Daughter of Joy (22 page)

“The Bible also states,” Conor countered with a grim smile, “that the husband is sanctified by the wife.”

“And is that why you want to wed me, Conor?” Abby asked softly, her gaze never wavering. “Because you wish to return to the Lord and His ways?”

“I’d be lying if I said that, Abby.” He walked back to his chair and sat. “But I won’t stand in your way or forbid you to speak of Him in my house. I’ll wed you in a Christian church before an ordained minister. And if Beth ever expresses interest in learning more of God and the Bible, you may teach her. As for me, though, I don’t see any place in my life for religion.”

He ran his fingers down her arm, then touched her hand. “I’m not a perfect man, by any stretch of the imagination. I have my faults. But I’m a hard worker; I love my daughter, and I try to treat people fairly. I could give you a good life. I’ll treat you with respect.”

“What about love, Conor?” she blurted unexpectedly, gazing up at him with tear-bright eyes. “What about love?”

Heat flushed his face. Blood pounded through his head. His throat went dry, yet Conor forced words past anyway, knowing nothing would satisfy Abby but the truth.

“Love’s a strong word, and far too freely bandied about for my tastes,” he growled, struggling to keep an edge of irritation from his voice. Why was the woman never satisfied? Hadn’t he all but proposed to her? “It’s also a word I never thought I’d use again in my dealings with women.”

She sat there, stiff and unmoving. “Go on,” she finally urged. “Tell me more about this proposition of yours, and exactly how you think you’re offering me something better than you’ve offered any other woman.”

“Blast it, Abby!” Conor expelled an exasperated breath and then, ever so carefully, took her hand and cradled it in his thickly bandaged one. “I care for you. Care for you deeply. And I don’t think there’s any doubt in your mind how much I desire you. But love …” He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll tell you true. I’m afraid—no, terrified—of letting myself love again. To lose someone you love, well, I don’t know if I could survive it again.”

“Do you think it’s any easier for me?” she demanded, her voice gone hoarse and raw. “I’ve lost loved ones, too, and it nearly tore my heart out. Maybe I didn’t love my husband as truly and deeply as a wife should, but my son … my darling little Joshua … that love was deep and total and eternal. The pain of losing him lives on even now.”

Now that she’d begun, the words rushed out like water bursting through a floodgate.

“Yet still, in coming to know you, I’ve regained the hope that I could love yet again, Conor. I’ve discovered there’s still room in my heart for others, as damaged and battle-scarred as it now may be. You, Conor MacKay, have opened the world to me again. Instead of endlessly worrying if I’d survive another loss, I look to life now with renewed joy.”

“Then you’re far braver than I am,” he ground out, ashamed of his own cowardice. “But then, I’ve always sensed that about you. Sensed it, and yearned for a little of your courage.”

“Ah, Conor, Conor.” Her eyes filled with freshened tears. “Of myself, I have no courage. All I have, all that is of any worth in me, comes from the Lord.”

“Then don’t turn from me, Abby,” he pleaded now, clasping her hand between both of his. “You may be the closest I’ll ever come to God again in this life.”

“Standing close to me won’t bring you salvation, Conor. For that, you must walk on past me, and find the Lord in the secret places of your heart.”

“And if I can’t, Abby?” he asked, fearing the answer even as he asked. “What then? Will you turn from me, refuse to consider the possibility of becoming my wife?”

His words pierced Abby’s heart. How could she ever turn her back on this man? He had said he would not stand in her way when it came to worshiping the Lord. He had agreed to wed in a Christian church, and even to allow her to teach Beth about God. But to marry an adamantly steadfast, fallen away Christian …

Yet Abby also knew, from so many things Conor had said, that he believed in God. She was well aware of his knowledge and understanding of Scripture. Did that not count for something? Indeed, he was a man who tried, in many ways, even as he tried to deny it, to live according to Christian principles.

But there were so many times when he had not lived very morally too.

