Long Road Home, The (4 page)

The train into Baxter slowed and then came to a complete stop. Abigail Finlayson sat and stared out at the small station. This was the end of her journey, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her wish as she had begun the journey from Canada was that she could just open her eyes and be there, but now that she had finally arrived, she was terrified.

From her correspondence with her Aunt Maggie, Abby knew her aunt worked for Dr. Mark Cameron and lived with his family. She felt tears coming on over not knowing if she could even stay with her aunt. If Maggie lived in someone’s home, then she wouldn’t be at liberty to have her niece stay. Abby felt herself on the edge of panic. In her state of exhaustion, she couldn’t think clearly.

Abby stood with her hand tightly gripping the seat. On legs feeling as if they were made of wood, she moved to the door. A man was there to help her step down. She thought she detected a look of pity, and instantly knew she looked as bad as she felt.

Her eyes felt as though they had sand in them every time she blinked, and a quick hand to her hair told her it was hanging in limp strands.

Abby moved stiffly toward a man standing by the station door. “Excuse me, sir. Can you give me directions to Dr. Mark Cameron’s home?”

“Hey, Mac,” the man suddenly shouted without answering her question, making her start in surprise. “This little gal here is looking for Mark’s place. You got a minute to take her by on your way home?”

Abby was horrified at having gained the attention of everyone within shouting distance. When a man of tremendous size moved toward her, she was sure she would have run if she didn’t think her legs would betray her.

The first man moved on, shouting something to one of the men on the train, and Abby was left to face this “Goliath” on her own. Why, with her diminutive height, the top of her head barely reached his chest pocket. The man named Mac spoke the minute her eyes met his.

“I’m headed past Mark’s right now. My wagon is parked over here.” These words said, he stepped aside and waited for Abby to precede him. Abby knew she was staring rudely, but if the big man noticed he gave no indication.

Abby’s legs trembled as she walked toward the only vehicle parked in the direction he had pointed. He probably eats small redheads for breakfast, Abby thought. Her normally fearless personality was crumbling at her feet in the presence of this man of such intimidating size. She would have been embarrassed to tears if she could have seen the smile on Mac’s face.

The walk to the wagon was almost more than Abby could bear after the many hours on the train with very little to eat and almost no sleep. She was unaware of the way Mac had stayed behind her as they walked, intending to help her into the seat. So when Abby stopped by the wheel and swayed a bit, things suddenly getting fuzzy, Mac’s hand was instantly there to steady her.

“It’s a good thing we’re going to Mark’s.”

“I’m not sick,” Abby said faintly. For a moment the giant’s face swam before her eyes. “I’m looking for my aunt, Margaret Pearson.”

A smile stretched across Mac’s face. “Maggie’s niece! She didn’t tell us you were coming.”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Well, that won’t matter. She’ll be delighted to see you.”

Abby didn’t share his confidence. She was feeling worse by the minute and wished she had gone home to Michigan, even though there was a slight chance her father-in-law would look for her and that would be the first place he would check. Abby shivered slightly as Ian Finlayson Sr.’s bitter features sprang up in her mind without warning.

Mac lifted her gently into the seat and watched her carefully on the way to Mark’s. He was sure she was not even aware of him. Maybe it was her small size, but she reminded him of a homeless red kitten. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone with red hair and gray eyes before. He was sure that on a better day she would be quite lovely, but for now the pale features—lips absolutely bloodless—were a bit frightening to him. He was sure he would be taking her to Mark’s even if she hadn’t asked.

It took a few seconds for Abby to realize the wagon had stopped moving. The seat beneath her shifted, and then Mac was standing ready to help her over the wheel.

“My bag! I left my bag on the train!”

Compassion filled Mac’s heart as he reached beneath the seat and pulled out Abby’s small case. She hadn’t even remembered his taking it before they left the train station.

She stared stupidly at it for a moment, wondering how he could have produced it so quickly. But before she could gather her thoughts, he spoke. “This is Mark’s house. Let’s get you down and inside where I’m sure we’ll find Maggie.”

