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Ben looked up, his freckle-splashed face draining of color.
Abby sighed. “Well, no harm done. I don’t think he knows they are missing yet. I’ll put them back, and when Mr. and Mrs. Emerson leave, you will tell Mr. Gentry what you did and apologize.”
Ben’s face crumpled. “Do I have to?”
“You do.” Abby reached out and took the chess pieces from the train, placing them in the pockets of her skirt. “Why don’t you spend some time on your reading?”
“I’d rather go fishing,” the boy said, a forlorn look in his eyes.
A sudden pain racked Abby’s heart. Fishing was a venture Ben and his father had shared and something she knew Ben missed very much. She swallowed back the tightness in her throat and forced a smile. “It would be nice for you to get in one more good fishing session before it gets too cold,” she agreed. “The next time we go into town, I’ll ask Dr. Rachel if Danny can come out one day and fish. Frank says some mighty big crappie live in Wolf Creek.”
“That would be fun,” Ben said, his eyes brightening. Rachel’s son, Daniel, was Ben’s best friend. “Maybe we could take a picnic the way we used to when Dad...”
The sentence trailed away and his smile faded.
“A picnic is a definite possibility,” Abby said, “if the wind isn’t blowing too much for the baby. It’s still pretty warm, and we could take a basket for her and a quilt for Laura, though I think she’ll be walking before much longer.”
Ben’s wide grin made Abby’s heart glad. “Yeah, she’s pulling up to everything the past few days.”
“If we had the picnic at midday, Mr. Gentry might like to join us,” Abby suggested.
Ben’s happy smile vanished. He looked up, his mouth already open to tell her that he didn’t want Caleb to come along.
Abby tapped his mouth with a gentle finger “Matthew 7:12.”
“Treat others the way you want to be treated,” he said in a disgusted tone.
“Close enough,” Abby said with a smile. “Now go find something to read for an hour or so. The Emersons have come to see Betsy and they brought supper, so there will be a lot of good things to choose from.” She winked at him. “I even saw a chocolate cake.”
Ben’s blue eyes brightened at the mention of his favorite.
“This is a sad time for them, Ben, so be extra nice, all right?”
Ben nodded. Abby bent and pressed a kiss to his white-blond hair, then ushered him through the kitchen and into the parlor. To her surprise, he went straight to Mary Emerson and gave her a hug, following suit with Bart. Abby felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids. He was a sweet boy.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze moving from one adult to the other and lingering on Caleb, whom he made no move to hug. Then without another word, he went to the room he shared with Abby.
She stifled a groan while fighting the conflicting urge to smile. The apology had not only been for Ben’s sorrow about Emily. By snaring Caleb’s eye, she somehow felt Ben had cleverly included his regret for playing with the chessmen without permission. Well, she might as well follow suit and take the coward’s way out, too. There wasn’t much Caleb could do or say with Emily’s parents in the room. Straightening her shoulders, she crossed the room to the chess set, pulled the pieces from her pocket and placed them on the board. Heaven only knew if they belonged in a special spot. She was only thankful they were undamaged.
That done, she shot Caleb a quick glance. It was no surprise to see that his pewter-hued eyes had gone a stormy gray, like gloomy, rain-drenched clouds before a summer thunderstorm, one that would no doubt hit after the Emersons left.
* * *
Bart and Mary spent the remainder of the afternoon alternating between rocking Betsy and going through Emily’s belongings, separating them into piles to keep, be given away or be tossed. Caleb had retreated to the fields, telling them to take whatever they wanted. Abby spent the afternoon taking care of the babies’ needs, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible and biting her trembling bottom lip and blinking back her own tears when the sounds of sobbing escaped through the closed door.
By late afternoon, the chore was done, and everything was packed into two trunks and loaded onto Bart’s wagon. Abby made sure that supper was warm when they finished, so that Mary, who must be emotionally exhausted, would not feel the need to offer her help.
