An Inconvenient Match (20 page)

“If you insist.”

“I do.” Harry wasn’t the right man for Abby. Perhaps now was the time to caution her. “I wonder if you should cancel your dinner plans with Harry.”

Gentle blue eyes turned chilly. “Why?”

“Ah, he’s nice enough but not ready for courtship.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, he’s not established in his career. Not ready to take on a wife.”

“Like you are?”

“What?”

“Like you’re established in your career?”

He thrust his fingers between his neck and his collar. Why was it so hot in here? “Well, no, I wasn’t speaking of myself.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” She gave a frosty smile. “You know, a wife might be exactly what Harrison needs to help him achieve his goals.”

This was going all wrong. His warning appeared to have increased Abby’s interest in Harry.

Abby studied the list, as if indifferent to him or his warning. “Every household needs a cookstove. If we purchased five at retail, we could ask the Mercantile to donate a sixth.”

“You’re savvy about business as well as a skilled teacher.”

“We women wear many hats.”

“My mom did.” He chuckled. “She loved make-believe and often gave Regina and me parts in her little skits. Once she took the role of a man, wearing my father’s tie and hat, speaking in a remarkably deep voice.”

“She sounds like a fun mom.”

“She was. Dad disliked her silliness. Upon occasion he’d come home early and catch us in our hilarity. His stern expression burst our high spirits faster than a pin to an overinflated balloon.”

“George takes life too seriously.”

That Abby understood slid through him. Wade laid his palm on her hand. “Dad’s relaxed some. I credit you for the change in him.”

“I’m glad.” She looked away. “A father’s indifference hurts.”

They shared that and more. Much more. If only…

No, he might be attracted to Abby, drawn to everything about her, but he’d never give his heart.

By the end of the hour they had a plan of action: to take the list to those impacted by the fire; to ask retailers in town to donate an item or give a discount.

Thankfully Abby didn’t mention Harry accompanying her again.

She gathered the remnants of lunch. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Work he could handle. Work had been his way of coping with Abby’s presence in his house. Now they’d spend even more time together. Keeping his distance would be difficult.

If only he could have what he’d missed all his life—a trustworthy love. But from what he’d seen no such thing existed. Even if it did, Abby had made it abundantly clear he’d destroyed any feelings she’d once had for him.

Still, he could try to forge a friendship. “Would you attend the Fourth of July picnic with my father and me?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “That would give the wrong impression.”

To whom? To Carder? To the town?

A knot twisted in his throat. She was speaking about giving the wrong impression to
him.

He’d concentrate on making those beds, immerse himself in getting his business underway and handle his job at the bank.

Keep so busy he’d put Miss Abigail Wilson out of his mind.

Abigail should’ve taken George Cummings’s cold stare as a warning.

“Where have you been? I don’t pay you to gad about town,” he groused, sounding like a cranky toddler in need of a nap.

“I was at the bank with your son.”

“Doing what?”

“Not taking out a loan.” She bit back her sarcasm, determined not to argue. “We’re overseeing the disbursement of the money you contributed to the relief fund.”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the recognition.

If praise didn’t warm him up, maybe exercise would. “Are you up to taking Blue for a short walk?”

With a wag of his tail the hound rose from the sunny spot on the carpet and ambled toward them.

The knot between George’s brows vanished. “About time you earned your wages.”

They left the porch and ambled down the street, greeting passersby. Blue trailed behind, sniffing the grass, circling bushes, his ears all but dragging on the ground.

Abigail glanced at George. “Your donation was generous.”

“Foolish was what it was. Stupid smoke muddled my brain.”

That smoke hadn’t damaged his brain, but had harmed his lungs. Why had George risked his life to save another? That action didn’t fit her image of him.

At the corner Abigail insisted they turn back, unwilling to risk taxing his strength or lungs. As they walked toward the house, Abigail realized what she’d once considered ostentatious she now saw as merely a lovely home.

Inside the parlor George dropped into a chair at the bay window. Yawning, Blue plopped down at his feet with a grunt. Abigail lowered herself into the chair opposite from his.

Across the way the grand piano stood. Keys forever silent, a memorial to the woman who’d played it. Much had happened in this house. Much about the owner, someone she’d seen as self-seeking, puzzled her.

Abigail pressed her palms into her lap, gathering courage. “Why did you go into that burning house?”

George shrugged, staring out the window at the robins fluttering their wings in the fountain.

“Some would call what you did risky.”

“Getting out of bed’s a risk.”

“True, but to go inside took courage. Why did you?”

“I heard something. Didn’t see anyone else around to do it.”

“Your donations and risking your life to search a burning house—none of it fits my image of George Cummings.”

“You’ve got me pegged. Don’t let all that bamboozle you.” He wagged his finger. “And don’t expect I’d do that twice.”

“Why? Because I might think you’re nice?”

His gaze slid to the grand piano. “No one thinks I’m nice.”

A twinge of guilt nipped Abigail’s conscience. She headed the list of George Cummings’s critics. “A lot of folks will, once they benefit from your generosity.”

Shrewd eyes laced with curiosity turned toward her. “What are you and Wade wasting that money on?”

His crotchety tone contradicted the interest lighting his eyes. Not as indifferent as he pretended. She explained how his donation would be spent and the home visits they planned.

“You’re organized,” he said with the tiniest hint of respect. “Efficient. A hard worker.”

“I try to be.”

“Nothing like your dad.”

“I can’t believe you’d disparage my father!”

“I meant what I said as a compliment.”

