A Most Inconvenient Marriage (4 page)

The next morning, Abigail sat at the table inhaling the rich scent of the coffee warming the ceramic mug. She hadn’t worn her riding habit since leaving Ohio. The wool skirt and jacket felt perfect for the crisp March air. She only waited to see if Ma Calhoun needed her before setting out on her quest. The previous day her prayers had been vague, aimed at finding direction in
a swirling mist of possibilities. Now she had concrete requests and hoped God didn’t mind her being specific.

She prayed that Napoleon, Laurel’s horse, would be no taller than sixteen hands high, that he would be agile and good-natured. She prayed that the Wallaces would waive the stud fee, although she would take her nurse’s earnings with her as a precaution. She prayed that Laurel wouldn’t have a strong reaction to her presence—to her existence—and that Rachel’s health and temperament would both improve. She prayed that her own mother would see through John’s false accusations and come running to find her, although how she was to track her to Hart County, Missouri, Abigail had no clue. Since her mother hadn’t answered her first letter, Abigail didn’t feel up to writing again. Still, she prayed that someday they’d be reconciled. Then, with quick thanks for Ma Calhoun, Abigail finished her morning petitions.

“Do you always rise this early?” Ma shuffled into the kitchen, still in her night robe. Pins trained her white hair into curls around her face.

“I’m sorry if I woke you. I thought taking the downstairs bedroom would keep you from hearing me.”

“Keep it. Jeremiah would want you to have his room.” She took a chair at the table and arranged the salt shaker and the sugar bowl until they were an equal distance from the butter dish. “You know, I hope you don’t judge Rachel too harshly. I’m not blind to her faults, but if opposing her could shorten her life . . . well, I’d rather have an ill-tempered daughter than no children at all.”

Abigail tried to understand Ma’s position, but the closest she could come was
I’d rather have an ill-tempered husband than no husband
at all.
And with that statement, she could not agree.

“She hasn’t always been like this,” Ma continued. “The fever
changed her. It changed us all. And the longer she goes without hearing from Alan, the quicker her decline.”

Abigail reached for the coffeepot and filled a second mug for Ma Calhoun. “Who is Alan?”

“Alan is Rachel’s beau, at least I think I can say that now. Jeremiah wouldn’t let us call him that, even if everyone knew it.” She took the mug from Abigail. “When Mr. Calhoun died, Jeremiah took on all his father’s responsibilities. He was too young, really, but he did the best he could. Not only did he have to work the farm, but he had Rachel to fret over, too, and he didn’t want something to happen to her while she was in his care. Alan came around about the time the other girls Rachel’s age started courting. If I had to wager, I’d say Alan was enchanted by Rachel’s frailty. He’d do anything for her, and she blossomed under his attention, but it wasn’t enough. Jeremiah didn’t want them courting until Rachel was well, so Alan wasn’t allowed to visit Rachel once Jeremiah realized his intentions.”

“That doesn’t sound like Jeremiah. I admit I didn’t know him well, but I can’t imagine him wanting to keep them apart.”

Mrs. Calhoun patted her arm. “I’m blessed to hear that. When he and Alan joined the cavalry, Rachel and I prayed Alan would convince him to reconsider. Rachel’s life has held such little happiness, the prospect of being denied Alan’s love was more than she could bear. Her last letter from Alan was grim, and she’s finding it harder to hold on to hope.”

“Jeremiah didn’t allow her to accept Alan, but he married a complete stranger? No wonder she doesn’t like me.”

Ma raised white eyebrows. “If only she and Jeremiah would’ve reconciled before he left for the Missouri State Guard. It’s guilt that plagues her, and she doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.” Rachel stood in the doorway holding a slender pipe between her fingers. “Jeremiah was the
one who was wrong, strutting around, demanding his own way. He’s the one who should have been ashamed.” With defiance she pulled a long draw from the pipe.

Mrs. Calhoun bowed her head. “If Alan would’ve stayed here, he would’ve been forced to fight for the Federals, and you know he wouldn’t have done that. You’d be waiting for him either way, so you might as well wait with a cheerful heart. Alan won’t be pleased to find you dishonoring your brother’s memory.”

And what would Alan think of the tobacco pipe she was puffing on? Abigail had only heard of pipe-smoking women in caricatures ridiculing poor Southerners. Never did she imagine she would have a sister-in-law with the habit.

