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Her faltering smile was sorrow-filled. How could she tell him that her present circumstance was due in part to William’s inexperience, which had forced him to borrow from the bank? Or how she had sold almost everything she owned of value to try to satisfy the loan? She couldn’t. Not now or ever. Ben had adored his father, and she would not be the one to say anything to lessen that feeling.
Her voice was thick with unshed tears when she spoke. “I’ve been having a hard time dealing with your father’s responsibilities, Ben, and I’ll be frank, I’m not doing a very good job.”
“I think you’re doing fine,” he said. “I’ll bet Mr. Gentry won’t do nearly as good a job of being both parents as you do.”
“Thank you, Ben. And that’s the thing. Mr. Gentry already knows he can’t do a good job as Betsy’s mother.” Dear Lord, help me find the words. “Men just aren’t...equipped with the right...trappings...to be a mother. That’s why Dr. Rachel came to me. Mr. Gentry would like for me—us—to stay here for a while so I can take care of Betsy.”
Abby watched Ben’s lower lip jut out and his eyes take on a familiar belligerence.
“It won’t be forever,” she hastened to say. “Just until Betsy gets a bit older, or until Mr. Gentry finds someone else. Until springtime, maybe. He and I will be partners, in a way. He will take care of our place and our animals, and I will take care of him and Betsy and the household chores. He will pay me a wage, just as if I had a job in town at the mercantile or the restaurant, and that money will help me take care of our obligations. That can be our word for the day.
“Obligations are things that are our responsibilities. Like what I was talking about when I described the duties of fathers and mothers. Parents have the obligation to bring up children to be good, God-fearing citizens. You are responsible for keeping your room clean and setting the table and feeding the animals and milking Nana. When I tell you to keep an eye on Laura, it is your obligation to see that she’s safe. Sometimes, obligations involve money. Things we must pay for.”
There! She had prepared him as best she could, though she felt she had done a poor job of it. To his credit, Ben did not spout off or throw a fit. Only the downward turn of his mouth and his refusal to meet her gaze spoke of his misery. Finally, he looked up at her.
“Like buying eggs when the hens stop laying and sugar and flour and coffee?” he asked.
“Yes.” And shoes and shirts and medicine when your children get sick, Abby thought as she pulled him close to her side. “I have always been as truthful with you as I have felt you could understand, so I will not lie to you now. This will be hard on all of us.”
Ben pulled away and regarded her with a solemn expression. “It won’t be hard on Mr. Gentry. He doesn’t have to live somewhere different.”
“Actually, he does,” Abby said with a gentle smile. “He won’t be staying in his house while we’re here. He’ll be moving into the bunkhouse with his hired men. He will just take his meals here and use his office when necessary. That’s quite a sacrifice for him, as well as having people he doesn’t even know taking over his home. And we mustn’t forget that his wife just died. I want you to think about how you felt when your father passed away. You were sad and angry with him and God for at least a month, and you took it out on your sister. Remember?”
Ben nodded.
Abby smiled and brushed back a lock of his fine blond hair. “Just remember that Mr. Gentry may be feeling the same way for a while, and try to be patient and forgiving. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask,” Abby said.
She gave him a final hug and stood. As they were about to leave the kitchen, Caleb came through the door, looking rugged and unyielding, his arms laden with things she’d brought from her own kitchen. He set a loaf of bread wrapped in a clean dish towel onto the table next to the basket of cookies, and put a heavy cast-iron kettle of squirrel and dumplings on the stove.
“I’ve put your things in your room.”
“Thank you,” Abby said.
“Would you mind if Ben and Laura sleep with you for a day or two? I’ll have to move some things from Emily’s room into the attic for Ben to have his own room.”
“That will be fine.”
“I thought I’d put Betsy’s cradle in your room, too, so you can be near both girls.”
“Perfect.”
“Let me show you around,” he said, relieved that there were no objections.