They were halfway to the front door when it was opened by Susanne Cameron, Mark’s wife. Sue naturally assumed upon seeing the bedraggled, pale-looking woman with her brother-in-law, Mac, that she was a patient.

Mac would have walked directly into the house but Abby, desperately trying to get her bearings, stopped on the front porch.

“I’m sorry to intrude on your home like this,” she began, hoping she was addressing the lady of the house. “But I’m looking for Margaret Pearson. Is she here?”

“Abigail!”

Abby’s head snapped up at the calling of her name to see her aunt standing beyond the blonde woman in front of her.
Abby didn’t notice Mac slipping past her or he and the woman moving out of earshot. Her eyes were locked with the concerned ones of Maggie.

“Abby?” Maggie’s voice was questioning as she moved to the door.

“Aunt Maggie,” Abby spoke quickly to get the words out while she could, “Ian is dead. I had nowhere to go. His father blames me, and he’s so angry I was afraid to go home. I’m sorry I couldn’t write you, but I…”

Abby stopped talking as Maggie reached out and drew her into the sturdy circle of her embrace. She clung to her aunt, this woman who was so dear to her, but even then she didn’t cry. Not one tear had she shed since the news came to her that her husband was dead.

Maggie simply held her niece gently and let her mind focus on the spat of rushed words that had poured from her. Ian Finlayson was dead. Maggie suddenly couldn’t remember when they had been married, but she knew it wasn’t long ago. Even as questions swirled through her mind, the nurse in her came to the fore.

She pulled gently away and held Abby at arm’s length. Abby looked awful. Her usual peaches-and-cream complexion was washed out to nearly a shade of gray, and her beautiful hair was slick with oil and perspiration. Maggie was sure she had never seen so much pain in such young, lovely eyes.

Maggie led her niece through a house Abby took no notice of, to a small, neatly furnished bedroom.

“Is this your room?” Abby had enough presence of mind left to realize she was sitting on someone’s bed and her aunt was removing her shoes.

“It’s my room and my bed and you’re going to get into it.” Maggie’s voice was more brisk than usual to cover her concern for Abby.

“It’s time for bed?”

“It is for you,” Maggie answered her, thinking Abby sounded like a lost little child.

“But where will you sleep?”

“Probably right next to you.” This time Abby noticed the extra briskness.

“Are you angry with me, Aunt Maggie?”

Maggie turned away from the window where she had moved to pull the curtains closed. Her voice softened slightly, but she knew her niece and knew that too much softness right now would be the worst thing for her.

“I
will
be angry if you don’t get right into that bed. You’re probably hungry, but I think you need sleep more.” Her next words were from one nurse to another. “Do you want some laudanum to help you sleep?” Maggie nodded at the slight negative shake of Abby’s head and began to dig in the small traveling bag in hopes that her niece had packed some sort of night garment.

Maggie was just tucking the covers in around Abby when there was a knock at the door. She opened it to find her employer standing outside.

“Sue tells me Mac brought your niece here from the train station. Is there anything she needs?” He had moved toward the bed as he spoke and was now looking down on the half-asleep young woman in Maggie’s bed.

“Aunt Maggie?” Abby called for her, a bit fearful of this tall man by the bed. He looked kind, but she was sure this was the doctor, and she
had
come completely uninvited into his home.

“This is my niece Abigail Finlayson, Doctor Cameron. Abby, this is Doctor Cameron. He wants to make sure you’re alright.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Abby asked the man, unaware of the way her voice trembled.

“No, I was just thinking that after you’ve rested a while, you should move upstairs. We’ve a room we use for patients who need to stay over.”

His words were enough to bring Abigail to full attention, making her usual determined personality cloud over her good sense. She tried to get out of the bed even as she spoke. “I’m not sick and I’m not a patient. I had no right moving into your home in this way, and if you give me a few minutes to pack my things…”

Mark did not touch her but sidestepped to block her flight from the bed and waited until she looked at him. It was a mistake on Abby’s part to tip her head back because the room began to spin. She mumbled, “I’m not sick,” even as she felt hands tucking her back beneath the covers.

