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She held a forefinger to her lips then moved toward him. He took in the spring of her step, the tilt of her chin. She didn’t look worse for wear. Her regal beauty surpassed the splendor of her surroundings. That Abby graced his home socked him in the gut. Five years earlier he’d pictured her here, but held no such delusions now.
“Your father’s napping,” she said when she reached him.
Upon closer inspection he noted the weariness in her soft blue eyes, as if spending time with his father had sapped her energy and strained every nerve. As he’d assumed, her day hadn’t been an easy one.
“Pain has kept him from sleeping well.”
“Perhaps that explains some of his crankiness.”
What did a man say to that? No, cranky is the norm?
“To get his mind off his troubles, I offered to read several books from your library, but he had no interest. I persevered and selected The Red Badge of Courage. I’d read only a few pages when he fell asleep.” The corners of her lips turned up but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I suspect he prefers doing battle himself rather than listening to a fictional account.”
“Dad thrives on verbal sparring and relaxes with balance sheets. Fiction holds little appeal for him.”
“I can’t imagine life without novels.”
Evidently she appreciated a good book as much as he prized a fine piece of wood. “I suspect most teachers would concur.”
Her eyes lit with the glow of an activist. “Books open us to adventure, revealing a host of ideas and cultures to explore, bringing romance—” She cut herself off, pink tingeing her cheeks. “I thought reading might enlarge your father’s interests.” She sighed, the sound laden with frustration. “He’s like some of my bullheaded students who don’t welcome my efforts to expand their minds and aspirations.”
“He does share the traits of a stubborn adolescent.” He grinned. “Find a way to mature him and I’ll increase your pay.”
An infectious twinkle danced in her eyes, as if they shared a private joke. “I’ll work on that,” she promised with a giggle.
Imagine, someone who wasn’t intimidated by George Cummings.
“I suspect my father is too set in his ways to change, but hopefully your students can.”
“If only they could understand that education is the path to a good life.”
Education had merely postponed his plans. But for some, education opened the door to opportunities.
Clearly Abby cared about her students’ futures and took an interest in all facets of their lives. “They’re lucky to have you,” he said and meant every word. A startled look flitted across her face. Not surprising with their history. “My father is fortunate too.”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t agree.”
“You’re not planning on quitting, are you?” he said in a rush of words.
“I never run from a commitment.”
Despite her claim, she hadn’t met his gaze. Would she keep the job? The prospect of not seeing her each day slammed into him. Absurd. His concern about her quitting had to do with his father.
She glanced down the hall. “I’d better check on him.”
Well, at least she’d last the day. He removed his pocket watch from his vest. With a touch of a finger, sprang the lid. “Would you mind if I head out to the carriage house? I’d like to work in my shop.”
“As we agreed, I’m here until six.” She raised a slender brow and nailed him with a steely stare. “Not a minute more.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, feigning a salute.
Carrying her grin with him, he trotted down the stairs then made his way to the workshop built onto the back of the carriage house. The prospect of returning to his passion after a two-week absence lightened his steps. Without a piece of wood under his palms he’d felt less somehow, not whole.
He left the door ajar to catch the afternoon breeze and walked inside. In this shop he felt at peace, in charge of his realm. His gaze roamed the tools of his trade—hammers, miter boxes, levels, a host of planes and saws, his lathe, emery cloth, sandpaper, everything spotless and in its place. A broom rested in the corner, ready to sweep up sawdust and shavings, anything that might mar a damp finish.
As a young boy he’d watched Grandpa Brooks’s rheumy eyes shine as he’d talked about the satiny feel of polished wood under his palms. Something Wade understood.
Surrounded by the scent of wood, he donned the leather apron and reached for fine grit sandpaper. With each stroke, the last bit of tension eased from his neck and shoulders cramped from hours hunched over paperwork on his desk.
As he ran the sandpaper along the grain, he admired the beauty, the solid strength of the cherry buffet. A piece that would give years of service—could be passed down through the future owner’s family, a treasured heirloom.
Once his father got back on his feet, Wade would create furniture full-time. The empty warehouse they owned off Main Street would be a perfect location for his cabinetmaker shop. Soon he’d produce functional unique pieces.
