Debra Ullrick (11 page)

He held the tray in front of her. “Veronique sent along cookies, as well. French butter, she called them.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of her.” Abby peered at them like a small child would. She snatched two of them off the plate and took a rather large bite out of one.

Harrison marveled at how down to earth and genuine Abby was. The women in Boston would devour a woman like her. Good thing she didn’t live there. He’d hate to see just exactly what the women there would do to her. They would probably strip her of her loveliness and her playfulness. Then again, maybe not. Abby was a woman who could hold her own.

He set the tray on the ground, lowered himself onto the hard, lumpy ground opposite of Abby and took a long pull of his drink. Sweet mingled with tart saturated his taste buds.

“Mercy. You must have been thirsty.”

He looked at his nearly drained glass and chuckled. “I confess. I was. And
you
must have been hungry.” Both of the cookies she’d taken were devoured in less than a minute.

“I must confess. I was.” Her eyes twinkled as she imitated his response to her.

“Touché,” he said, raising his glass to hers. They clinked them together before he drained the rest of his beverage.

Abby took several slow sips, and when she finished, she placed it on the tray and looked over at him. All of a sudden her blue eyes sparkled. “Oh. Guess what?” He had no time to take a guess as she hurried on. “I talked to Fletcher, and he knows a gentleman who does gardening. In fact, it’s the same man who had taken care of this place for the previous owners.”

Harrison scanned the weed infested, unkept yard that was definitely in need of much tending to.

“I said, ‘had.’”

“Yes. I heard you. That’s wonderful news. I’ll find out where the man lives and take you there tomorrow. Today you need to rest.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but Fletcher offered to take me during his lunch break today.” Her emphasizing the word “today” didn’t get past Harrison. “I would love it if you would come with us.”

The idea of her riding alone or spending time with Fletcher gnawed at Harrison’s insides. “Are you sure you’re up to it today? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I won’t lie, I do have a slight headache, but that’s all it is, a slight one.”

He thought about it for a couple of moments, debating on whether or not they should wait until tomorrow.

“Nothing’s going to stop me from going, Harrison.”

“I figured as much. I’ll let Fletcher know.”

Noontime arrived quickly.

Fletcher rode his horse alongside Abby’s side of Harrison’s buggy. All the way to the gardener’s house, Harrison watched Fletcher from the corner of his eye. The man rarely took his eyes off Abby, and the two of them conversed as if they’d known each other forever, instead of only a few days.

This time there was no denying it; Harrison was jealous. He wanted Abby to himself. And yet seeing the futility of that, he stopped watching their interaction. Who was he to deny her a chance at happiness?

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a small, picturesque log cabin nestled near the side of the mountain. An array of purple, pink, blue, yellow, orange and red flowers, manicured shrubbery and blooming rose bushes that were all perfectly uniformed and organized surrounded the place, and not a weed in sight. The outside of the log house had been well taken care of, with no missing chinking or defects of any kind.

“Isn’t his place lovely?” Abby sighed loud and long.

“It is quite impressive. The man does superb work.” Harrison tied off the lines, hopped out of the open-top buggy and headed to Abby’s side to help her down, but was too late. Fletcher was already there assisting her, and Harrison thought his hand lingered on hers longer than necessary.

Abby perused the area, her lips tilted upward higher and higher with each turn she took. Awe and delight emanated from her. “Shall we go see if he’s home?” She eyed both men with expectant eyes.

Up the path and onto the steps they went.

Strong stairs.

Sturdy railings.

Not one protruding nail.

Neat and swept clean, too.

Far as Harrison was concerned, the man was hired. But that decision wasn’t up to him. It was Abby’s to make.

Abby stopped feet away from the door. “Did you make those lovely rockers, Fletcher? They look like your handiwork.”

“Yes, ma’am. I did. I gave them to Samuel for his fifty-fifth birthday.”

“Oh. When was that?”

“In March of this year.”

The door opened without squeaking, Harrison noted. A man no taller than Abby stepped into the light. “Fletcher, how good to see you.” They shook hands, and the man’s eyes shifted from Abby and to Harrison. “And who are these fine folks?”