Still, there was hope, despite his current claims to the contrary, that Conor might still repent of his sinful past and return to the Lord. He had already changed in the four months she’d been here. Perhaps, instead of agonizing over his potential threat to her soul, she should consider the possibility that marrying him was, and always had been, God’s will for the both of them. Might not she be of greatest service as Conor’s helpmate and fellow wayfarer on the journey of life?

Now that she finally faced it, the answer seemed so clear, so right and good. Tears filled Abby’s eyes, spilled down her cheeks. “No, I won’t turn from you.” She lifted Conor’s fingers to her mouth for a tender kiss. “The Lord knows my heart, as He knows yours, and it’s a heart that cries out with love for you.

“It is also,” she added, with a shy little smile, “a heart that cannot help but be willing to consider the possibility of becoming your wife.”

16

The L
ORD
is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

Psalm 27:1

For a time, Abby and Conor decided to keep their courtship a secret. Both were too unsure of themselves and each other to risk involving or disappointing those close to them. Both also discovered that they suddenly felt as shy and awkward as a young couple. So, in secret they came to know each other’s hearts, and the trust, respect, and love—though they rarely spoke of it in such terms—grew.

The waning months of winter passed. Spring came. Conor’s hands healed and he regained their full use. The bunkhouse was rebuilt. And once the essential furniture and a brand-new pot-bellied stove was installed, Abby moved back in.

Culdee Creek fairly buzzed with renewed energy. This welcome surge of vitality, not to mention Conor’s growing interest in Abby, according to Ella, was the perfect excuse to convince him to attend the annual May Day dance in Grand View.

One bright, sunny day near the end of April, Abby, as she followed her friend down to the pond, carefully considered the proposal. “It might do him a world of good,” she said. “Beth told me once that Conor used to love to dance.”

Ella laughed. “Oh, I’ll say he did. He was so quick on his feet. He used to twirl Sally around and around until she was breathless and begging him to stop.”

“It’s been that long since he danced last? Since Sally left?”

“I’m afraid so.” As they walked along, Ella reached over and squeezed her hand. “Squirrel Woman was too shy to go to the town dances. She knew she’d never have been welcome at them anyway. Conor knew it, too, so he never asked. Though he didn’t give a fig for what others thought of him, he wasn’t about to subject her to unkind remarks and community censure.”

“She seemed like a good woman,” Abby murmured. “Squirrel Woman, I mean.”

Ella smiled sadly. “She was beautiful, gentle, and full of a simple, honest love. I think, if she’d lived, she would’ve finally healed that terrible wound Sally’s desertion inflicted on Conor’s heart. But the Lord must have had other plans. I’m just glad He finally sent you here.”

Abby shot her friend a sharp glance. Had Ella guessed what was going on between her and Conor? A part of her longed to share the precious secret. She certainly hoped to do so soon, but there were still a few issues she and Conor needed to work through first. At the very least, even after all these months, he had yet to come right out and tell her he loved her.

In her heart, though, Abby knew he loved her. She recognized it in the looks he gave her, felt it in his touch, and heard it in his voice. She sensed, though, that he had yet to admit it even to himself, and tried to respect his restraint. It was, however, getting harder and harder to do so.

“It’ll be such fun,” Ella exclaimed, apparently unaware that Abby’s thoughts had been elsewhere. “We can go together, you and I, Conor and Devlin. That emerald green frock you’re working on now will be perfect for the dance. You’ll be the most beautiful woman there!”

The day of the dance, however, Mary developed a hacking cough and fever. Ella refused to leave her, and Devlin saw no point in going without his wife. So, after saying their regretful farewells, Conor and Abby soon found themselves driving off alone in the buckboard. As the sun set behind them in a glorious explosion of magenta and gold, they headed east toward Grand View.

