Hummingbird (48 page)

What would he think if he knew that in three weeks she'd touched every part of Jesse DuFrayne's body and had pleaded with him to take her to the limits?

"Are you sure you want to marry me?" Abigail asked David, knowing it was not him but herself she should be asking.

"I've been quite sure since the day you threw me out after I accused—" But there he stopped, not wanting to bring DuFrayne's name into it, not realizing it had been in it all the time. "Can you forgive me for what I accused you of? I was very foolish and very jealous myself that morning. I know now that you're not at all mat kind of woman. You're pure and fine and good… and that's why I love you."

If ever there was a point of no return, it was now. Now, when his words could easily be denied if they were going to be. But deny them she did not. She kept her silence, knowing that even it was a lie.

David gave her shoulders one last squeeze. "Besides," he said in a light attempt at gaiety, "what would my store be without you?"

But again she wondered if he did not value her more because she could help in his store, and because he could live in her house, than he did because she could be his wife.

"David, I'm very proud to have been asked. I'd like to think about it, though, at least overnight."

He nodded understandingly, then pulled her toward him by her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead before leaving. He left her standing next to the umbrella stand. For a long moment she stared disconsolately at nothing. Finally she turned her head and confronted her reflection, admitting once and for all how old she was getting. She sighed deeply, rubbed the small of her back, and went out onto the porch to collect the rag ball and rewind it mechanically as she wandered aimlessly into her bedroom. She stood beside the window seat winding, winding, remembering Jesse sitting here that afternoon after Jim Hudson left. She dropped the ball into the sewing basket on the floor, remembering how Jesse had taken a hank of yarn from it to tie up that pig bladder with which he had so mercilessly teased her. She pictured his long-fingered hands, dark of skin, gentle of touch, flexing on that inflated bladder, flexing upon her own breast. She thought of David, afraid to pull her against him as he kissed her on the eve of his marriage proposal to her.

She sighed, dropped down onto the window seat, leaned her elbows to her knees, cupped her face in both hands, and cried.

Fortunately, during that night good common sense took over and made Abigail realize that David Melcher was a decent, honest man who would treat her decently, honestly for the rest of her life. She, too, could offer the same, from here on out. Whether it was scheming or not to consider it, she admitted that David, in his naïveté, would probably not know whether or not she was a virgin anyway. If she were mistaken about that, she would tell him it was Richard, those many years ago. If her marriage had to begin with that one, last lie, it was a necessary lie—necessary to prevent David's being hurt any further.

And since there was no chance of her ever falling into promiscuity again, her decision was made.

David kissed her tenderly, if dryly, when she told him that she was accepting his proposal. Standing in his light embrace, she felt a sense of relief that the decision was made. This time he did hug her to his chest, but his eyes were scanning her front parlor.

"Abigail, we're going to be so happy here," he said near her temple. A deep sense of peace overcame him here in her house.

"You'll have roots at last," she returned.

"Yes, thanks to you."

And to Jesse DuFrayne, she thought, but she said, "And the citizens of Stuart's Junction."

"I think they were half expecting us to get married." "I know they were, especially after the Fourth of July." He released her, smiling his very youngish smile. "When shall we announce it?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then quirked an eyebrow. "How about in Thursday's paper? Mr.

Riley started all this when he linked my name with yours in June. Shall we give him the opportunity to print the ensuing chapter?"

The announcement in Thursday's paper read:

Miss Abigail McKenzie and Mr David Melcher happily announce their intentions to be married on October 20, 1879, in Christ Church, Stuart's Junction. Miss McKenzie, a lifetime resident of this town, is the daughter of the late Andrew and Martha McKenzie. Mr. Melcher, formerly of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, has traveled for several years in this area as a circuit salesman for the Hi-Style Shoe Company of that city. Upon marriage to Miss McKenzie, Melcher will open for business in the Melcher Shoe Salon, the edifice currently under construction at the south end of Main Street directly adjacent to Perkins' Livery Stable. The business is slated to open its doors immediately upon the couple's return from a two-week honeymoon in Colorado Springs.