“Mr. Hilliard, this is Miss Abby Bowen.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” The slightly balding man gave a nod in her direction, then turned his focus over to Harrison.

“This is Mr. Harrison Kingsley.”

Harrison stepped forward and shook the man’s hand. Firm. Solid. Not a wimpy grip. The man was strong, that was for sure, and likely more than able to handle the job. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hilliard.”

“Samuel.” He glanced at Abby and Harrison. “Mr. Hilliard makes me feel old.”

“Very well, then. Samuel it is,” Harrison agreed.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Samuel turned his question toward Fletcher.

“Miss Bowen bought the Glenworth place, and she’s looking for a gardener. I thought you might be interested.”

“Interested?” he all but bellowed. “How soon can I start? Today? How about right now?”

Abby’s laughter and joy hovered through the air. “I have but one question for you first. Who did your yard?” At her teasing, knowing question, Harrison smiled.

Samuel puffed out his barrel chest, tugged on his red suspenders and ran his thumbs up and down the length of them. “Why, I did, ma’am.”

“I knew that.” Abby chuckled. “I was just teasing you.” She turned questioning eyes up at Harrison, seeking his approval. That gesture pleased him immensely. A slight nod and the matter was settled.

“Samuel, Mr. Harrison and I would love it if you would come to work for us.”

“Excellent! I’ll run and get my horse.” He bolted toward the steps and was halfway to the corral when Abby hollered, “Wait! We haven’t even discussed your pay yet.”

Samuel stopped and whirled toward them. “Who cares about that? I’m just thrilled to be able to restore the place to its former glory. It’s bothered me for years to see it so neglected. But I’ll have it looking great in no time.” With that, he jogged his way to the corral, where a dark palomino horse stood in the shade of a perfectly erected lean-to, swishing her tail. Samuel swung open the gate, and the mare nickered and walked right up to him.

“Thank you so much, Fletcher.”

Harrison turned to find Abby gazing up at Fletcher with gratitude. In that moment, Harrison wished he was the one who had found Samuel and not Fletcher. He wanted to be the one to put that smile on her face.
Good-night, Harrison. Stop this nonsense. You’re leaving, remember?
Yes, he was, and was it ever going to be a challenge and take every bit of willpower he possessed to walk away from her when he did. She was a delight to be around. Her bubbly, upbeat, yet feisty personality was the type of woman he liked—immensely. But, alas, his businesses and his home were in Boston. Hers was here. And he didn’t think anything would take her away from her dream. Not even him.

Neither could he give up his lifelong dream of righting the wrongs his father had done to the good people of Boston. Not one of them deserved the evil his father had done to them. The sooner he rectified things with them, the better he’d feel.

Soft pressure applied to his forearm cleared his mind of his daunting thoughts. He glanced down at Abby’s hand, then at her face.

“I asked if you were ready to go.”

Fletcher stood at the bottom of the steps, and Samuel sat atop his horse, waiting. “My apologies. For a moment there, my mind took a turn in another direction.”

“Well, turn it back in the right direction, then. We’re ready to leave.” Mischief sparkled through her eyes as she said it low enough that only he had heard her.

“Very well, Miss
Abigail.
As you wish.” Cupping her elbow, he led her down the stairs and handed her into the buggy.

They headed toward her place, bouncing and jostling along the bumpy road as they did. Halfway down from Samuel’s place, Harrison pulled his horse to a stop.

Abby peered up at him with confused eyes. “What’s wrong? Why did we stop?”

Harrison pressed his finger against his lips, signaling for her to be quiet, and pointed into the trees.

Abby followed the point of his finger. She squinted, looking hard through the trees.

He cupped her chin and turned it toward the direction of a deer and her fawn. Abby’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed the word
oh.
They sat there for a few minutes, watching, until the deer yanked her head up, sniffed the air and darted off deep into the woods, her fawn leaping and hopping behind her.

