A Most Inconvenient Marriage (25 page)

Slowly she seemed to realize their situation. Again she tried to move away, and again she had nowhere to go. Her brow troubled with creases.

Tearing his eyes away, he found the wagon again and recognized it as Wallace’s. Sure enough, holding the reins was Hiram with Hopkins and Calbert riding shotgun, diligently scanning both sides of the pass.

Jeremiah whistled. Calbert held up his hand, and Hiram halted the team. Calbert returned the call, and slowly Jeremiah squeezed past Abigail, worming his way beneath the brush to finally stand in the open.

“We’re up here.” He waved and the men lowered their guns.

“Wondered what became of you.” Calbert continued to gauge the mountainside for danger.

“We were waylaid. Stole my horse, in fact.”

“Your horse or Abigail’s horse?”

That Hopkins. Couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Jeremiah turned to take Abigail’s hand. He lifted her out of the brambles and set her down to dust off her skirt. Jeremiah could see Hiram’s mouth move, even though he couldn’t hear the words. Hopkins’s shoulders bounced in mirth, and Calbert shook his head ominously.

“We had to hide.” Jeremiah explained. “We figured they’d be camping right over the ridge, waiting for us to come out.”

“And that’s exactly what they done.” Calbert pulled on his
beard. “We saw their camp just over the way. Must have flown the coop when they heard us coming.”

“We’re glad you did.” Abigail picked her way down the hill. Jeremiah nearly swallowed his tongue. Her tousled hair gave her a decidedly unholy halo. And blast it, if that old Calbert didn’t read his guilt from a hundred yards away. Jeremiah took two steps forward before realizing he didn’t have his crutch.

“Well, I’ll be,” Calbert drawled. “Whatever happened last night must’ve done you some good.”

Abigail spun and gaped. “Jeremiah! I had no idea you were doing so well.”

“I’m not exactly, but they stole my crutch. Hand me that stick, would you?”

She bent, then extended the knobby branch toward him. Too little to replace his crutch, but if he could do with a cane, then glory hallelujah! Jeremiah pulled himself into the back of the wagon with Calbert and Hopkins while Abigail sat on the bench next to Hiram. “Keep alert. There were three of them, and they are downright nasty.”

“It’s time we stopped hiding,” Calbert said. “Seems like it’s them that should be doing the hiding.”

Hopkins scanned the ridge above them, thick with trees. “And I’m tired of riding from patient to patient, watching over my shoulder. If you’ve got an idea, count me in.”

Jeremiah thought again of Abigail’s horse being led away. Of the trap. Of Varina and Mr. Rankin. His shoulders tightened. Enough was enough. “Consider it started.”

Tired of being the prey, they were going hunting. Jeremiah hefted the last bushel of sweet corn into the wagon. A few days
to get their work set by was what they agreed on, and then Hiram, Calbert, and even Dr. Hopkins would meet to flush out the raiders from the mountains. Sorrow weighed heavily on him with the thought of killing again, and killing there would be if they succeeded. No outlier horse thieves would surrender, not when they knew what awaited them at sentencing. Jeremiah couldn’t fool himself into believing this task would be accomplished without bloodshed. Whether it was his blood or theirs, he knew the price such justice cost.

The Bible said that the Lord was a man of war. God offered strength for such ventures, and Jeremiah wasn’t shy in asking for His help, but he did have to wonder how long before he could beat his sword into a plowshare. How long did he have to fight before he could become a man of peace? When would his home be a place of rest instead of another field to defend?

Fastening the tailgate, Jeremiah limped to the seat in time to see Abigail leave the house with the slop bucket—one shoulder tilted high and an arm thrown out straight from her side for balance. She never complained. And the physical work wasn’t the worst. Rachel’s acidic attitude wore at the woman. Even Jeremiah could see how discouraged Abigail looked after tending his sister. At a flick of the reins, the old mare rocked the wagon out of its deep ruts toward the barn. Hard to believe a nice woman like Abigail didn’t have anywhere she’d rather be. Even if she had no home, surely she could find nicer folk than his family.

But did he want her to?

He slowed the horse until Abigail had dumped the bucket into the trough and left the barnyard. Not since that kiss had they worked together in the barn. Not since the night in the cave had they had a conversation alone. He missed her. How he wished he could share his frustrations and concerns with her.
If only he could let Abigail know what her friendship meant to him without giving her the wrong idea. But getting near her was like crossing the creek on slippery stones. He was bound to slip and fall head over heels . . .

Laurel and Hopkins had nearly reached him before he noticed them walking up the trail. Laurel plucked a violet from her hair and tossed it behind her while Hopkins swung his doctoring bag merrily. “Howdy, Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah clucked to the horse and pulled up to meet them. “We don’t ride until tomorrow.”

“I know.” Hopkins’s smile disappeared as though the gravity of the coming task had settled on him. “I’m making rounds before then and thought I might ought to check on Rachel.”

“Much obliged.” And he meant it. If something happened to him, Jeremiah wanted to know he’d done all he could before he died. “Ma’s in the house. Just knock.”

Hopkins tugged on his old vest and took long steps to the house.

Laurel hung back, eyeing the bushels. “You need help unloading?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “I wouldn’t turn down an offer.”

She ducked her head as she skipped ahead of him to swing the barn door open. He directed the horse into the barn beneath the trapdoor to the loft. Laurel climbed the ladder in a flurry of tattered petticoats and scuffed boots. The trapdoor crashed open, and she smiled down at him.

Usually her smile could warm a chick out of its egg, but today it only caused guilt. He hated this uncertainty. He hated this double-mindedness. A man was supposed to decide once, and then it was settled. How had he gotten so confused?