The first frosts came. The quaking aspens blanketed the hills with brilliant splashes of amber. Mornings, even the cart ruts were beautiful, trimmed in rime, glistening in the touch of new light. Sunsets turned the color of melons and became jaggedly streaked with purple, presaging the cold breath of winter soon to follow. The mourning doves left; the nuthatches stayed. Weather eyes were cast at the mountains as the first leaves tumbled like golden gems to the earth.

A flood of good wishes poured into Miss Abigail's house and David's store, which was fast nearing completion. Neighbors and townsfolk could not resist stopping at one place or the other when passing by. Their good wishes reaffirmed to Abigail that she had done the right thing in accepting David's proposal.

It was easy and natural now to be with David, and daily they reaffirmed the fact that they were very much alike in ideals, likes, dislikes, goals. He was a totally adoring suitor, ever ready with a compliment, a smile, a look which told her he approved of her in every way. His kisses became more ardent, which pleased her, but his immense respect for her kept improper advances at bay. He stammered less and less as they became more familiar with each other. This newfound ease pleased her immeasurably.

Often as not, David and Abigail could be found at the shoe store, stacking a winter supply of wood at the rear, staining the lovely spooled rail, building shelves, hanging red draperies in the bow window, carrying in the huge oak rounds, or unpacking a partial shipment of stock, which had finally arrived. They worked together constantly, becoming a fixture of the small town's society even before their wedding took place.

Those who stopped by to say hello or to ask if they needed a hand with anything went their way again thinking they'd never seen a pair more suited to each other; it really was a match made in heaven. Some chuckled, patting themselves on the back, thinking, well, if not in heaven, then at Hake's Meadow.

Abigail was a mistress of efficiency as the wedding day neared. Besides helping David make preparations for the opening of the store, there were countless personal details demanding her attention. She had decided to wear her mother's wedding gown of ivory silk, but it needed alterations. The lace veil was in excellent condition. However, some of the seed pearls had come loose from the headpiece and needed replacing, thus it had been' sent to a jeweler in Denver for renovation. David had ordered a special pair of white satin pumps for her and she anxiously awaited both headpiece and shoes. Once the entire bridal ensemble was in her possession, she would pose for a photograph—her bridal gift to David. She contracted a Denver photographer, Damon Smith, to come out to do the portrait. They'd planned to have a wedding reception at the house, and Abbie began baking cookies and
petits fours
, freezing them now that frosts had come to stay. The garden was cleaned out until spring. The little iron stove was installed in the store, and the coffee pot there was already a fixture. She was often happy to have it, for between the store and the house, her duties kept her juggling her precious time and attention between wedding and grand opening preparations.

The store was turning out beautifully. There, it seemed, was where Abigail and David shared their closest intimacies. Times when they found themselves alone, stocking shelves in the storeroom, he would steal kisses, making her impatient for their wedding day to arrive… and, more importantly, their honeymoon.

There were times when she knew he was on the brink of breaking down his own self-imposed restrictions, but either he would back away or they would be interrupted, for people came in and out of the store as if it were already open for business.

The interior was as bright, warm, and cheerful as she'd imagined it, with its red curtains, braided rugs, and upholstered benches. The circle of comfortable chairs wreathed the fireplace where a cheering blaze beckoned. The smell of fresh wood and bark permeated the air, combined with coffee, leather, and the clean smell of shoe wax. People loved it and there were always friends gathered around the stove. There was not a doubt in the world that the business would thrive, or the marriage either.

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It was one of those dark, steely late afternoons when the thought of supper in a toasty kitchen made footsteps hurry homeward. The murky clouds played games with the top of the mountain, gathering, scattering—wind-whipped shreds scudding in a darksome sky, making all mortals feel lowly indeed.

The bell and the pearl headpiece had arrived from Denver. Bones Binley had walked the packages up from the depot after the late train pulled through. Pleased, Abigail now donned her new green coat, wrapped a matching scarf about her head, and flung its tails back over her shoulders. Smiling, she left the house with the small brass bell tucked warmly in her white fur muff.

Snow flecks stung her forehead and the wind sent the scarf tails slapping about her cheeks. She shivered.