Rachel slowly released a stream of smoke directly into Abigail’s face. “What’s wrong? You didn’t bring your own tobaccy?”

Abigail swallowed down a cough. “What does your doctor say about your pipe?”

“Dr. Hopkins?” She laughed. “As long as Dr. Hopkins is shining up to Laurel, he tiptoes around here. He doesn’t want any trouble with the family.”

Ah yes. They’d mentioned that Jeremiah’s fiancée had been seeing a doctor, but he was Rachel’s doctor? That was uncomfortable. Rachel blew another ribbon of smoke. Then again, maybe Rachel preferred uncomfortable.

“Well, the sun is up.” Abigail set her mug down. “I’m taking Josephine to the Wallace farm this morning. No sense in wasting time. We need to start adding to our herd.”

“
Our
herd? You’re already taking the credit for them?” Rachel asked.

“And the responsibility. Those animals are good stock, but they’re an investment that will lose value if they aren’t producing. You can’t keep selling them off without replenishing the herd. Now, let me get you a cup of coffee.”

Abigail rose, pulled out a chair, and turned to get another mug. She was proud that her hands were steady even though her heart pounded. She wanted to earn Rachel’s trust and friendship, but she could tell that Rachel wouldn’t like anyone she didn’t respect.

“I suppose you’ll tell Laurel who you are.” Ma’s cup clattered on the table. “There’s really no way around it. Poor girl. I never thought she and Jeremiah suited each other, but they were so in love I didn’t have the courage to oppose them. It’ll be a blow.”

“Ma, if Jeremiah really married this woman, how can you say he loved Laurel? You need to hoe your rows straight.”

“Jeremiah did what he thought was best for us. Marrying Abigail had nothing to do with his feelings for Laurel.”

Jeremiah loved Laurel. Alan loved Rachel. Abigail was the only one unspoken for. She looped her finger into the crook of the mug handle and thought about the hundreds of men who’d passed through the prison hospital, some entering eternity before they could be identified. If God had made a partner for her, what were the chances that he was still alive? Could her perfect match have suffered on a bed in her ward and she missed the chance to say good-bye—or even hello?

She’d always championed lost causes. Now she might be one herself.

C
HAPTER 3

With no sidesaddle available, Abigail kept tugging at her riding habit to keep it from bunching up above her ankles. Might as well smoke a pipe while she was at it, and be a true hill woman. She ducked as they passed beneath a low cedar. The horse’s tail swished. Josephine trotted up the steep trail as surefooted as a mountain goat.

“Has she ever raced?” Abigail asked over her shoulder.

“No,” Calbert Huckabee said. “She was barely broke before Jeremiah left. I’ve ridden her now and then but haven’t worked her like she needed. She flies across the pasture, though.” The mule Calbert rode nipped at Josephine and earned a sideways kick. “That’s Hiram Wallace’s field ahead. You might as well see what she can do.”

Abigail wouldn’t wait for a second offer. As soon as they reached the clearing, she secured her feet in the stirrups, getting a feel for the unusual posture, and gave an encouraging, “Yaw!”

That was all it took.

With a twitch of the ears, Josephine was off. So sudden was
her start, so quickly did she reach a full gallop that Abigail had to remind herself to loosen the reins, and once she did, Josephine found another exhilarating burst. Abigail’s body swayed with the hooves thundering across the uneven field. To smile was to risk catching bugs in her teeth, but she couldn’t keep from grinning.

Abigail flexed her fingers over the reins. Had it really been since Chillicothe that she’d ridden? How had she borne it? So perceptive was Josephine that by the time Abigail thought about slowing, she’d already fallen into a canter. Abigail was pleased with the horse, and it increased her determination to have more just like her. Josephine should be the matriarch of many fine steeds, and it was up to Abigail to see it happen.

And only that goal could’ve brought her to the Wallaces’. Now that Abigail had found a course worth mastering, it’d be best to take her hurdles head-on when she was expecting them. Like Jeremiah’s fiancée. If Abigail didn’t meet Laurel soon, Rachel would send word to her, and Laurel deserved a more delicate disclosure.

Calbert took the reins while Abigail went to the door, but before she could knock, a gentleman appeared from around the clapboard house.

“No use beating on the door. We’re outside.” The man’s bald spot had pinked in the cold wind. He stepped into the shelter of the porch. His pleated dress shirt looked out of place with canvas pants and suspenders, but times were tough.