Mark was thinking that if he wasn’t so worried about her he would laugh. She was Margaret Pearson’s niece alright. Levelheaded, determined, strong, and nobody’s fool—until she got physically down in some way. He knew the young woman before him was a nurse just like her aunt, and nurses made the worst patients—almost as bad as doctors.

Abby told herself to get out of the bed and talk to the doctor. She was not sick, just tired and hungry, but her body would not obey the commands of her mind. Voices came to her as she fought off the exhaustion flooding over her.

“Maggie, why don’t you take the upstairs bedroom?”

“No. I want to stay close to Abby. We’ve shared a bed before, and we’ll be fine tonight.”

“Maybe that’s for the best. She appears to be as poor a patient as you are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maggie said with an indignant sniff. “I never get sick.”

Had Mark not been very conscious of the sick woman in the room they were exiting, he would have laughed outright on that statement.

Abby bent over the large oak bed to smooth the last of the wrinkles out of the quilt. As she straightened, an image of her and Ian snuggling in bed came to mind, and she turned away in an effort to dispel the sight.

The downstairs was quiet, and Abby wondered where Mrs. Cameron could be. She found coffee on the stove but made no move to help herself. She had been living with Mrs. Emily Cameron for nearly a week, and she still felt awkward and strange. It wasn’t because of Mrs. Cameron, of that she was sure. It was just that since she had awakened in Dr. Cameron’s house, really woke up and realized where she was and that Ian was gone forever, nothing had felt or seemed right.

She had met nearly all of the doctor’s family on Sunday after church and they were all very kind, but they didn’t fill the void, the hollow feeling that seemed to invade her when she least expected it.

Thankfully, the church service had not lasted too long. It had felt like something akin to torture to sit there and listen to the preaching, sound as it was, and know that Ian would never preach again.

Ian’s image appeared as he had always looked in the pulpit: serious, sincere, and strong in the Word of God. Abby was able to push that thought away, but another one replaced it. It was the one that had haunted her for the past 17 days since his
death. The look she saw on Ian’s face this time was the one he’d had when Abby had explained new life in Christ and Ian had understood. What an awesome thing it had been to be used of God in this way—to help someone understand that in God there was a better life because of the life His Son gave for all men.

Again Ian’s face was before her and it was serene and filled with a peaceful joy. She tried to push the look aside before her heart burst with pain and loss, but it wouldn’t go and Abby knew why. It was because of the promise.

“Good morning, Abby. Sorry to run out on you like that, but the day was so clear and fresh-smelling I got sidetracked in the garden.”

Abby smiled slightly at her hostess’ enthusiasm but said nothing. It was much warmer here than in Canada, she thought absently. The freezing wind at Ian’s funeral came to mind, so when the older woman began breakfast Abby pitched in to help expel her morbid thoughts.

“Mrs. Cameron?” Abby said, intending to ask her a question about setting the table.

“Abby, everyone calls me Grandma Em. I really wish you would.” When Abby didn’t answer, Grandma Em went on. “It won’t work, you know. I can tell you from experience that what you’re doing won’t work.”

At Abby’s confused look and continued silence, Grandma Em went on. “You see, Abby, grief and I are old friends. And right now you’re sure if you never let yourself get close to anyone again then you’ll never be hurt again. It won’t work. Believe me, I know.” Grandma Em’s voice was compassionate.

Realizing she hadn’t thought of it that way, Abby looked away. It was certainly the way she was acting.

“Can I ask you something, Abby?” Grandma Em waited until the younger woman’s attention was focused on her and then
said in a gentle way, “When is a good time for your husband to die? Is it when he’s young and the two of you have your whole life ahead of you? How about after you have children and you need him there when they’re sick and to help you raise them up God’s way? Or maybe it’s better after the children are gone and you’re ready for some peaceful years spent watching your grandchildren grow with him by your side?”

Grandma Em turned away then and looked at some distant point out the window. “Or did you think the best time was when you were old and you’ve both lived a full life and your faces are no longer beautiful but seamed with the lines of time? Did you think that was the best time, Abby, when it’s been you and him as one for over 45 years?” She turned from her study out the window then and met Abby’s eyes straight on. “Believe me, Abby, there is no good time for your mate to die.”