David would already have the lanterns lit at the store. The stove would be warm, and she pictured David standing with one foot braced on its fender, a cup of coffee in his hand. Oh, he would be pleased that she'd thought of the bell. She skipped once and hurried on.

Coming around the corner of the saloon, she stepped up onto the boardwalk and the wind shifted, hitting her full in the face, driving icy needles of snow against her skin. She glanced down the street at the welcome orange lanternlight spilling from the bow window. A man was standing looking in through the small panes, a big man in a heavy sheepskin jacket with its collar turned up and his hands plunged deep into its pockets. He stood motionless, bareheaded, with his back to her, while for some inexplicable reason her footsteps slowed. Then he hung his head low, stared at his boots a moment before turning toward the livery stable next door and disappearing inside. He was very tall, very broad. From behind he'd reminded her of Jesse, except that he had no limp. Once more she hurried, keeping her eyes on the door of the livery stable, but no one came out as she advanced toward the door of the store, above which hung a fresh, new sign, swinging wildly in the wind.

MELCHER'S SHOE SALON, it said, DAVID AND ABIGAIL MELCHER, PROPS.

It was lusciously warm in the store. As usual, there was a circle of men around the stove, David among them, sipping coffee.

He came forward immediately to greet her. "Hello, Abigail. You should have stayed at the house. There's weather brewing out there."

She radiated toward the stove, removing her coat, scarf, and muff, tossing them onto a red-padded bench along the way.

"I had to come to tell you the good news. My headpiece came back from Denver this afternoon, all repaired at last."

"Good!" David exclaimed, then winking at his cronies around the stove, added, "Now maybe I won't have to listen to her fretting about that photograph anymore." The men chuckled and sipped.

"And look what else came." She held up the tinkling, brass bell. "It's for your door—a good luck charm.

Every new store must have a bell to announce its first customer."

David smiled in genuine delight and set his coffee cup down, coming to squeeze and chafe her upper arms affectionately. "It's just the right touch. Thank you, Abigail." The smile on his face made her feel treasured and precious. "Here," he said, "let me hang it."

"Oh, no," she said pertly, lifting the bell out of his reach, "it's my gift. I shall do the hanging."

David laughed, turning back to the men. "Never saw such a nuisance of a woman—always wants her own way."

"Well, David, you just gotta learn to step on 'er a little bit when she gets outta line." Then the men all laughed in easy camaraderie. They could do that now, laugh at Miss Abigail this way—she had changed so much since David Melcher came around.

She got a hammer and tacks from the back room and hauled one of the chairs up near the front door.

The bell tinkled as she climbed up, reaching toward the sill above the door to find the perfect spot for the bracket. But even on the chair she couldn't quite reach, so she put one foot up on the spooled railing beside her and stepped onto it.

That was how Jesse DuFrayne saw her when he came out of the livery stable and stopped again before the shop with the sign reading… DAVID AND ABIGAIL MELCHER…

She had two tacks in her mouth and was holding the brass bracket against the doorframe, hammer poised, when she saw a man's legs stop outside the Cape Cod window. With her arms raised that way she could not see his face, but she saw cowboy boots, dark-clad legs spraddled wide against the wind, and the bottom half of a thick, old sheepskin jacket. Something made her duck down to peer beneath her sleeve at the face above those wide-braced legs.

Her eyes widened and one of the nails fell from her lips. An agonizing, wonderful, horrible terror filled her heart.

Jesse! My God, no… Jesse.

He was gazing up at her with that big sheepskin collar turned high around his jaw while the wind caught at his thick black hair, whipping it like the dark clouds above the mountain. The lantern glow coming through the window illuminated his face and kindled his dark, intense eyes that were raised in an unsmiling study of her. It lit, too, his forehead, cheeks, and chin, making them stand out starkly against the stormy darkness behind him. His moustache was as black as a crow's wing, and as she stared, hammer forgotten in hand, he smiled just a little and lifted one bare hand from his pocket in silent hello. But still she seemed unable to move, to do anything more than gape as if struck dumb, filled with pounding emotions, all at odds with each other.