He led the small procession down the hallway. The bedroom was furnished simply with a bed, an oak armoire and a highboy. Abby noted that he had built a small fire to combat the autumn chill, and warmth was already starting to spread throughout the area, which was far larger than any room at her home. As spacious as it was and even though she knew the furnishings were of good quality, the house seemed sterile somehow, as untouched as Caleb Gentry’s heart. Shifting Laura on her hip, she ran her fingertip through the dust that had gathered on top of a chest of drawers. And it could use a thorough cleaning.
“I guess it needs a good cleaning,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
The sound of his voice sent Abby’s gaze winging to his, and she saw that the dull red of embarrassment had crept into the harsh sweep of his cheekbones. Too late, she realized what she had done. Oh, dear! Could she and the children do nothing right?
“Emily didn’t have much energy the past few months, and I—”
“There’s no need to apologize, Mr. Gentry,” she rushed to assure him. “Any woman who has carried a child to term understands.” She offered him a nonjudgmental smile. “It’s a lovely home and it won’t take much to get things in order.”
“I suppose not.” Clearly eager to be away from the house and all the turmoil and unhappiness in it, he said, “I need to get one of my hands to go over to your place and see to your animals tonight. We’ll move them tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to put you to the trouble.”
“It’s not a problem.” She told him how to find her house and he gave a sharp nod. He looked as tense as she felt. It seemed as if they were both trying to outdo the other in civility.
She offered him a thin smile. “I’ll just get our things put away and check on Betsy again.”
“I have to go into town and make arrangements at the, uh—” he cleared his throat “—funeral home, so I can’t stay to see that you get settled in. Feel free to just...look around if you need something. I’ll be back by dusk for supper. Just fix whatever you want.”
Laura muttered something that sounded remarkably like “supper” and offered Caleb one of her incredible smiles. Just as incredibly, the bleakness in his storm-gray eyes dimmed the tiniest bit. Though it in no way could be called a smile and was so fleeting that Abby was certain it must be a trick of the light, it seemed that just for a second, the unyielding firmness of his mouth softened somewhat.
She gave her daughter a squeeze. It seemed that at least one of the Carters was not intimidated by the overwhelming presence of the man, and even seemed to be taken with him! Much to her own mortification considering the circumstances, Abby realized that in his own rough, brooding sort of way, Caleb Gentry was an attractive man.
* * *
Caleb rode his gelding into town, his body past weariness, sporadic images flitting through his weary mind like flashes of lighting against a sullen sky. Rachel coming from the room where a baby’s crying was the only sound after Emily had gone suddenly quiet. His gaze straying to the bed, where a sheet covered Emily’s face. His heart stumbling in his chest, and the resolute, relentless ticking of the clock, while his exhausted brain struggled to assimilate what his eyes were seeing. Rachel’s voice, filled with weariness and regret. Emily was dead and his baby daughter needed someone to take care of her, to feed her. An overwhelming certainty that there must be something terribly wrong with him for his inability to feel anything over his wife’s death but panic and fear....
The random images faded, and reason—of sorts—returned along with memories of the past couple of hours. He conceded that he had jumped to conclusions with Mrs. Carter’s boy. It wasn’t his fault his sister had broken the shepherdess, but with Caleb’s own emotions so raw, and his feelings of inadequacy at the surface, he had been eager to place blame. The truth was that his whole world was turned upside down. Nothing would ever be the same, so he might as well get used to the idea of Mrs. Carter and her children being around, at least for the foreseeable future.
Whether he liked it or not.
With a grunt of disgust, he guided the horse down Antioch Street, and took a right toward the railroad tracks. The house Rachel Stone shared with her father, which also housed her medical office, sat on a corner beyond the tracks that ran a block down from and parallel to Antioch. The funeral home was situated at the rear of the house, added a few years before, when Rachel’s father, Dr. Edward Stone, had suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed.
Caleb rode around back, tied his horse to the hitching post and stepped through the doorway of the funeral parlor. Edward, who sat behind a gleaming desk, looked up when he heard the bell on the door ring, a solemn expression on his lined face. He rolled his wheelchair around to greet Caleb with his hand extended.