“Hiram, this is Mrs. Abigail Calhoun.” Calbert scratched his beard. “She’s got business to discuss with you.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” He produced a handkerchief from a back pocket to clean his hands. “I figured you came from the Calhouns’ place when I saw you riding Josephine. Mrs. Calhoun and Rachel are well, I hope?”

“Yes, sir. They send their greetings.”

“Greetings shared and troubles bared. That’s what neighbors are for. Now what can I do for you?”

Abigail looked to Calbert. She hadn’t planned on getting to business so quickly, but from the look of Mr. Wallace, he was eager to return to his tasks.

Calbert spoke up. “It’s high time we make use of this good breeding pair we got ourselves. Miss Abigail is looking after Mrs. Calhoun’s interest, and we believe that every season Josephine doesn’t produce a foal is a crying shame.”

He smiled. “I agree. What sort of partnership are you offering?”

Abigail exhaled. Finally she was on familiar ground. “I’d like to inspect Napoleon first.”

“Of course. But you’ll find nothing wanting. He’s a fine specimen and has sired some beautiful colts.”

Admittedly, the people in Hart County spent more on their horses than their clothing. She hadn’t expected to find such good stock here, and while Abigail knew how to haggle, she’d never denigrate an animal to get the price down. If Napoleon was as stunning as they promised, she wouldn’t pretend to be disappointed.

“After an inspection, I’d be willing to offer half ownership in the foal. Josephine is untested and we’d hate to waste our money—”

“I have no interest in half a horse. It’d be a year before it’s born, and it’d be a wonder if you keep her that long, seeing how the law in these parts has no interest in watching out for livestock. I’m afraid I need the payment up front.”

It’d been worth the try, but she expected as much. They were strangers, after all, and that’s why she’d brought her savings.

A rustling drew Abigail’s attention to a well-worn path that
wound behind the house. A young woman emerged with a basket of pinecones in her hand. From beneath her straw bonnet, hair as dark as poppy seeds peeked out. Her brows painted stark lines above cornflower blue eyes that noticed the horse immediately. “Father, isn’t that Josephine?”

Her skin glowed from her expressive face all the way to dainty fingers that emerged from an unraveling sweater, making Abigail feel pale and ungainly in contrast. No wonder Jeremiah had been smitten.

“Yes, dear. This is Mrs. Calhoun, who has come to stay with her family.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t met. I’m Laurel.” She secured the basket in the crook of her arm and tilted her head to smile up at Abigail. “Pretty dress. You must be from Springfield.”

“Further east, I’m afraid.” Abigail’s eyes darted to Calbert. His beard slid up and down his chest with his nod. Waiting wouldn’t make it easier. “I confess I’ve dreaded our meeting because of the tidings I bear.”

Creases appeared on Laurel’s forehead. “Bad news for me?” She stepped closer to her father. “What about?”

Laurel’s troubled eyes did nothing to ease Abigail’s disquiet. She could only pray that Laurel was more understanding than Rachel. “I met Captain Calhoun, your fiancée, after he was injured at Westport. He spoke of you constantly—no praise was too high, no comparison worthy.”

Laurel ducked her head and pulled her sweater tighter. “Well, he never did do things by half. He didn’t . . . well, I hope he didn’t suffer, did he?”

“He bore it well. He was brave, cheerful, always thinking of others even when it became clear he was dying. He was a great favorite among the men for his antics to keep their spirits up.”

“Jeremiah?” Hiram frowned. “Jeremiah’s never been one to cut capers.”

“War changes people, sir. It causes people to act in ways you can’t predict.” Abigail owed Laurel a personal explanation. After this revelation the news would travel on its own legs. She took a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you is difficult. He loved you, Miss Wallace. If you’ll consider the sentiments he expressed in his last letter—”

“Please, don’t.” Laurel’s eyes darted to her father, then back to Abigail. “I know it’ll be painful getting over his death, but Jeremiah wouldn’t want me to mourn indefinitely.”

Indefinitely? It’d only been a month. Then Abigail remembered the sparking doctor.

“Jeremiah would approve of you moving on and would hope you’d understand his own practicality. When Jeremiah realized his death was imminent, he wanted to guarantee his sister and Mrs. Calhoun would be cared for. Knowing that I’m a nurse and that I was raised on a horse farm, he asked me to come here. And to ensure that legally I could make decisions for the Calhoun farm”—she looked from father to daughter—“he made me his wife.”