“Oh, my, that was beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, thrilled that he was the one responsible for the pleasure and serenity that shone on her pretty face and striking eyes. Better him than Fletcher. Not one normally prone to thoughts like that, he mentally shook his head, and gave a click flick of the reins. Abby was getting under his skin and that wasn’t good.

Chapter Nine

T
hree days later, Abby sat at the end of the long pew closest to the front door of the white clapboard church, wondering what was so important that Harrison couldn’t come today. Nothing should take precedence over God. Nothing. But, she wasn’t Harrison’s judge. Whatever he did or didn’t do was between him and God, not him, God and her.

After singing
Amazing Grace
and two other hymns, the congregation sat down. Reverend Andrew Wells stepped up to the podium. At forty-three, no wrinkles lined the minister’s face, but he looked more like sixty or better due to his snow-white hair.

He gazed out at the congregation. Sun-darkened skin made his lime-green eyes and bright white teeth appear even brighter. Reverend Wells was a fine-looking man with a beautiful wife and five well-behaved children. All five had dark brown hair with red highlights like their mother, and their father’s green eyes. “If you have your Bibles with you, I’d like you to open up to the book of first John four, verse eighteen.” As it always did, his slow Southern speech reminded her of her sisters-in-law, Selina and Rainee, who were both from the South.

For the umpteenth time since leaving home, Abby wondered how they were doing. How everyone was doing. Especially her nieces and nephews. Had they grown since she’d last seen them? How she missed them and longed to see them, and yet a part of her was glad she wasn’t there to see them. It was the same battle that always went around and around in her mind with no real lasting solution.

Children, whether it be her nephews and nieces or other people’s children, were a constant reminder of what she couldn’t have. Being around little ones always brought a fresh bout of raw pain no matter how hard she tried not to let it.

Light tapping on her arm stopped her train of thought. There stood Julie, looking at her with those innocent, big, brown eyes. Here stood a motherless girl who needed a woman’s attention.

No matter where Abby went, there was no getting away from children. But oh, how she loved them. What she didn’t love was the pain of being around them and the constant reminder. It wasn’t their fault. She refused to be rude.
God, please take away this pain and let me enjoy this little girl, but help me not to fall in love with her so I don’t get hurt.
“Hello, Julie,” she whispered. “Would you like to sit with me?”

Julie turned and bent her head way back to gaze up at her father standing behind her. “Papa, can we sit with Miss Abby?” She whispered the question so low, Abby barely heard it.

Fletcher leaned over, and Julie repeated the question into her father’s ear. He glanced at Abby with the same question. She answered by standing enough to gather the skirt of her peach bustle gown and by scooting over.

Julie slid in next to her and then Fletcher. They looked like a family sitting there together. Abby shifted in her seat and squirmed. Not knowing how to deal with the uncomfortable awkwardness she felt at that thought, she dropped her gaze to her Bible and rummaged through the pages until she found the scripture reference the reverend had mentioned.

The rustling of pages throughout the congregation stopped, and the pastor’s voice reached her ears.
“‘There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.’”

He stepped from around to the side of the podium, rested his elbow on top of the angled surface and crossed his ankle. “Love is a risk. And yet if we never love, we never live. If we never open our hearts to love God or to let Him love us or to love mankind and to let them love us for fear of what they’ll do to us, for fear of being hurt or rejected, we are losing out on the greatest gift God ever gave to mankind.”

The word
rejection
plunged like a knife into Abby’s soul. It was easy for Reverend Wells to talk about love and about letting yourself be loved. After all, he had an amazing wife who obviously loved him unconditionally along with five wonderful children. There was no way he could know or understand the heartache of loving and losing someone.

Well, she had.

Not only had she lost her fiancé, a man she’d once loved dearly, she’d lost the means to bear a child, too. Equally, if not worse, she had lost her sense of value and worth as a woman. So yes, she feared rejection, feared love and even feared being loved. Who wouldn’t after what she’d gone through with David? The only kind of love she wanted was one that existed in fantasies and dreams only. Those she could handle because they weren’t real. They were just figments of her imagination. That was a safe place for them. And for her.