“I’m sorry, Caleb.”
Caleb only nodded.
“Bart and Mary picked out a casket and brought her a dress. I didn’t think you’d mind.” When Caleb shook his head, the older man said, “She’s ready, if you want to go on in.”
Caleb nodded, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He entered the viewing room, where Emily lay dressed in a frilly gown of pale pink, her favorite color. Her dark lashes lay against the delicate paleness of her cheeks. If he didn’t know better, he might think she was sleeping.
Dry-eyed, he stared down at the woman who had been a part of his life the past six years, waiting for the grief to overtake him and wondering if he should pray. But grief for losing a beloved wife did not come, and he had no idea what he could—or should—say to a God with whom he’d had so few dealings. The only sorrow he could define was sadness that Emily had been taken in her prime and would not be there for Betsy.
There was guilt aplenty.
Guilt aggravated by the nagging memory of the jolt that had passed through him when his fingers had touched those of Abby Carter. What kind of man was he to feel anything for any woman so soon after his wife’s death?
The answer was clear. He was, perhaps, a man who hadn’t tried hard enough to make his marriage a good one. A man who’d let someone else plan his marriage and shape his life...which might explain that unexpected awareness of Mrs. Carter but certainly did not excuse it.
He and Emily were both twenty-four when they married. Pretty enough, but thought to be a bit uppity, she was considered to be the town spinster. Caleb’s father had instigated the notion of his marrying her. His father stated that since Gabe, whom Lucas Gentry bitterly referred to as the “prodigal,” had shown no signs of abandoning his wayward lifestyle to come home and share the burden of labor, it was past time for his elder son to choose a wife and sire a son to inherit the Gentry fortune.
Emily’s parents had encouraged her to accept Caleb’s offer—most probably her last. So they married and lived with Lucas in the house he had built for his own wife, Caleb and Gabe’s mother, Libby.
Unfortunately, Lucas had died of a stroke three years ago, without seeing the birth of his grandchild. More regrettable perhaps was the fact that despite the tales Caleb had heard about love often following marriage, for him and Emily it had not.
Until now, he had never questioned why. They’d both been content to let the days slip by...sharing a house but not their lives, treating each other with respect but not love, neither of them caring enough to look for a spark of something that might be fanned into the flames of love. In retrospect, he found that troubling, but then, what did he know of love? He and Gabe had lost their mother to another man at a young age, and love was a sentiment foreign to their embittered father.
Father. He was a father now, and he hoped to be a better one than Lucas Gentry had been. He would be better. He might not know anything about loving his daughter, but he knew how to take care of her. Duty and obligation were things Caleb Gentry understood very well. And he would let her choose her husband when the time came.
Chapter Three
With a few free moments before starting the evening meal, Abby poured herself a cup of coffee and sank into a kitchen chair. Emily’s funeral service had been held that morning, and Caleb had yet to return from town. Laura and Betsy were down for their afternoon naps, and Ben was taking advantage of the sunny afternoon, playing on the back porch with the wooden train set William had made him last Christmas.
The two days since she and the children had arrived at the Gentry farm had been somewhat stressful as they tried to adjust to their new home and responsibilities, but with the absence of any further mishaps or misunderstandings, Abby felt she was beginning to find her stride.
She took a sip of her coffee and contemplated what to fix for supper, which turned her thoughts to Caleb. In an effort to please her new employer, she had asked what he did and didn’t like to eat, and he had informed her that not liking something was a luxury he and his brother had not been allowed. He ate everything, and she soon learned he ate a lot of it, tucking into a meal as if it might be his last. So much food might have made another man overweight, but Caleb was as fit any male she’d ever seen.
She’d learned a bit about him the past couple of days. His work ethic could not be faulted. The care he took with his animals and the upkeep of the farm spoke of concern, dedication and pride in his accomplishments, which was reflected by his affluence. In fact, he worked from sunrise until sunset with an intensity she understood too well, readying the farm for winter wheat planting between visits from the few neighbors who came to offer food and condolences.
