Wolf Creek Wedding Read online

  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 a
nd 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?”

  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.