Authors: Kate Shepherd
MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Romance: BETRAYED: (New Adult Motorcycle Club Navy SEAL Romance) (Contemporary Military Romance Thriller) (83 page)
Not knowing what else to do, Abigail cleaned up the kitchen, and then the entire house. When she went to bed, she said her prayers for the first time since she left home. Funny how she could find time for her prayers when things looked bleak, but when they were about the same as home, she didn't see much reason to take time out of her day to pray.
"Get off your knees and into bed, woman," George said, coming in during Abigail's prayers. She paid him no heed and kept praying, determined not to let him come between her and God, of all things. He didn't appreciate that as much as a more pious person would have. Instead he roughly grabbed her by her hair.
"You've got some nerve ignoring your husband, woman. Maybe if you'd pay attention to the Bible that you think is so great, you would've seen that it says a woman is subservient to her husband," George said in a threatening tone.
"But he does not come before the Lord," Abigail replied stubbornly. Though perhaps some would find this the wrong time to fight the good fight, Abigail wasn't going to idly sit by as George acted this way and treated her like chattel. He did make sure she regretted her flippant mouth with the back of his hand, though.
The days went by, and George's abuses did not lessen. Rather, they got more onerous to bear by the day, until finally Abigail couldn't stand being hit anymore. So, she fled to a local church. She was able to find it only by the grace of some passersby who gave her directions.
It was a Friday when she escaped from her husband, and she was too scared to leave the church and find another safe haven, so she hid out there. Luckily, the church was stocked with foodstuffs, and though Abigail felt wretched having to steal, her situation was a dire one.
When Sunday rolled around, the pastor's wife was the first one in the church. She had golden hair fixed in a braid, with a lovely but simple patterned cotton dress. To Abigail, she looked like an angel.
"Miss--" Abigail began, rather desperately.
"Oh, my God," the woman began, taking a few steps back. She wasn't expecting to see someone in the church before her--much less a rather ragged-looking woman with unkempt hair and a wrinkled and days-old dress on.
"Please, please don't be scared," Abigail said softly. The tone of her voice and sincerity in her eyes made the woman calm down. Abigail broke into tears. "I ran away--my husband. He . . . He hit me, a lot. I had to get away from him. He would have really hurt me if I didn't. And I didn't know where else to go," Abigail explained, crying even harder.
The woman went over to Abigail after setting down her bags and just pulled her into her arms. "There, there. Ain't no man who hits his wife getting into this church, Sugar. Just let it out. We'll get you up to the police and file charges against him sooner than he can say Jack Robinson," she cooed, and that's just what she did.
When the pair got to the police station, Abigail tearfully told the story, and she was inspected for bruises. She had multiple, of varying degree of severity. Her case was open and shut, but more interestingly, the police found they had a missing person's report out for her from several counties over. This led Abigail to recite the whole thing for the police. How she put out an order, why she married George, the whole nine yards, so that they understood her situation totally. Then, once everything had been said, she asked them if she could possibly ask for them to take her home, so she could have a fresh start. The police were happy to oblige.
Abigail expected a lot of things when she arrived back home. She expected Lucy to be the first to tell her parents that she was home. She expected her parents to be disgusted with her, and not to take her in. She expected to be lectured on how she was a bad person, and a terrible daughter. She expected to have to find someone else who would take her in.
What Abigail did not expect was her mother to tearfully embrace her when she got back home. These were among the very few tears that Abigail had ever witnessed her mother shed, but they did indeed fall when Abigail was welcomed back into the fold.
The first week or so, Abigail didn't have any chores or responsibilities assigned to her around the house. To occupy her time, she mainly whiled away the hours by sewing or embroidering, later working her way up to helping anyone who needed it around the house.
A select few times, her family members asked her what happened while she was gone. They had been told a little by the cop, but they wanted more information from Abigail. She declined to give it, as it was a rather painful experience, and one she did not particularly want to relive.
After the first week, Abigail went back to her usual chores. While going out to milk the cows, she ran into Jebediah, just as she often would in the past. This time, however, he didn't say anything right away--probably because she did something Amish people weren't supposed to do. She got divorced. At least, that's what she thought at first.
