Peg’s, but the answers were all the same. No one had seen or heard anything.”

Though his tone was neutral, Ethan was unable to hide the tension in his hands. He might say nothing more, but Abigail knew that he was distressed. The stagecoach robberies had weighed heavily on him, and murder was much worse. No matter how she longed to recapture the magic of last night, that was impossible. Duty came first for Ethan, and right now his duty was to learn who had killed Private Schiller and why.

Ethan straightened and began to walk, letting Puddles run the entire length of the leash. “Wyoming is a big territory with very few people. It’s not hard to hide something here.” This time he sounded discouraged, and that wrenched Abigail’s heart.

“I’m shocked!” To underscore her words, she clasped her hands, hoping her feigned surprise would cheer him. “Unless my ears deceived me, you just found something less than perfect about Wyoming.”

As his eyes brightened, Abigail almost giggled. Her pretense was working. “You caught me red-handed,” Ethan said with a short laugh, “but unless
my
ears deceived me, it sounded as if you did not share that opinion. Is it possible you’ve changed your mind?”

About Wyoming, perhaps, but not about the need to boost Ethan’s spirits. Placing a cautionary finger over her lips in the universal sign for secrecy, Abigail nodded. “You must promise never to tell anyone.” She imbued her words with melodrama. “It’s true. You’ve discovered my secret. I no longer believe this is the most desolate place on earth.”

Ethan tipped his head to one side, as if considering something. “What about boring? I believe that was the word you used on the stagecoach.”