Everything would be perfect except—
He had no one to share his dream with.
His thoughts flitted to Abigail but he quickly tamped down the notion of sharing his life with her. He’d seen how a dream could evolve into a nightmare. Surely his parents had once been united in their goals. What had happened to destroy the accord of earlier days?
A knock on the door frame startled Wade out of his reverie. Seth Collier stood on the threshold.
Wade smiled. “Afternoon, Seth.”
In need of a haircut, the hem of his pants barely reaching his ankles, his shirt rumpled, the lad could use a mother’s touch. Yet shabbily clad or not, Seth carried himself with a dignity Wade found remarkable considering the boy’s upbringing.
“I could use a break. Want to take over?”
A fierce longing crossed Seth’s face. “You sure?”
“You’ve sanded enough boards to handle this buffet. You know where to find the emery cloth.”
“Yes, sir.” Seth moved toward the supply cabinet, a smile softening his angular face.
“The Johnsons have selected this piece for a wedding gift for their daughter. Once the finish is smooth I’ll apply the last coat of varnish.”
Seth bent to the job. He had a light touch. A gentle way with the wood, as if he found contentment reshaping boards into a thing of function and beauty.
In that, Seth Collier reminded Wade of himself. But the comparison ended there. Seth lived with burdens Wade could only imagine. “How’s your dad?”
The boy’s hand slowed. “Tolerable.”
Giving way more information than he probably intended, the response twisted in Wade’s gut. Seth never complained, but in the months he’d been coming by the shop, Wade had pieced together a picture of his life. A boy without a mother, though Seth’s had died, not deserted her family as Wade’s had. More often than not Seth’s father lived in a moonshine-induced haze, leaving cooking, chores and the responsibility for eking out a meager existence on their farm to his seventeen-year-old son.
Compared to Seth Collier, Wade had lived a life of ease. He tried to relieve some of the financial burden by paying Seth for his help in the shop, but Wade wanted to do more.
Knowing what to do was the difficulty. Rafe Collier wouldn’t take a handout, would as soon turn a shotgun on anyone coming on his property to—as he saw it—interfere with how he raised his son. While in reality Seth raised himself.
“Want me to talk to your father?”
“No, sir.”
An uncomfortable quiet settled between them.
“I’ve been thinking—we could use a stable hand. The pay is good.” He studied Seth’s face. “The job would mean living above the carriage house.”
Seth shook his head. “Can’t leave my pa.”
Loyal to his father—a man who barely functioned and surely didn’t appreciate what he had in this boy. “The offer stands if you change your mind.”
Seth straightened and met Wade’s gaze. “Would you make me your apprentice? Teach me to be a cabinetmaker?” Words poured out of the boy with the force of an underground spring. “I know I’m asking a lot since I’ve got no money to pay you.”
At the prospect of teaching Seth the trade, of sharing what he’d learned with someone captivated with woodworking, a spark of excitement took hold of Wade. What better way to help the boy?
“That’s a great idea. I plan to open a shop. Not a factory per se since no two pieces would be alike. I’d create the design and handle detailed work like inlays, veneers and carving. I’d teach you to handle basic construction and finishes. Then later you could try your hand at more intricate work.” His voice rose with excitement. “You’d be a big help. I’d pay you.”
A wide smile took over Seth’s face. “I’ll be your first employee. I’ll quit school. Work full-time—”
“What gibberish are you planting in this boy’s head?” Abby stood in the open door, eyes steely, cold and turned on Wade. “Hasn’t your family destroyed enough lives?” Her fisted hands tangled in her skirts as if the fabric were the neck of a chicken about to be wrung. “I won’t let you destroy Seth’s.”
Heat sizzled through Wade’s veins. A Wilson couldn’t have a rational reaction to any idea stamped with a Cummings’s approval. “How can you accuse me of trying to harm this boy?”
Eyes downcast, Seth dropped the emery cloth and stepped away from the buffet. “I need to get home,” he mumbled then sped past his teacher.
As soon as he fled the shop, Abigail reeled on Wade. “Now look what you’ve done!”
“Look at what I’ve done? You’re the one upsetting that boy with that ridiculous claim I’m trying to harm him.” Wade’s long strides swallowed the distance between them. He stopped mere inches from her skirts, catching the scent of roses, feminine, delicate—at odds with this strong-minded female. “Anyone can plainly see I’m trying to help him.”