"I heard something bad happened to you when you left," Jebediah said softly, in a much more serious and solemn tone than she was used to him using.
"Yes, something did," Abigail replied quietly.
"I hate to hear that, Abbey. I do," he said. A silence passed between them, but it was a comfortable little silence in Abigail's mind.
"Thank you."
"You know, I was wondering if you would want to come over to dinner tonight to my house?" Jebediah asked.
Abigail shook her head no at first, but Jebediah wasn't done there.
"Please, Abbey. I want you to be over for a little bit," he implored, and when Abigail saw that he wasn't going to relent until he got his way, she had to agree.
"Yes, okay. I'll be over," she replied.
When it came to be dinner time, Abigail did indeed go over to Jebediah's house. She found that since she had left, Jebediah's mother had passed away, and so Jebediah and his younger sisters did a lot of the cooking and cleaning. Despite the one who typically filled those roles being gone, the work was done very well, especially the food.
Jebediah brought her a plate and encouraged her to come eat with him in a spare nook in the house, which she did. Once they were there, she ate up her food quickly, wanting to be done with the food, then back home before Jebediah brought up anything awkward.
No matter how fast she could have eaten, though, it wasn't fast enough.
"You know, Abbey, I was thinking. Since we don't really have a woman of the house anymore, and your family has your sisters and your mom, it would be nice if you could move in here and help us out." Jebediah said. He seemed nervous bringing up the proposal, but Abigail could see how much it meant to him.
"I . . ." Abigail began, but found herself having a hard time saying no. She didn't know why she couldn't say no, but the word didn't come out.
Jebediah sensed this difficulty. It wasn't hard to do. In fact, he would have had to have been oblivious if he didn't notice. "Abbey, please," he said, really lobbying to get her to agree.
Abigail hesitated for a minute, but then sighed and nodded her head. "Very well. But, you have to tell my mom, and make sure it is okay with her," Abigail said, because she didn't want to seem ungrateful to her mother, after everything her mother had done.
Jebediah jumped to his feet in triumph and gave Abigail a big hug. "Oh, thank you Abbey, you won't regret it!" he said, and then raced over next door, without even finishing his food.
That very night, Abigail got moved into the house, taking the spare bed that they had and setting up her room. She was surprised when Jebediah came in when it was getting to be bedtime.
"Abbey, I just want to thank you again," he said.
"Well, I couldn't just leave your family high and dry, Jeb," Abigail said, though it surprised the both of them when she shortened his name to a nickname. She'd never done that before.
"I just want you to know, I appreciate it a lot. Have a good rest!" he said, then left. Abigail took his advice and went straight to sleep.
When the next morning rolled around, she got to work right away. It wasn't till midday, when she was doing the dishes from lunch, that she got to have a conversation with Jebediah. He actually joined her, helping her dry and put away.
"You're doing really great getting this house back in fighting shape, Abbey! I appreciate it, and everyone here does, too," Jebediah said, and Abigail just chuckled.
"Jeb, this is nothing. I'm just doing my fair share," she replied.
"Even if that's so, you still deserve a thank you," Jebediah said.
Though the sentiment was a simple one, it really made Abigail smile. Finally, someone actually appreciated the hard work she did! She couldn't believe it!
"Well, thank you, too. You're no slouch, either," Abigail replied with a smile, and once they finished the dishes, she followed him out to help him in the field a bit before she came back into the house and got everything ready for dinner with the kids, and so the cycle continued. This time, though, the cycle was a happy one, and ended with Jebediah getting down on one knee to propose, which Abigail couldn't help but accept.
When the village got together to make the wedding possible, she honestly couldn't have been happier, because this was what a real wedding should be.
I imagine the scenery of the train ride was beautiful. I was too busy rereading letters from my husband to notice. Well, he was my soon to be husband. I was riding the train in response to an ad.
“Wife Wanted – Cherry Creek, Colorado. Male widower, age 38, and of comfortable income seeks wife. Domestic skills are a must.”
His name was Jacob Johnson. The ad was forthright and gave little detail of courtship expectations or personality. His three letters were friendly, but also to the point.
