A Most Inconvenient Marriage (6 page)

In the valley the late afternoon sun was too weak to throw honest-to-goodness shadows. Instead, everything appeared hazy, making it unclear where undergrowth ended and where darkness began. Abigail caught herself straining to peer into deep crevices, wondering if they were truly caves or merely overhangs. There could be any number of eyes watching from the craggy dens—animals or men. She remembered Dr. Hopkins’s warning. She shouldn’t stray too far from home.

The road swerved around a boulder. The passage narrowed, a dangerous turn for a buggy. Abigail was just thinking how she’d have to remember to slow here when she stepped into the sight of a man standing in the road.

With one hand on his pommel and one hand grasping the back of his saddle, he froze when he saw her. The horse shifted toward him, and he did an odd hop backwards to keep from being bumped. Turning back to his horse he tried to pull himself up by the pommel without putting his foot in the stirrup. Uncomfortable with the off-center weight, the horse stumbled to the side again, causing him to slide back down.

He landed easily on one foot, but the other never touched the ground. Obviously he was favoring it. Abigail saw his difficulty. His leg had drawn up short and wouldn’t hold his weight. The horse would have to stand still for him to mount.

Was he dangerous? Possibly, but as of yet the fabled bushwhackers and jayhawkers sounded more like the bogeymen of her youth. This man showed no interest in her, wasn’t mounted, and definitely couldn’t run. She approached cautiously, compassion overriding her fear.

“I’ll hold her for you.” She smiled to ease his embarrassment.

He dipped his head, only showing her the top of his hat. “If she’d stand still I could do it myself. I just wanted to test my leg before I got home. My family doesn’t know . . .”

Abigail snagged the reins and rubbed the nag’s nose. How many of her patients were still on the road home, heading to a future fraught with similar difficulties? “Your horse looks tired—like she’s traveled hard. No doubt you could both use a stretch after being on the road all day.” Once she had control of the horse, she nodded to him. This attempt was successful, graceful even. His chest filled once he was in place, the embarrassment of his condition vanishing on horseback. Had she not seen his struggle, she would’ve never guessed that he’d dealt with any weakness—besides pride, perhaps.

“Thank you for your help.” Only seated would he face her, his strong features direct and honest, if not necessarily patient. His dark brows framed piercing eyes. His nose—well, if she was being kind she’d call it senatorial.

He shook the reins, reminding her to release them and stop staring at him. She felt her face warm. Had she been in the mountains so long she’d forgotten how to act around a gentleman? Without a word she stepped aside, allowing him to move forward. After a few steps he turned.

“It’s getting dark. How far a piece do you have to go?”

Abigail touched her hair, suddenly wishing she had it up properly instead of hanging down in a braid. “Not far at all. This is my home.” She gestured to the mountain wall on her left.

He looked around as if to assure himself of his surroundings, and then his penetrating gaze settled on her again.

This time his voice was rough. “Do the Calhouns not live here anymore?”

“They do. Are you a neighbor?”

His laugh was mirthless. “I’m no neighbor. I’m Jeremiah Calhoun, and I’d like to know what claim you have on my farm.”

He’d never met her before, that was certain. Jeremiah wouldn’t have forgotten the willowy blonde frowning at him. She kept staring, but this time instead of gazing at his face, she looked at his hands. Squaring her shoulders she seemed to come to a conclusion.

“You are a liar.” Her voice echoed off the stony bluff. “Jeremiah Calhoun is dead.”

Jeremiah’s throat tightened. Ever since he’d seen his name listed with the casualties in the prison register, he’d wondered who would be surprised by his appearance, but still the words made the hair on his arms stand on end.

“My family might think that, but they’ll be plumb excited to hear they were wrong.”

“The gall!” Her lean body shook as she marched closer. Her eyes narrowed into blue crescents. “You dare toy with a grieving family? You’ll immediately be exposed as a charlatan. I knew Jeremiah for only a few weeks, but it’s clear that you are not him.”