“By suggesting he quit school?”
“That’s his idea, not mine. I don’t condone—”
“Surely you can see this apprenticeship would be a mistake.”
“Mistake? To learn a trade with good pay and a promising future? Hardly.” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.
Slapping hands on hips, she leaned closer until they were inches apart. He’d never noticed the little flecks of gray in her eyes before. Gunmetal gray. Shooting him down. Or trying to.
“You’re luring one of my best students away from getting his high school diploma and a chance for higher education.”
“I’m doing no such thing. Seth helps out after school a few afternoons a week. He’s shown the interest and aptitude of a craftsman.”
“With your family’s wealth behind you, you can risk a new venture. But Seth has no resources to ensure his future other than an excellent mind. I won’t let you waste his potential.”
Wade’s pulse hammered in his temples to an unrelenting beat. “Are you insinuating woodworking is squandering one’s intelligence?”
She glanced away. “Well, no, but Seth’s really smart. Capable of much more than—”
“Than what?” Wade tried to tamp down the frustration roiling inside him and failed. “Working with his hands!” He raised his palms. “Do these calluses disgust you? Are you so biased toward education you have no respect for physical labor? No respect for a skilled craftsman?”
She stood mute, face flushed, eyes shimmering like sparklers on the Fourth of July. She’d never been more infuriating. Or looked more beautiful.
Every drop of his anger evaporated, leaving him with a sudden insight he couldn’t stomach. This woman he’d cared about, this lovely, intelligent, capable woman was…exactly like his father. “Well, God has given some of us the desire—the gift—to create something beautiful, yet functional.”
“You can’t see the forest for the trees. No one job can provide security. I can’t imagine what would have become of my family if a teacher hadn’t encouraged me to pursue higher education. Seth needs to get out of that house. College will prepare him for whatever the future brings.”
“Attending college isn’t a solution for Seth. He needs to make money, not put his life on hold while he gets a degree.”
“That he needs money is Rafe’s fault. Once Seth escapes his father’s influence, he’ll make a good life for himself. Iowa State College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts trains students in engineering, veterinary medicine. The University of Iowa provides instruction for lawyers, doctors—many professions.”
“How do you suggest Seth pay college expenses?”
“Well, he couldn’t go to Harvard like you did,” she sputtered, “but state residents don’t pay tuition.”
“What about money for clothing, travel home and textbooks?”
“He can work in the summer as I did. If money’s available to help students from impoverished families, I’ll find it.”
“Have you chosen his wife?”
Her nostrils flared. “What are you talking about?”
“Appears to me you’ve laid out Seth’s entire life. Might as well pick his bride.”
Splotches of red stained her cheeks. “I’ve done no such thing. I just want to do what’s best for Seth.”
“You think you know that boy and what’s best for him. Seth loves working with wood as much as I do.”
A look of disdain flashed across her face, quickly controlled but unmistakable, as exasperating as an account that wouldn’t balance.
Every muscle in Wade’s body tensed. “Not just anyone can make the kind of furniture you see in this shop.” He swept his arm around the room. “The quality of my work takes practice, patience and respect for wood.”
Her gaze traveled the buffet, the highboy, the table and chairs. “Your furniture is beautiful, but Seth is bright—”
“What does that make me?” Wade ground out between clenched teeth.
She took a step back. “I, ah…I don’t mean to be insulting. Obviously you’re intelligent. You graduated from Harvard, one of the finest colleges in the country. The very reason I’d think you’d understand my position. Education is the best assurance of happiness in this life.”
“Are you happy, Abby?”
A flicker of unease dimmed her eyes. “I’m concerned for Lois’s family but I’m content.”
Whether she admitted it or not, Abby was far from happy. She served the community at church and in the classroom, she took care of her family, did all she could to make the lives of others better—even to the point of meddling—but inside she had a hollow spot that needed filling.
He ought to know. He had the same.
With a gust of air, he exhaled, releasing his frustration or trying to. “You mean well, but you don’t know Seth Collier—at all.”
“I saw Seth every day in English class. And you see him, what? A couple times a week?”