Abby was a bit surprised that there were not as many visitors as she might have imagined considering the Gentry family’s long-standing presence in the community. She was also surprised at how uncomfortable he seemed with accepting their simple kindnesses.
She understood filling your days with work in an attempt to hold the pain of loss at bay, but she did not comprehend his awkwardness in accepting well-meaning compassion from people who wanted to show they cared. It was almost as if he didn’t know how to deal with their kindness.
He seemed to be trying his best to make her job easier, always giving a polite answer to her questions about the workings of his household, and plenty of leeway to take care of Betsy in whatever way she thought was best. Still, in no way could his actions be interpreted as friendly. Sometimes she caught him looking at her with a strange expression that seemed to straddle the fence between skepticism and remorse.
She often caught him regarding the children with wary uncertainty, sometimes giving them looks that dared them to so much as breathe, but he also tried in a heavy-handed way to engage them in various ways. Despite how painful accepting their presence might be, Abby couldn’t help feeling that he was doing his best, even though his best lacked enthusiasm or warmth and more often than not fell short.
There had been one sticky moment that first evening when he had started eating the squirrel and dumplings she had brought from home, only to be halted by Ben who regarded him in disbelief and said, “We didn’t say the prayer.”
Looking somewhat abashed, Caleb had stopped, bowed his head and listened while Ben gave thanks for the food. He had never forgotten after that. It was a small thing, but one for which Abby was grateful. She was also grateful that other than to show up for meals, she had seen little of him, which made everyone’s life easier, especially the days she recalled the unexpected spark she’d felt when their fingers touched. Labeling it a figment of her imagination made it no less troubling.
The morning after her arrival, Caleb had taken Frank, one of his two hired men and a wagon to her place where they’d rounded up her few remaining chickens, the rabbits and their cages, and Nana, one in a long string of goats she and William had purchased because Ben had not tolerated cow’s milk well. They had tethered Shaggy Bear, her milk cow, to the wagon, loaded what feed she had and brought the whole kit and caboodle back to his place. When Caleb had come in for supper, she thought she’d heard him mumbling something about “milking goats” under his breath, but she could not be sure.
She was doing a top-to-bottom cleaning of the house and admitted that caring for it was much easier than caring for hers. While not a fancy place per se, the Gentry home was more than a simple farmhouse, designed not only for the convenience of a farming family, but also with an eye toward rustic charm. The house was the product of Gentry money, yet nowhere was there a hint of ostentation. The oak floors had been planed smooth and waxed to a satin sheen, as had the bookcases flanking the massive rock fireplace that was the hub of the parlor. The plaster walls throughout were painted in various colors, most of them too dark for Abby’s taste, but classic colors that somehow suited Caleb.
Though blessed with a fine house, Emily Gentry seemed to have taken little interest in putting her stamp on it. Abby understood being so dragged down by pregnancy that regular cleaning became a chore, but where were the little touches that showed care and love? Other than a quilt or two and the occasional pastel drawing Emily had done, there were few of the personal touches Abby felt transformed lumber and nails from a house into a sanctuary away from the cares of the world.
If it were her home, she would paint the rooms light colors and swap the heavy drapes framing the windows for white muslin curtains, perhaps with a crochet-and-tassel edging to brighten things up.
Shame on you, Abby Carter! How dare you presume to redecorate a dead woman’s house or think it lacked love?
Why, Caleb himself had indicated that even though Abby had lost her husband, she could have no idea how he felt at his own loss. A sudden wave of melancholy for the simple, love-filled house she and William had once shared swept through Abby, but she pushed it aside. Indulging in nostalgia for the past served as little purpose as speculating on Emily Gentry’s personality and her relationship with her husband.
Caleb never so much as mentioned her name, and though Abby saw the grimness in his eyes as he approached each day with stubborn determination, she knew only too well what he must be going through.