For a time, they rode along in companionable silence, savoring the cool evening air and gratifying comfort of each other’s presence. Finally, though, Conor sighed. “Somehow, ever since you moved back into the new bunkhouse, it just doesn’t seem the same. I miss you and our time together in the parlor every evening. It’s as if you’re now so far away.”

“It’s for the best, Conor,” Abby said. “Until we decide what we want to do about …”

“About us?” he supplied gently.

“Well, yes.” Her heart rate picked up a notch.

He turned back to the road ahead. In the distance, the lights of Grand View twinkled brightly.

“It’s been over three months now, Abby. Since we agreed to consider the possibility of marriage, I mean. Are you any closer to accepting my proposal than you were then?”

“It’s not I, I think, who still hesitates,” she replied.

Conor frowned. “I don’t understand. I just said I proposed, and you still think I hesitate? Come on, Abby. Tell me what the problem is and be done with it.”

She rolled her eyes, then sighed in exasperation. Could this man possibly be as thick skulled as he seemed just now to be? “The problem is, Conor MacKay, that
I
have to be the one to tell
you
what it is. The problem is that I have to all but beg you for even a simple admission of love.”

“Oh.” He drove along, his brow furrowed in thought. “I thought the depth of my feelings for you had become evident,” he finally said. “Why else do I spend every free moment I can with you, not to mention all the time I have to be away from you, missing you and counting the minutes and hours until I can be with you again? And if you think my heroic restraint when I hold and kiss you is the mark of a man who doesn’t care deeply … well, you’re sadly mistaken. I lost count weeks ago of all the nights I’ve gone to bed, and laid in the dark—”

“That’s quite enough,” Abby hastily cut him off, realizing his frustration mirrored her own. “I think I get the point.”

“Do you really, Abby?”

Would Conor never understand? “I just wanted to hear the words,” she whispered. “That’s all.”

He pulled back on the buckboard reins. The horses halted. After winding the reins around the hand brake, Conor turned.

“Then hear them now.” He took both of her hands in his. “And never doubt me again. Though I know I’ve danced about this for a while now, let me assure you once and for all that I love you, Abigail Stanton. Love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?”

Tears misted her vision.
At last.
“Yes.” She nodded her joyous assent. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Conor pulled her to him. “Then let’s set a date, and make it public. Preferably before I go mad.”

“October,” she whispered. “A year from the day we first met.”

“October?” Conor groaned. “Have a heart, Abby. That’s five more months!”

“How about August then? That’s only three months away.”

“How about June?”

“Next month?” Abby did some quick mental calculations. “No, that won’t be enough time. I’d like to invite my parents and brothers to the wedding. They’ll need to make arrangements, then travel out here. How about the 4th of July?”

“Fine,” he muttered. Releasing her, Conor once more took up the reins and urged the horses onward. “But not a moment longer.”

A satisfied grin on her lips, Abby settled back in her seat. “July 4th it is then,” she agreed, “and not a moment longer.”

As Abby stepped from the town hall and closed the door behind her, the sound of laughter and gay fiddle music dimmed to a muted clamor. She inhaled deeply of the crisp, clean night air, grateful for the sudden cessation of noise, cigar smoke, and press of overheated bodies. From the start, the May Day dance had been a joyously carefree social event, though Abby had barely danced with Conor all evening. Mary Sue Edgerton, stunning in her new calico dress, as well as some of the other unmarried Grand View ladies, had quite handily seen to that.

Mary Sue wouldn’t be at all happy, once word got out of her and Conor’s engagement. Abby only hoped the girl would not long hold a grudge. As unintentional as a romantic relationship with Conor had been, it was now an undeniable fact. It was also a fact that would soon be common knowledge.

She hugged herself close, as much for the warmth as for the sheer happiness she felt.
Abigail MacKay. Mrs. Conor MacKay.
The words, though possessing a foreign sound, were also the most wonderful, soul-satisfying words she had ever heard.

In but two months’ time, she would be Conor’s wife.