She huffed. Why had she tried to understand the man? He was cold, mean. “After what you did to my father—”

“If you’re yapping about that loan, forget it.”

“I’d expect you to avoid the issue, but now that we’re being honest with one another, I want answers.”

His dark brows lowered. “Are you sure about that?”

Fingering the chain around her neck, she glanced at Blue asleep in a patch of sunshine. No questions disturbed his peace. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“What’s to know? Transactions at the bank are aboveboard.”

“Ha! You took our farm.”

“I called the loan. The economy was shaky. Railroads overextended. Banks were failing. The times demanded drastic measures. I—” A coughing spell stopped his litany.

Or lies. “Don’t you mean your greed demanded drastic measures? You made a fortune selling the partial of our land to the railroad.”

“You exaggerate.” He exhaled. “I didn’t know of the railroads’ interest before I called the loan.”

“So you say.”

“You’re yapping at me for making savvy business decisions.”

“This isn’t about business. Calling that loan, losing our farm, killed my father.”

Ears and neck red as fresh blood, George shook his index finger. “Frank’s greed and guilt killed him, not me.”

“Greed?” She leaned toward him, every muscle rigid. She wanted to shake some sense into him, make him take back the hateful things he’d spouted. “Lots of people borrow money.”

“He borrowed to invest in a get-rich-quick venture. I warned him the deal was risky. But no, he wouldn’t listen.”

Abigail leaped to her feet. “How dare you smear my father’s good name when he can’t defend himself?”

George scowled. “
You
asked for this conversation, young lady. Plant people on a pedestal and you soon discover they’re nothing but flesh and bone. If you can’t handle the truth, then don’t go looking for it.”

“You call that truth? You’re lying!”

As Abigail fled the room, Blue reared his head and bayed. The last sound she heard as she plunged out the front door.

She’d talk to Ma. Ma would set her straight. Destroy the destructive seeds George Cummings tried to plant in her mind.

The lullaby Ma sang to Billy trailed off. “What’s wrong?” she said, shifting the sleeping baby in her arms. “Did that scoundrel fire you?”

“Worse. He claims Pa took out the loan to invest in a get-rich-quick gamble, that greed drove him to risk the farm.” She stood over her mother, searching her uplifted gaze. “Tell me that’s not true.”

The rocker slowed. Ethel fidgeted with the thin blanket framing Billy’s tiny face. She sighed. “It might be.”

“Ma. How can you say that?”

“I… Well, I saw signs of greed in Frank. He raved about some business opportunity, getting in on the ground floor. ‘This is our chance,’ he said. ‘We’ll see the world.’”

Abigail wilted onto the worn sofa. Greed had motivated her father to risk the farm? George had spoken the truth?

In his sleep, Billy jerked. Ethel resumed her rocking. “We never left the state, but we had this dream to travel.”

Ma hadn’t deserved any of this. If only she could give her mother that dream. When Lois, Joe and the kids were settled in their house, she’d take Ma to St. Louis. See the Mississippi River.

“Well, no point in looking back,” Ma said.

“How could he take out a loan on the farm without your consent?”

“We were married. The farm was as much his as mine. I’ll admit I was unsure about the investment, but I went along.”

Abigail’s insides churned, yet Ma looked serene as if she’d long ago made peace with the loss. “How could Pa risk all you had?”

Ma stopped the rocker and shot Abigail a pointed look. “Don’t be critical of your father. He made a poor decision but George Cummings took advantage of it, made money off it too.”

Abigail cradled a sofa pillow to her chest. “Does it bother you that Pa shirked his responsibility after we moved to town, leaving you to carry the load?”

A flicker of dismay traveled Ma’s face. “When Frank took sick, I got a job. Why shouldn’t I? He’d toiled all those years for us.”

“You said Pa took sick. What was wrong with him?”

“A broken spirit, I reckon. He never got over losing the farm.”

“But he could’ve worked? Could’ve gotten a job?”

Ma’s eyes glistened. “Oh, sweetie, what’s the point in laying blame?”

Wasn’t the feud all about laying blame?

Yet the conversation had left her mother pale and shaken. Abigail wouldn’t push. She rose and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I love you. Thanks for taking care of Lois and me.”

Ethel laid a calloused palm on Abigail’s cheek. “Love you, too. Together, with God’s help, this family is strong.”

Yet her father hadn’t been. Ma had persevered for the sake of her family. Why hadn’t Pa?

“Better get back to work.” Abigail was breadwinner for her family. She wouldn’t let them down.

George Cummings had been right. She wasn’t like her father.

“Don’t go thinking George Cummings is guiltless,” Ma said as if she’d read Abigail’s mind. “You’ll never convince me that he didn’t know the Illinois Central’s interest in our land before he called the loan. That’s greed.” She huffed. “He’s got no right to criticize your pa.”

Abigail nodded. George had tried to take the scrutiny off him by turning it onto her father. She’d almost fallen for the tactic. “Where is everyone?”

“Out for a walk. Joe’s practicing with that crutch. Lois was pushing the boys in the wheelchair when they left. I sure hope those younguns get out of that contraption and run off some of that energy.”

“I checked their house yesterday. They’re plastering. It won’t be long before it’s finished.” She picked at a piece of lint on her sleeve. “I’m thinking about getting a second job this fall, maybe working evenings at the café.”

“You’ll work yourself into the ground.”

“We need the money.”

Ma frowned. “Stop fretting about money. We’re getting by.”

“I want to help Joe pay off his gambling debts.”

“Give Joe and the Good Lord a chance to handle that.”