Abby sank slowly into a kitchen chair and looked at nothing for a few seconds. “I want to talk with him,” she whispered, and Grandma Em knew she wasn’t really being addressed. “I want to tell him one more time that I love him. I want him to hold me and tell me all is going to be fine.” Tears were brimming in Grandma Em’s eyes, but the young widow at the table was dry-eyed.

Grandma Em suspected there was a determination and strength of character that no one would suspect just looking at Abby. In fact, to look at Abby with her mass of dark-red, curly hair and huge, silver-gray eyes, one just wanted to protect her. Her nose was slightly tilted at the end and had just a sprinkling of freckles. All of it effected an aura of innocence.

Her lovely facial features atop a short but quite rounded figure was more than a little eye-catching. But it was obvious the only eyes this young woman wanted to catch were now closed in death. And Grandma Em knew that only Abby’s faith
in God and time were going to heal that hurt. She said a quick prayer of thanksgiving that Abby knew Jesus Christ, for Grandma Em knew from experience that He would be her everything.

Abby was not sure of anything as the two women continued working on breakfast. Everything inside of her hurt, but she had to go on even with the pain. She had promised. But then, God had promised too.

Abby was reminded of one of God’s promises after breakfast when Grandma Em reached for her Bible. “Isaiah 26, verses 3 and 4,” she read, “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee. Trust ye in the Lord for ever, for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.”

They were words that would help to sustain Abby throughout the day. She realized she had been walking around in a daze since she arrived in Baxter. So when Grandma Em mentioned she was working on a list for downtown, Abby offered to go and then waited patiently for the list. She tried to read the list over to see if she had any questions, but Grandma Em said the beauty of the day was waiting and she should start right out.

Abby couldn’t help but agree with Grandma Em about the weather as she headed into downtown Baxter. She found the stores charming and was greeted with smiles everywhere. Abby’s last stop, before going over to say hello to Maggie, was the general store.

She methodically went through the list, piling the things on the counter: “black thread, six black buttons, garden gloves, garden trowel, two boxes of matches, crackers, rice, yeast cakes, coffee, pepper, and bright spring fabric for a dress for Abby.”

Abby stopped short in the middle of the store as if she had run into a wall. She reread the last item:

bright spring

fabric for a

dress for Abby

The note had a postscript: “And if you don’t come home with something, Abby, we’ll head right back to town.”

Abby couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed this, but Grandma Em had written the list with just a few words on each line. At a glance, the last item looked like a continuation of supplies.

Abby looked surreptitiously down at her dress. It wasn’t at all becoming. It was an awful shade of brown and made her think of swamp mud. One of the women in the church at Bruce Mines had given it to her, and Abby had altered it herself. She knew the dress had bothered Ian because he didn’t have the money to buy her something better, but she had so little to wear that she had been thankful for it even though it was such a ghastly color.

Ian wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn him. He would have been thrilled for her to have a new dress. With this thought in mind, she walked over to the fabric counter. Abby stood for a moment looking up at the beautiful colors, when a young girl moved to wait on her. Having an eye for color, the girl reached almost immediately for a soft, light-gray percale. Abby fingered the fabric with something akin to awe.

“I thought it would make a pretty dress, one that would go with your eyes.” The girl spoke almost shyly.

“How did you know I wanted dress material?” Abby asked in surprise. She was further bemused when the girl blushed furiously.

“I saw your list when you set it on the counter.” The girl didn’t raise her eyes until she heard a soft laugh. Abby then noticed a woman whose resemblance marked her as the girl’s mother moving toward them.

She spoke good-naturedly. “I promise you Tina wasn’t being nosey. It’s a little trick I taught her to help customers. If we know what people want, we can serve them better.”

“Grandma Em’s like that,” the girl spoke now, referring back to the list. “If she’s decided you’re to have a new dress, then you’ll have a new dress.”

Abby smiled at her confidence, and the girl moved for the box of patterns.

Leaving the store some 20 minutes later for Dr. Cameron’s house, Abby felt like she had been run over by a train. A new dress—it had been a long time. If only Ian could see it.