“Dear Ms. Mark, please tell me about yourself and send a photo. You will find a photo of myself in this letter as a sort of introduction. I like a nicely cooked meal, a clean home, and dirty boots on the porch. Nice to meet you, Jacob Johnson.”
“Dear Ms. Mark, you sound agreeable and possess a charm of appearance. Would you consider joining me in Cherry Creek? I can provide a more than adequate life style for you and will require very little of you in return. Sincerely yours, Jacob Johnson.”
“Dear Ms. Mark, I have purchased a ticket for you on the Kansas Pacific. I look forward to meeting you face to face. Yours, Jacob.”
I had a perfectly comfortable lifestyle as it was. My parents had quite the hand in the east end of the Transcontinental Railroad. Enough so that Father grazed a tidy sum from all three companies competing to go the distance. I was younger at the time, but from what I understood it had to do with kickbacks from political funding of the venture. He even appeared at a Golden Spike ceremony.
My parents had been laid to rest about two years now. I had been living with my sister, Rebecca, and her husband, Michael. She felt I was too young to live alone. I was nearly twenty at the time, but I understood. It was more a matter of being single and living alone.However, they did not yet have a child after 3 years and I was beginning to feel she used me for a surrogate.
I was lucky to have hidden my letters otherwise she would have found a way to keep me home. I was lucky my brother in law liked to read the paper aloud to us each evening. I enjoyed the ads, but something about this one sounded different. I reread it that night when everyone else was asleep. The next morning I sent inquiry to Mr. Johnson.
That was nearly a month ago. Now, I sat on a west bound train.
I left a note assuring Rebecca of my love, safety, and a letter as soon as I was settled. I grabbed the luggage I had hidden while they were out to dinner at another couple’s house one evening. Then, I walked down the street to a carriage I had previously hired to take me to the train station.
The train had been making good time and I was fortunate to not be on a train encountered by Jessie James or being used as part of the cattle shipment.
I read the closing of the last letter one last time as we pulled into the station. I tucked the letter back in its envelope and put them along with the ad into a box of trinkets I had saved. A family on the train sent their boys to help with my luggage. I gave them each a coin in gratitude.
As I stood by my things and looked around the plank, I did not see Jacob. He did not strike me as the type to be late. I feared that he may have changed his mind. I debated purchasing a ticket home again.
“Hello, you must be Lillian Mark,” an elderly female voice said.
I looked around and a short, round woman was walking in my direction.
“Sorry I was not right at the train to greet you,” she said. “I was sitting just inside the station watching for you. I will be your chaperone.”
“Chaperone?” I asked.
“Yes, dear. Jacob, asked if you could stay with me until you two settle your arrangement. He will call on us tonight to court after you have had a chance to rest from your journey,” she said smiling.
“I thought things were settled. He sent me the ticket. I came all this way,” I said.
This situation was becoming confusing. I never considered that he might not have made up his mind. I hadn’t realized arrangements such as this still included courting. I took a breath and tried to think about what was happening.
The old woman took my arm and gestured to a station worker. I realized she must have been of some importance. Her hands were gloved. Her dress looked newly tailored. There was not a bit of dust about her nor a hair or bobble out of place. As she guided me through the station she talked and nodded to people in passing. Men tipped their hats and women gave small curtsies.
“My name is Mrs. Laura Goodman. Jacob worked for my husband, the late Sawyer Goodman, founder of Goodman Architecture,” she explained. “You are going to keep me company for a few days while you and Jacob get to know each other. We wouldn’t want you in a hotel and you certainly cannot stay together unwed.
I tried to stifle my surprise and continued to listen as we climbed into her carriage.
“Sawyer and I moved outside town once he began getting so many sky scraper contracts. We enjoy the city, but I like a view of the stars at night. It’s part of the joy living west of the Mississippi. Jacob’s house is not far down the road. An easy walk for younger people. I need to sit here and there, but Jacob is designing a nice gazeebo and picnic area between us,” she paused and gave me a smile. “He’s a nice fellow, Jacob.”
I smiled. She seemed like a sweet woman and to genuinely think well of Jacob.
For the rest of the ride she talked about things we passed in town and a few small rules she had for her home.