Overhead, the stars glittered like bits of glass strewn across an ebony velvet sky. The dark heavens seemed so close, so encompassing, so benevolent. Just like the loving God who had led her at last from the vale of her sorrow.

She would always miss Joshua and Thomas. There would be times, even in the distant future, when a precious recollection of one or the other would still most likely rise from the depths of her mind to pierce her heart anew. Most especially the memories of her son.

But the Lord called her now to walk on. Not by setting up, at long last, the mission for indigents that Thomas had always dreamed of. She’d stopped fooling herself long ago that that had ever been her true calling. No, rather, Abby felt summoned to serve God in another way, and she now knew what it had always been. Conor … Beth … Culdee Creek … And the Lord saw this, and knew that it was good.

Abby glanced down the long row of false-fronted buildings and boardwalks that lined both sides of Winona Street. Grand View was no Colorado Springs, either in size, wealth, or fine amenities, but the town provided the basics and then some. Abby looked forward, as the summer drew on, to involving herself in some of the more social aspects of the town’s Episcopal Church.

Life now seemed ripe with promise. Abby turned to head back inside to the dance. Whatever problems might still lie ahead, she’d not face them now alone, or without—

A cry, faint and frightened, reached her ears. Abby wheeled about and peered up and down the street. In the distance, the mournful howl of a coyote echoed through the surrounding hills. Some horse stabled in the Nealy’s livery kicked at his wooden stall. Then, once again, all was silent.

Abby shrugged. “Must be hearing things,” she muttered, turning back to the door.

“H-help me!”

A woman with scraggly, pale blond hair hanging in her face and down her back, staggered out from the alley across from the town hall. She wore a shapeless, oversized red dress and black wool coat that she just managed to clutch over her swollen abdomen. As she ran awkwardly toward Abby, bare feet flashed white in the moonlight.

“H-help me!” she panted. “Don’t let him … take me back!”

Apprehensively, Abby glanced toward the door. Perhaps she should go for Conor. He would know what to do.

With a cry of pain, the woman stumbled and fell. Abby thought no more of going for help. Gathering her skirts, she leaped off the boardwalk and ran to the woman’s side.

“Help me,” the woman sobbed piteously, shoving to her hands and knees. “I can’t go back. They’ll take away my baby.”

Abby knelt beside her. “Who’ll take away your baby?” She laid a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Surely you’re mistaken. No one would do such a thing.”

“Y-yes, they would.”

Turquoise eyes met hers in the moonlight. The sight of a pale, thin, yet hauntingly familiar face plucked at Abby’s memory. Where had she seen this woman … this girl … before?

“Hannah,” she breathed in shocked recognition. “Hannah, is that you?”

The girl nodded. “Yes. Please, I—”

“There you are, you little slut!” Brody Gerard stepped from the alley Hannah had just fled. “Get your sorry behind over here. Do it now, before you cause a ruckus that I’ll make sure you regret, and regret long and hard.”

Frantic hands groped at Abby. Wide, terrified eyes gazed up at her. “Don’t let him take me back,” she pleaded. “Please. I’ll do anything.
Anything!
“

In rising panic, Abby glanced from Hannah to the man now bearing down on them. An impulse to rise and flee filled her. What could she do against a man as big and mean as Brody Gerard anyway? He could knock her flat on her back with one swipe of his hand.

She turned toward the town hall. Bright light from its windows partially illuminated the street where they knelt. The loud strains of fiddle music mixed with laughter, and the pounding of dancing feet on the wooden floors. No one would hear her if she called for help. Whatever she decided, the likelihood was that she would make the decision alone.

As had Hannah, Abby realized with a swift stab of compunction, if in an altogether different sort of way. Alone, betrayed, abused, she fought still to escape the brutal unfairness and exploitation of her life, if only she could. If only someone would just reach out a hand, and help her. If only someone would see her as the child of God that she was, and have the courage to stand up for her.