The meal was over and they were almost finished washing the dishes when Mary said, “I understand from Rachel that you didn’t bring much with you.”
“No. We were in a bit of a hurry to get here.”
“If you’d like, I can drive out early in the morning to watch the children while Caleb takes you to gather your things. I know you’d be more comfortable if Laura had her crib.”
“I appreciate it, Mrs. Emerson, but I’m not sure that would be convenient for Caleb, and I don’t want to make any more work on him than necessary.”
“Please call me Mary,” Emily’s mother said. “I’ve already talked to him, and he’s fine with it, as long as you don’t mind my watching Ben and Laura.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
Mary’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached out and clasped one of Abby’s hands. “Bart and I are so very glad that you’re here for Betsy and Caleb, and we want to do everything we can so that you’ll feel more at home.”
Abby was overwhelmed by the heartfelt declaration. “Thank you, but I’m sure you’d have found someone, and actually, I’m the grateful one.”
Mary and Bart left soon after the dishes were washed and put away. Just before stepping onto the front porch, a tearful Mary pulled Abby into a close embrace. “If you or the children ever need anything, please let either me or Bart know.”
Abby promised she would and watched the carriage disappear down the lane. She drew a relieved breath at the older woman’s glad acceptance of the situation. If only she could somehow bring some of that acceptance and just a smidgen of joy into Caleb’s life, perhaps the next few months would be worth it.
* * *
Abby and Ben were in the parlor later, having their evening devotional, when Caleb came into the room. Abby looked up from the verse she was reading and found his gaze on Ben. She held her breath, hoping against hope that he would not fly off the handle.
“Ben.”
“Sir?”
Abby heard the quaver in his voice.
“That chess set was a gift to me from Doc Stone,” Caleb said in an even voice that somehow managed to fall just short of angry. “It isn’t a toy, son, and it isn’t to be played with unless you’re playing an actual game of chess. If you want to learn—”
“Don’t call me son!” Ben shouted, lifting his belligerent blue gaze to Caleb’s.
“Benjamin!” Abby cried, leaping to her feet. She was stunned by Ben’s sudden outburst, when Caleb had been trying to discuss the matter in a conciliatory tone. “You will apologize to Mr. Gentry at once.”
“I won’t!” he yelled, scrambling off the sofa and running to the bedroom. “I’m not his son!” The door slammed with a jarring thud.
Abby lifted her horrified gaze to Caleb’s, wondering if he would tell her to start packing “I—I’m so sorry,” she said in a near whisper. “I don’t know what got into him.”
His silvery eyes held a weary sorrow. “I do. I understand exactly why he’s upset. I’ve been where he is, remember?”
Abby recalled that he’d lost his mother when he was young. “You’re being very decent about this.”
“You told me yourself to expect that kind of outburst, and even though I may be short-tempered and stubborn, I like to think I am a decent man.”
“I never meant to imply—”
A fleeting sorrowful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I know.”
Abby regarded him thoughtfully and set out to try to make him understand. “Ben had no idea how expensive that chess set is, but that’s neither here nor there. He knows better than to bother other people’s things. I’m not trying to make excuses, but he just wanted something to haul in his train cars. He—”
“Leave it, Abby,” Caleb said, but the weariness of his smile took the sting from the command. “I was going to offer to teach him how to play chess in the evenings, but I don’t think he’d be very receptive to that just now.”
Without another word, he crossed the room and began moving the chess pieces, presumably where they had been before Ben confiscated them. Caleb had made no mention of sending them packing, and she wasn’t going to bring it up. She gave a rueful shake of her head, not fully understanding why he had not flown off the handle, but grateful that he had not. It was progress. Of sorts.
* * *
Bright and early the following morning, while dew still sparkled on the browning grass, Abby found herself seated in the wagon beside Caleb. Mary had arrived shortly after daybreak to take care of the children. She’d brought along a newfangled bottle from the mercantile so that she could give Betsy a little sugar water if she grew fussy before Abby returned. Frank, the older of Caleb’s two hired hands, followed the wagon on a bay gelding.