She showed me to my room and said lunch would be served at one o’clock. I unpacked, then joined her in the dining room where she had set the table with bread she made before coming to the station and sliced fruit and vegetables her gardener, Robert, had picked. We talked about my family back East and got to know each other a bit.
“Do you have any hobbies or crafts?” Mrs. Goodman asked.
“Well, I enjoy horseback riding and collecting things I find on my rides. I also crochet and paint. I play piano. I garden as well and like to go for walks collecting wild flowers,” I said.
“Well, that’s nice. It is good to have hobbies, especially ones that allow a bit of fresh air,” she smiled.
The maid, Prudence, cleared the table. Then, Mrs. Goodman took my arm again and we toured the garden. We had tea on the back porch and she told me stories about the area and its people until she felt she needed a nap.
I continued to look around the garden collecting a few nice flowers and pebbles. This adventure had been a lot to take in so far and it was only the beginning.
Mrs. Goodman was up again around 4 to begin preparing the evening meal. Prudence also cooked and served when there was company, but from what I gathered Mrs. Goodman preferred her independence. Even though Prudence was in the kitchen it was really more to assist Mrs. Goodman. I offered to help as well, but Mrs. Goodman told me to relax and prepare myself for dinner.
Jacob was expected to arrive just before dinner was served at six and everyone seemed to be keeping themselves busy. I decided to use this time to write my first letter to my sister.
“Dear Rebecca, The west is not as dusty as everyone would have us think. Well, at least, Colorado is not. I am currently staying with a nice widow named Laura Goodman. I will meet Mr. Johnson when he joins us tonight for dinner. Please do not worry; I will write again soon. Love, Lillian.”
I spent a little extra time making myself presentable. I chose to wear a soft blue dress with my curls neatly secured and styled in a fashionable up-do. I wore a light perfume, modest earrings, and carried a book down to read in the sitting room until dinner was served or Mr. Johnson arrived.
To my surprise he had been early. I found Mrs. Goodman and Mr. Johnson already in the sitting room with a tray of appetizers that had been prepared. Mr. Johnson noticed me first, and stood as I entered the room. Mrs. Goodman beckoned me in and gestured for me to sit on the couch at the end nearest her chair.
“Ms. Mark, please meet Jacob Johnson. Jacob, this is Lillian Mark. Isn’t she lovely?” she asked with that same smile she had been unable to turn off today.
He smiled, nodded, and offered his hand. As I extended my hand to take his, he turned it with the backside up and gave it a gentle kiss.
“Nice to meet you, finally, Miss Mark. I have enjoyed our correspondence,” he said.
He was also smiling. It was warm and friendly.
“Like wise,” I said with a small curtsy, then sat.
He continued to smile at me pleasantly as Mrs. Goodman told us what had been prepared for the meal. Then, she excused herself to check on the kitchen. I tried to smile back without seeming forward. Mr. Johnson was handsome indeed.
“Was the train ride pleasant?” He asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Mrs. Goodman seems nice. She’s very fond of you.”
“Yes, she and her husband were my second family once I moved here. Mrs. Goodman and I have seen each other through love and loss,” he explained briefly.
He was still smiling pleasantly, but he stayed in his chair opposite where Mrs. Goodman had been sitting.
“What about your family?” he asked.
I told him of my father’s work and prominence in the political community. We discussed my parents’ death; they were robbed and killed during a train ride for one of my father’s political commitments. I described Rebecca and Michael. Then, we talked a bit about the differences between life in the cities back east and what he had experienced in Colorado.
Jacob and his late wife, Julie, moved to Denver in 1862 and he immediately started working for Mr. Goodman. He surveyed land for the company’s construction projects. Eventually, Jacob began designing buildings. Mr. Goodman took ill the winter of 1863 and stopped coming to work soon after. When Mr. Goodman passed, Jacob ran the business for Mrs. Goodman fairly and honestly.
Misery struck one more time in 1864 when Julie was killed during the first flood in the lowlands. At that point, Mrs. Goodman and Jacob sold the business and he moved outside the city as well. They both lived more than comfortably off the profit of the sale.
They were each the nearest either of them had to family anymore. He still designed sky scrapers occasionally, but now he spent much of his time exploring surrounding areas for silver. Ten years had passed.