For the next twenty-five minutes Abby listened as the reverend continued talking about love and faith and trusting God no matter how things looked.

She couldn’t wait for church to be over because his message was getting harder and harder to bear. How could she ever love again and risk getting hurt again? It took great restraint on her part not to get up and leave, not to mention fidget in her chair. All that talk about love and taking a risk did nothing but frustrate and anger her. Requiring the impossible is what her mind said it was.

Maybe she should have joined Harrison on his errand. That would surely have been more enjoyable than sitting here being judged for something she couldn’t change.

The preacher finished his sermon with 1 Peter 5:7
Casting all your care upon Him; for He careth for you.

Now that she could do. Well, except for her lack of being able to bear children, that one she still struggled with giving over to God. She didn’t understand why her, when she loved children like she did. She’d known other women who had a whole passel of them and they didn’t even care for children. It didn’t make a whit of sense to her, but then again, she wasn’t God, nor would she try to figure Him out where this subject was concerned. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder why, couldn’t help but try and figure it out as she had so many times before.

Throughout the rest of the service, her thoughts bandied back and forth until she became dizzy with them. She couldn’t wait to get to the picnic so maybe they would settle down.

Church finally ended, and with only a few words to Fletcher about meeting down by the river, Abby and the Denis sisters headed for home. The walk home was a pleasant one, in spite of the turmoil that had gone on inside of her at church.

She would not allow anything, especially that, to ruin her day. Instead, she chose to focus on how God had answered her prayer for nice sunshiny weather so they could enjoy their picnic without the threat of rain.

Back at the house, Abby changed her clothes into something lighter, a white cotton dress with life-size pink-and-violet roses and green leaves sprinkled throughout. She finished her attire with a white straw hat sporting a long ribbon that matched the material of her dress. Instead of tying the bow directly underneath her chin, she tied it loosely off to one side. Satisfied with her appearance reflecting back at her from her Louis XVI Giltwood looking glass, she snatched her white parasol out of the umbrella holder and headed downstairs.

Everyone was to meet down by the river, so when she neared the bottom of the staircase, she was surprised to see Harrison in the main entrance room standing there with his back to her.

Her heelless, soft leather shoes tapped lightly across the newly polished floor as she meandered toward him. “Good morning, Harrison.”

He turned and his smile grew, melting her insides.

“Good morning to you, too.” He met her halfway. “Aren’t you a vision of loveliness?” He glanced down at his casual brown pants and then back over at her dress. “I fear I’ve underdressed. I thought we were picnicking today.”

“We are.”

His one brow curled into a sleeping S. “Aren’t you afraid of getting your dress soiled?”

“Nope. When I go somewhere, I go to have fun. I don’t worry about my clothing.” She tilted her head. “Where are the boys? And why are you here at the house instead of down by the river?”

“I left Graham and Josiah down at the river with Zoé. Everyone else is down there except for you. So I came looking for you to make sure you were all right and that you weren’t in any pain or anything from your fall the other day.”

“As you see, I’m perfectly fine. Just late is all. How rude of me to be late to my own gathering. I mean, really, you’d think I would at least have started out sooner so I wouldn’t be late. But no, I got sidetracked. That’s what I get for daydreaming again.” She spoke so fast, she had a hard time catching up with herself. Talking fast was a bad habit of hers. One she really needed to work on fixing.

“So, you’re a daydreamer, huh?” He threaded her hand through his arm and tugged her toward the front door.

“Yes. It’s one of my many failings.”

“Many, huh?”

“Yes. Many.”

“Well, I hate to differ with you, Miss Abigail Bowen, but I do not see where you have
many
failings, if any.”

“That’s because you don’t know me very well.”

“That’s true, perhaps. But I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and you, ma’am, are quite a character.”

Shocked by his assessment, she yanked her gaze up to him and saw the teasing glint in his eyes. “And you, sir, have that right.”

They smiled.

“So, how are you feeling? Does your head hurt anymore?”