Caleb leaned forward, his elbows resting on his denim-clad knees, his tanned, callused hands holding the reins in a loose grasp. Completely and easily in control. Again, she thought that even though he was not what one might call handsome, there was something striking about him. It was no wonder that he’d once been the catch of Pike County, or little doubt that once a decent time of mourning had passed, he would be again.
It was only when it came to expressing the more tender emotions that Caleb Gentry seemed to be wanting. That and the lack of a relationship with God. She wondered why he had left no place in his life for a God who had been so generous to him, but she was far too cautious to ask. In truth, she spoke to him as little as possible, since she had the impression that he did not want anyone getting too close to him and seemed disinclined to get close to anyone, which was rather sad, even though it made her life easier.
She glanced again at his hands. They were strong hands, hands whose callused palms and scarred fingers spoke of hard work. She’d seen those hands move in unerring swiftness to soothe a nervous horse and calmly remove an adventurous kitten from the branches of an oak tree, proving he was capable of tenderness. Yet for some reason that kindheartedness was not extended to people—at least not that she had seen.
Well, that was not exactly true. Even in the few days she had been at the farm, she’d seen his softening toward Laura, who made a habit of pulling up to his legs and demanding that he hold her, something he did without hesitation or complaint. He even allowed her to explore his face, poking her tiny fingers into his ears and eyes, and once offering him a wet, openmouthed kiss. When he’d swiped a palm down his cheek and made a soft growling sound of disgust, Laura had laughed in delight, which only made his scowl grow fiercer. It was all Abby could do to keep from laughing herself, but she managed to stifle the urge, knowing it would not do at all.
She saw him growing more confident with Betsy, too, as he made time for her after the evening meal and before going to his study to work on his account ledgers. Abby wondered if he saw Emily’s face when he looked down at their daughter’s delicate features. Once, he ran a strong finger over the curve of Betsy’s cheek, and remembering the little shock that had run through her when their hands touched, Abby experienced a brief, sudden stab of longing. It seemed like aeons since she had felt the tenderness of a man’s touch. Would she ever again bask in the certainty that she was so cherished?
“Are you all right?”
The sound of his voice brought her wandering thoughts back to the present. Her gaze flew to his, which held a curious gleam. “Y-yes. Why do you ask?”
“You made a strange sound, and I thought something might be bothering you.”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
She slid him a sideways glance and said the first thing that came to mind. “No offense, Mr. Gentry, but you don’t pay me enough to be privy to my thoughts.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could call them back. They were something she might have said to William. Almost...flirty, somehow. And totally inappropriate.
He regarded her for a moment, and then something bearing close kinship to a smile lifted one corner of his mouth for a heartbeat. “No offense taken, Mrs. Carter, and you’re right. It’s just that it’s seldom you’re so quiet. You’re always talking to the children about something—even Laura and Betsy, who have no idea what you’re saying.”
“I was just respecting your privacy. You don’t seem like the kind of man who indulges in idle chitchat.”
“You’re right,” he said with a slow nod. “I have little use for chitchat and gossip, but I enjoy an intelligent discussion now and again.”
Abby wasn’t surprised that he valued intelligence. Chess was not a game for dummies, and no man who handled the myriad business responsibilities he did could be lacking in intelligence. If his impressive book collection was any indication, he was well read. The shelves on either side of the parlor fireplace were filled with titles that ranged from F. H. Bradley’s The Principles of Logic to treatises on successful farming. There were many poetry and art-related books, no doubt Emily’s. Abby tried to envision the creative Emily sharing her views on art and literature with her husband.
“I suppose you miss those discussions with Emily,” Abby said, partly to keep the conversation going and partly because she was curious about his relationship with his dead wife.
“Emily and I had few common interests,” he told her in a tone that said that line of conversation had ended.
“So,” she asked after a few uncomfortable moments, “what shall we talk about?”