Though she and William had not seen eye to eye the last months of their marriage, she had loved him, and it was weeks before anyone could mention his name without her tearing up. But as her preacher had counseled her, God made our wondrous bodies not only to heal themselves when overtaken with physical problems—if given care and time—He had done the same with our emotions. Time, he had told her, was the cure for her sorrow. He’d been right. There were still moments when thoughts of William brought tightness to her throat and tears to her eyes, but for the most part he had been relegated to a special place in her memories and her heart.
So, when things became tense and stilted between her and Caleb, she reminded herself of his recent loss and prayed that the sharpest edges of his pain would be smoothed over by God’s grace.
And you still haven’t decided what to fix for supper.
She was debating on whether to cook a pot of beans or fry some salt pork and potatoes and cook up the turnip and mustard greens Leo had picked for her that morning, when she heard footsteps on the front porch. Caleb must be back. Then, hearing a woman’s voice and what had to be more than one person’s footsteps, Abby leaped to her feet. It must be someone coming to pay his respects. She had been so careful not to overstep the boundaries of the duties Caleb had outlined that she wasn’t sure if she should answer the door or not.
Then again, he wasn’t here. Deciding that she should welcome his guests, she hurried through the kitchen, smoothing both her hair and her apron as she went. She was halfway to the front door when it was pushed open, and Caleb, accompanied by a rush of cool air and carrying a pot of something, stepped through the opening. His in-laws followed, each holding a wooden tray covered by a tea towel. Their eyes were red-rimmed, but their wan faces wore resolute smiles.
Abby’s questioning gaze flickered to Caleb. “The people from town fixed enough food for an army,” he told her. “We brought what was left here.”
“Indeed they did,” Mary Emerson interjected, doing her best to summon a vestige of cheer. “There’s no way Bart and I can eat it all before it goes bad, and I know Caleb eats like a horse, so we decided to share with you and the children this evening. I hope you haven’t started supper.”
“No. No, I haven’t,” Abby told her. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Besides,” Mary added, with another smile, this one faint and sorrowful, “it seemed only right that we come spend some time with Betsy. Especially today.”
Again, Abby’s gaze sought Caleb’s, hoping to gauge his reaction to the impromptu visit, but he had already disappeared through the kitchen door, and she could only nod.
“We’ll just put it in the kitchen, then.”
“That’s fine,” Abby said as the older woman followed her husband and Caleb through the house.
Not wanting her presence to remind the Emersons of their loss, Abby decided that she should stay out of sight and hopefully out of mind. She went to check on the babies and found them still sleeping. Letting herself out the front door, she rounded the house to the back porch to check on Ben. He was still playing with his train, the three open cars loaded down with green-and-black objects.
Abby’s eyes widened when she recognized the cargo for what it was: onyx-and-jade chess pieces from the set displayed on the table next to the front window. A vivid recollection of the scene with Caleb and Ben she had interrupted mere days ago leaped into her mind. Her heart dropped to her toes and she sucked in a horrified breath. While she watched, he took the kings from their respective cars and began to have them “fight” each other. Her first instinct was to yell at him to put them down, but caution prevailed. If he dropped one of them and it broke, it would be total disaster!
Instead, she sauntered over to the steps. “Hi, sweetheart. Having fun?”
Ben’s head snapped up and his wide eyes met hers. The guilt she saw there said without words that he knew he was in trouble. He swallowed and nodded.
“Aren’t those Mr. Gentry’s chessmen?”
He nodded again.
Abby sat down on the steps. “What are you doing with them?”
“Just playing sheriff and train robber,” he said in a low voice.
“I see.” She hoped her tone was reasonable. “Did Mr. Gentry give you permission to play with them?”
If possible, Ben’s eyes grew even wider. “No, ma’am.” His voice was the merest thread of sound.
“Hmm,” she said with a nod. “You know full well you are not to bother other peoples’ belongings, don’t you, Benjamin?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then why did you?”
Ben stared at the now-abandoned chess pieces. “I just needed something to haul in my train. I was being careful.”
“I’m sure you meant no harm, and I’m sure you were being careful, but accidents happen. Remember Laura breaking the figurine? What if you’d broken one of Mr. Gentry’s chess pieces? What do you think he would say?”