Climbing into the back of the wagon, Jeremiah lifted the first bushel to her waiting arms. “I didn’t mean to put you to work.”

“Newton told me I shouldn’t be in the room until he finished Rachel’s examination.”

Rachel. More guilt.

Laurel’s ebony hair swung down on either side of her rosy face. “I’m so worried about tomorrow, Jeremiah. Will it be terribly dangerous?”

“You know the type of men we’re going after.”

She disappeared as the bushel thudded on the loft floor above him, then returned with tears in her eyes. “If anything happened to you . . . or Newton . . . I’d be so sad. Once before I thought I’d lost you. I couldn’t bear it again.”

The first time Jeremiah had ridden into danger he hadn’t understood the stakes. He heard only the cheers, not the cautions. Now he knew the consequences, and so did Laurel. She had matured, after all.

She stretched her arms down for another load, but when Jeremiah lifted a basket to her, she covered his hands with her own. “Do you remember the last time you left?” she asked. “I cried every day, but then the days turned to months and the months to years.”

Her chin trembled. She took the basket from him and put it aside.

“Your promises were all that kept me going,” Jeremiah said. “When I was shot, when I lost Alan, I knew I had nothing to come home to . . . nothing but you.” Her brown arms extended past her faded sleeves. He reached up to take the hand she offered.

“And still I haven’t given you the answer you want.” Her eyelashes fluttered to her cheek. “I do love you, Jeremiah. I’ve just got to get my mind around it. Will you give me a little more time? Please? Will you wait on me?”

Would he wait? He’d told Alan no. He’d told Rachel no.
Here was someone else asking for a chance at love. Would he ruin this relationship, too?

She glowed with hope. Laurel, who’d never harm a soul, reaching down to him as if she could snatch him up away from all the pain and trouble. He couldn’t reject her. He’d turned away too many friends already.

“Yes. I’ll wait for you. You take your time.”

For he wasn’t going anywhere. And in the meantime, he’d keep on working and praying that he could protect the people he loved.

“I’m glad you sent for me.” Dr. Hopkins gulped the coffee down before returning the mug to Abigail. “Her temperature is slightly elevated. Her heart murmur is more pronounced, and she’s dizzy if she stands. Another attack will kill her.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” Abigail set the mug in the basin, then glanced through the doorway to assure they were not overheard. “If she were one of my soldiers, I’d suggest she write her letters home, but I’m not sure what to do in this situation.”

Dr. Hopkins’s fine brow lifted. “I’d say she has some peace to make before she goes.”

But would she? Rachel had known for years that she would die young, but she hadn’t made any effort to set her family at ease. “What did you tell her?”

“That her prognosis wasn’t good. That every fever will be more dangerous than the one before. She reacted flippantly, as I expected. She said she’d been promised a short life for years, yet it’d already lasted longer than she wanted.”

With her fingernail, Abigail picked at a crack in the ceramic mug. Scores of earnest faces came to mind—men who’d fought
for each last breath. Men who’d left behind families. And yet, no matter what Rachel’s attitude, she would still die. Maybe her anger was her defense against becoming too fond of the world. Either way, Abigail had a duty to this family to let Rachel go in peace . . . and hopefully leave peace behind.

“Thank you for coming and for not mentioning to Ma that I summoned you. I didn’t want her to be distraught, especially with Jeremiah setting out tomorrow.”

“And you wanted to borrow my expertise one last time in case I didn’t return,” the doctor said.

“The future is uncertain, Doctor. No one knows that better than we do.”

He tapped the table and smiled roguishly. “Why doesn’t he marry you and get it over with? We all know he’s going to, sooner or later.”

“What? I’m not getting married.” Abigail’s mouth went dry at the jest. She didn’t want anyone to think she was after Jeremiah. Her hands suddenly had nowhere to rest but swept nonexistent dust from the table.

“No cause for embarrassment, Miss Abigail. He’ll come around, but not soon enough for me.”

“Shame on you,” she choked out. “Wistful thinking doesn’t make it so.”

“Are you wistful?”

“I’m speaking of you.” She hoped her face reflected the horror of his suggestion instead of her unease at the thought. “I understand your predicament, but leave me out of it.”

A throat cleared. They turned to see Jeremiah and Laurel standing inside the door.

Laurel bloomed under Newton’s gaze. “Are you finished with Rachel?”

“I am, and considering the day we have before us tomorrow,
I’d better be on my way.” He clasped the leather handles of his physician’s bag. “Tomorrow morning, Jeremiah?”

“We’ll meet at Calbert’s at daybreak.”

“I’ll be there. And Abigail, I trust my patient in your capable hands. As for that other issue . . . please take whatever measures you think necessary.”

Her face warmed. Dr. Hopkins and Laurel departed, leaving her alone in the kitchen with Jeremiah.

She removed the coffeepot from the stove top and burned her finger in the process. “Rachel isn’t doing well. Her heart can’t go on much longer.”

The lines around his eyes deepened. “How long?”

“Much depends on the fever she’s fighting off, but her heart is already struggling. The end could come suddenly, or she could linger. Either way, it doesn’t look like she’ll ever improve. I’ve been trying to prepare her. She can’t leave with things the way they are.”

The sinews of his arm strummed as he flexed his hand. “I’ve tried to speak to her, too. She doesn’t want to hear my apology.”

How it hurt her to hear the sorrow in his voice. Just as she would’ve during his exercise, Abigail laid her hand on those tense muscles in an effort to soothe them. “But never close the door. As long as she has breath, she can change.”