“No. Not at all. That first night it did and most of the next day. But now, it barely hurts. In fact, I feel wonderful.” She owned her speedy recovery to the fact that she loved picnics and loved spending time with her friends. Friends? Somehow the word
friend
didn’t fit the way she felt about Harrison. Fear waltzed across her heart. Without being obvious, she unwound her hand from his arm. After today’s message, she needed to be careful to not let her daydreams turn into real love. Dreaming about love and pretending they were in love was one thing, but to really allow herself to fall in love with him or anyone else was too risky. Rejection hurt way too much.

“Where are you, Abby?”

“Huh?” Her eyes collided with his. “Right here.”

“You daydreaming again?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Just thinking.”

“Oh. What about?”

“About spending the day with my wonderful friends.” She smiled up at him. That was partly the truth, anyway. And the only truth he needed to know. Of that she was certain.

* * *

For some odd reason, Harrison didn’t like being considered as one of Abby’s friends. He wanted to be more than that, a battle he’d been fighting ever since meeting her a mere week ago. It was a battle he was quickly losing. How could the woman have gotten under his skin in such a short time? He’d heard of love at first sight, but that was for saps. And he was quickly becoming one, so he needed to be more careful.

As they neared the river, he took in the small crowd of people Abby had invited. Underneath the canopy of trees sat Staimes, who appeared to be in deep conversation with Veronique, Colette, Samuel, Julie and Fletcher, whose eyes never once strayed from Abby.

Harrison cut a glance at Abby to see if she noticed Fletcher’s obvious admiration toward her. But her face was turned in another direction, toward Zoé and his two sons squatted down at the edge of the water.

After seeing them in their play clothes the other day, he’d made a special trip to the general store and purchased garments for them designed specifically for outdoor fun. Today they were wearing blue denim pants instead of their knickers and knee-high socks.

“Miss Abby!” Julie leaped up from sitting beside her father. She rushed toward Abby and flung her tiny arms around Abby’s legs.

“Miss Abby. Miss Abby.” Graham and Josiah barreled toward her as fast as their little legs would carry them. Within seconds all three children’s arms were draped around the petite woman.

Somehow, in spite of their arms around her, she managed to squat down and pull all of them into her embrace. A place he found he’d like to be.

“Are you having fun?” She eyed each one as she asked.

All three nodded gleefully.

“I’m so glad. Is anyone hungry?”

Again, all three nodded with the same enthusiasm as before. “Very well, then. Shall we get something to eat?” She stood. Each child vied for her hand. Harrison watched to see how she would deal with the situation.

“I’ll race you to the food basket.”

His admiration for her slipped up another notch. She had handled the situation very well.

The children whirled and bolted toward the picnic basket. Julie got there first, Josiah second, Graham third and then Abby.

“Ah-h-h. No fair. You all beat me. Does this mean I don’t get anything to eat?” Abby sighed as if that thought were the most horrible thing in the world.

“You may eat, too, Miss Abby,” Julie said, her manners were impeccable for one so young.

“And what do you boys say?” Her gaze touched on each one.

“Uh-huh,” they both said at the same time, nodding.

“Oh, thank you all so much. I am so very honored to have the privilege to dine with you all on this fine day.” She clasped her hands together with such flair and drama that the children’s faces glimmered as if they had indeed done something wonderful. One by one she planted a kiss on top of their heads, then dropped to her knees in front of the basket, giving no heed whatsoever to the dirt-loaded ground soiling her dress. She raised the lid on the basket and made a huge display of studying its contents.

Pretty soon all three heads joined hers, peering into the basket just as intently as she was.

Harrison chuckled. The woman sure had a way with children. She loved them, and they obviously loved her.

“Now what do we have here? I’m certain there is something in here that children will like.” She pulled a cloth off a sizeable platter to unveil several pieces of crispy brown chicken. Looking at each child, she asked, “Who here likes fried chicken?”

All three darted a hand upward.

“Oh, splendid. I’m so glad.” Her head dipped and she peered into the basket again. “Hmm. Wonder what this could be?” Out came a round pan nestled onto the palm of her hand.