Jeremiah’s gratitude for her assistance vanished. “I don’t need a stranger to tell me who I am.”

“I’m not a stranger, just ask Ma. Everyone knows me, even Laurel.”

His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t heard her name spoken since he’d lost Alan.

“Laurel.” Was it irreverent that he breathed the word like a prayer? Every dawn brought the question of whether he’d live to see nightfall. Every evening ended with the question if he’d
live to see his love again. “You’ve seen Laurel?” But he stopped himself. He’d wasted enough time on this woman who stood with her hands on her hips, her nostrils flared like a horse’s smelling fire.

“Thanks for your help,” he said, “but my family’s waiting.”

With a mighty huff, she marched off the road, gathered her skirts, and hopped the fence. Petticoats flashed—fancier petticoats than any he’d ever seen, not that he’d spent much time noticing such things. It wasn’t until she’d climbed halfway up the bluff that he realized his mouth was hanging open. She would beat him to the house if he didn’t get to moving.

He spurred the nag for a last short jaunt and tried to forget her. He was home. Of all the devastation he had seen, of all the waste of human life, limb, and property, Jeremiah had feared the worst for his own estate. Stories of bushwhackers razing homesteads and ambushing innocents had reached him. But now, as he rode through the gates of his farm, an indescribable weight was removed. Besides some unwelcome saplings, normal wear on the barn, and an irate woman trudging up the back hill, everything looked as he’d left it.

Jeremiah eased himself to the ground, pulled out his crutch, and hopped his way up the porch. While he knew he’d get a warm welcome from his mother, he dreaded seeing his sister. How many letters had he begun, only to crumple the paper and toss it into the fire? He was sorry she was sick, sorry she couldn’t carry on like other young ladies her age, but he was still convinced she had no business getting married.

But maybe Alan had beat him home. For all he knew Alan and Rachel might be happily married already.

He heard footsteps approaching the door and then nothing. Was Rachel looking out her window, wondering whose old horse stood at the post? Was his mother trying to sneak to the parlor
so she could catch sight of their visitor? He banged on the door again. “Ma, open the door. It’s me—Jeremiah.”

A scream pierced the air. The door shook as she fumbled with the lock and cursed the key, the knob, and anything else that stood between her and her only son.

With the light at her back, Jeremiah couldn’t see her face, but from her swift launch into his arms, he assumed that the years had been kinder to his mother than to him.

“Jeremiah! Jeremiah! It’s a miracle.” Tears rolled, making her face a wet mess. “You’re alive. Praise God!” She kissed him on both cheeks, patted him, hugged him, and kissed him again.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her, pleased to have caused happiness for once. Pleased to have a promising beginning.

“I thought I’d never make it back alive,” he said.

“Well, I’m not letting you leave again.” Her arms tightened around him. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”

Jeremiah almost laughed. “I suspect Laurel will have other plans. How is she?”

His mother’s smile faltered. She wiped her face and stepped back. Hesitated. “Laurel is well. She will be surprised to see you, of course . . . and so will Rachel.”

“Will she?” His mother had yet to notice the crutch hanging from his arm or how he was using her to keep from keeling over. “The last letter I received from her was none too civil. I hope her outlook has improved.”

“She needs grace, just like the rest of us. You’ve been gone for four years. It might take some time to get reacquainted.”

“I doubt he’s changed at all.” Rachel stepped outdoors.

Jeremiah straightened, ready to wrap her up in a hug if she’d allow it. How he ached to put their differences behind them, but she came no closer.

“Is Alan here? Have you heard from him?” he asked.

“He’s not with you?”

At that moment Jeremiah would’ve given anything—his farm, his life, his other leg—to have his best friend at his side. “I tried, Rachel. I’ve been searching all over for him. That’s why it took me so long to get home.”

Whatever life had flickered in her eyes was extinguished. Her arms dropped to her side, only then showing how bony she’d become. “So you’ll manage to keep Alan and me apart for a bit longer while you have a joyful reunion with Abigail?”