“You.”
“Me?” She choked back a laugh. “There isn’t much to tell, I assure you. You’d be very bored.”
“That remains to be seen. From what you said the other day, your husband valued your comments and opinions, so I admit that I’m curious to hear some of them.” He slanted a wry look her way and added, “A bit taken aback by your forwardness, but curious nonetheless. I’m also interested as to why you agreed to help me with Betsy.”
“That’s simple,” she said with her customary bluntness. “Money.”
He shot her a shocked look. “Rachel never led me to believe you were the avaricious type.”
Again, Abby berated herself for speaking without thinking. This man was not William, and should not be answered with flippancy. “Oh, I’m not. Not really. I have little use for money for its sake, but we were forced to borrow against the farm, and the wages you’ve agreed to pay me will help me get caught up at the bank.”
Caleb frowned. “I thought you bought your place outright.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Ah. Gossip?” she challenged.
This time there was no denying his dry smile or the hint of color that crept into his lean cheeks. “The good old Wolf Creek grapevine,” he acknowledged with a nod.
“The good old Wolf Creek grapevine had it right,” she told him. “When my parents died, William and I used the money from the sale of their home to buy the farm and the equipment we’d need to farm it. And if you’ve heard that much gossip, you also know that he was a teacher, not a farmer. He had to borrow against the land.”
“I know he took a job with the Southwestern Arkansas and Indian Territory Railroad Company.”
“Yes,” Abby said quietly. Neither mentioned that William Carter had been killed a short time after his daughter’s birth while trying to connect two lumber-loaded railcars headed for an out-of-state market. Neither did Abby mention to Caleb that a few days before the accident, he had confided with an air of excitement that he had a potential buyer for the farm and he was thinking of taking the offer and moving them back to Springfield, Missouri, to be near his brother and his family.
Unfortunately, William was killed before anything could come of the deal, and Abby had no idea who the prospective buyer was.
“He should never have borrowed against the land,” Caleb said into the gathering silence.
“That’s an easy thing for someone like you to say,” she told him, the memories bringing past heartache to the surface.
“Someone like me? What does that mean?” he asked, his tone mirroring his irritation.
“Someone who has money, has always had money and who never has to worry about how to buy feed for their livestock, or put food on the table or buy shoes for their children. Someone who has options.”
Caleb didn’t comment for long moments. When he turned his head to look at her, there was genuine concern in his eyes, but Abby, who was looking out over the dew-drenched fields, didn’t see it. “So you did decide to take the job because of the money...because you had no other option.”
Her gaze flew to his. “Oh! You make it sound so mercenary. Yes, I needed the money, but I wanted to help, too. Believe it or not, I do not pull wings off butterflies, nor am I greedy and avaricious.”
Confusion filled his eyes. “I never thought you were. How have you managed these past months?”
Sensing that he was not angry, she gave a little shake of her head. “Though I hate to admit it, I’ve sold nearly everything I had that would bring a decent price.” When he made no comment, she added, “Your offer was the answer to my prayers.”
“Really?” he asked with an arched eyebrow of his own. “What took Him so long?”
“I beg your pardon,” Abby said, not following or understanding the sarcasm in his voice.
“God. What took Him so long to answer your prayers? Why didn’t He provide some sort of help sooner? Where was He when your husband died?”
Abby looked at him, taken aback. “It isn’t for us to question His plan for us,” she told him in an even tone. “Through faith, we believe that all will work out the way He wants it to, and for our benefit. And as for where He was when William died, I would imagine God was where He was when His son died.”
Caleb had the grace to look bowled over by that answer. Though he wanted to ask if she dealt with William’s loss by trusting that everything would come out all right and that something better was around the corner, he was silent.
“Surely you believe in God.” The statement was simple and to the point.
“I suppose so,” he said with a negligent lift of broad shoulders. “It’s just that my brother and I were taught to rely on ourselves, so I haven’t had many dealings with God.”