Abigail? Their mother stepped between them. “Both my children home safe. If only your father . . . but let’s be content to celebrate Jeremiah’s return. All my family finally gathered under one roof.”

“Speaking of family,” Jeremiah said, “I met a woman coming out of the grove. A lunatic from the sound of her. I suppose she’s your guest, but please keep her away from me. All I want tonight is a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “She wouldn’t begrudge you that as long as you don’t snore. She’s staying in your room, after all.”

Her smug look hadn’t changed since he was nine years old and she caught him stealing sugar cubes, but this time he was innocent.

“There are other rooms.”

“But your wife will expect to share yours.”

“My wife?” Jeremiah thrust his crutch to the floor. What were they talking about? Was this Rachel’s doing?

“Oh, dear! What happened to your leg?” His ma clutched his arm.

But he didn’t want to talk about his leg. “I don’t know who that woman is, but I’m marrying Laurel, not some stranger.”

“Abigail is a nice girl, Jeremiah,” his mother said. “She’s been very helpful.”

“And according to her, you’re already hitched,” Rachel said.

They had to be fooling. But no, Rachel’s smirk had all the markings of the genuine article. And this Abigail woman was almost upon them, cutting through the lawn from behind the house. In vain he thought back to every woman he’d met since leaving, but with her tall frame and slender neck she would’ve been difficult to forget no matter what the circumstances. That left only one possibility.

And she’d called
him
a liar.

All eyes turned as she approached the porch.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” she said. “I tried to stop him. I’ll summon Calbert and we’ll be rid of him directly.”

“Ma?! You call her Ma?” Jeremiah asked.

Rachel smiled. “Why would you get Calbert, Abigail dear?”

Abigail paused. Clearly she didn’t trust Rachel, but she seemed to be searching for a sign from his mother. Could she really be confused?

“As you can see, miss, my family is satisfied with my return,” he said.

“You don’t recognize Abigail?” His mother’s face turned as gray as her hair. “But she was with you at the prison.”

“This isn’t the man I knew. Jeremiah injured his arm, not his leg. This isn’t your son.”

His arms tensed. His hands squeezed into fists.

“Consider, Jeremiah, before you say anything harsh.” His mother’s hand lay gently on his arm. “It could be an honest mistake.”

Judging from Rachel’s unladylike snort, they agreed on at least one thing.

The woman took the lantern from Rachel and thrust it in
his face. “I know you want to believe he’s returned, but look at him. He’s an impostor.”

Here he was on his own porch, being run off like a stray dog. Jeremiah shoved the lantern away. “Don’t you think my own mother knows me?”

His mother frowned. “Oh, dear. There’s going to be trouble. Why don’t we go inside?”

“I’ll be there,” he growled, “as soon as I see to the horse.”

“I see to the horses here.” The woman took the reins, gentle with the mare even though she bristled like a porcupine. Shooting him a last confused look, she trudged to the barn.

By thunder, did she think him incapable of walking, too? Stupid leg. Jeremiah turned to his mother, who rubbed her brow.

“There’s got to be a logical explanation,” she said.

Rachel piped up. “There is. She lied to steal our farm. Motive enough.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge. Abigail is my guest until we figure this out. Besides, can’t we just be happy that Jeremiah came home? Let’s not ruin it by turning out an innocent young woman.”

He wouldn’t be able to deal with her as long as his sympathetic mother was a witness. “I’ll get this sorted.” Jeremiah stumped across the drive to the barn.

Despite the annoyance, it was good to be home. Good to be giving orders instead of taking them. Good to stand in an open field and not worry about having his head split in two by a bullet. Good to have control over his life.

Sort of.

He stepped into the familiar barn, immediately struck by the empty stalls and pens. Of course. Ma would’ve sold off or butchered some stock. Her letters had described how they’d scrimped to survive, but still the missing animals shocked him.