Seventeen

Abigail was simply furious and unbelieving. Why would Harry leave her company to walk off with Harriet? She could not comprehend such an act. He must have badly needed something Harriet had. “Yep, just has to be the explanation,” she mumbled to herself. Many depended on the blacksmith shop. Probably, Harry required something for his homestead, causing him to run off as he had. Somewhat settled by her reasoning, she muttered, “I must learn not to get overly excited about inattention if I am to be a married woman.”

Abigail already had confided in her friends how she intended to make Harry her husband. She thought he was strong and powerful, and perhaps even handsome in his own rough way. She knew he had managed to not merely file a homestead claim but also to negotiate for the slice of land the Jacobs held beside the river. That meant he’d be a success. The only thing ever getting the better of the local farms and ranches was the drought. Granted, even the riverbed could dry up, but that was usually the last to go. By the time a drought was really bad, recovery was never far off. All these thoughts had filled her head as she resolved to become Mrs. Harry Barton. She liked the sound of the words. Mrs. Abigail Barton had a definite ring to it. And she had a habit of getting her way.

She also had confided in her mother what her plans were, and had found her to be most supportive. Favorably impressed during the barn raising, both parents thought their daughter had made a fine choice. “Do you want me to speak with the man?” her father offered.

“Father,” she’d replied, “it’s too soon to go scaring him off. Let me be sure he knows who I am and has a chance to learn my charms.”

“You will be as irresistible to him as you are to me,” her father had assured her.

She needed no such assurance, as she was as confident as one could be. The idea her first approach had been interrupted in no way deterred her, though she’d noticed Harry offering Harriet his elbow as they walked. She hadn’t much liked his showing such attention to the blacksmith, but consoled herself with the thought that it simply proved what a gentleman Harry was.

Yes, she mused, he’d make her a fine husband.

That evening, she broached the topic with her father. “I spoke with Mr. Barton at church today, Father.”

He looked up from his dinner. “That’s nice.”

“It wasn’t quite so nice because we were interrupted.”

He raised his brows. “That’s too bad.”

“I was thinking maybe we could make a good neighbor visit to his homestead.”

For a moment, he looked wary. “What exactly do you have in mind, daughter? When I offered to speak to him, you claimed it was too soon. Have you changed your mind about that?”

“Perhaps you could speak to him soon. But in the meantime, I thought I might bake a pie this evening, and we could deliver it tomorrow. Maybe there is something around here that could help him on his ranch?”

“I see. What did you have in mind?”

“Ben and Sue gave him those three hens, and later sold him one of their cows.”

“And, not surprisingly, you, my daughter, have your own plans already set, right?”

“What about a rooster? As I mentioned, Ben and Sue gave him hens at the barn raising. Those three have to be mighty lonesome and without a rooster, will never produce chicks to increase his flock. Don’t you think if you gave him one, he might get the message that having a mate to help with reproduction is a good idea,” she said with a sly grin.

“I see your point, and I guess I can help you with the delivery. We can spare a cockerel. I’ll think of it as part of your dowry. How’s that sound? What time do you want to go out there tomorrow?”

“Whenever you can take me.”

“I have my chores first thing. What about our riding out there around eleven o’clock? We’ll get there in time so he can enjoy some of your pie for lunch.”

“Wonderful.”

Abigail baked a pie, and that evening she had sweet dreams of Harry. She imagined being lost in the big man’s arms. She marveled at the remembrances of him working at the barn raising. He’d worked harder than any other in town and that was saying a good deal. Few slackers made a success at farming and ranching.

She believed another look at her and a taste of her pie would do the trick. She had always heard the quickest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Harry looked as though he enjoyed his food. Her mother’s pies were legend in the region, and her mother had dutifully taught her daughter each and every one of her secrets. Anticipation filled her with excited flutterings.

In the morning, Abigail primped. She took her time to prepare. She chose a gingham dress that showed her off to full advantage. She brushed her hair one hundred strokes. It shone beautifully. Then she tied a ribbon in it to match the yellow of her gown.

At long last, it was time to ride out in the carriage with her father. Under their seat was a crate with the rooster. She held her pie in her lap, determined to avoid spills.

As they rode onto Harry’s homestead, she could see he was not alone. To Abigail’s disappointment, Ben Brown worked alongside the object of her desires. She had hoped for Harry’s full attention.

The two men stopped their labor and walked over to greet the visitors. Ben helped Abigail from the carriage as Harry extended his hand to shake that of her father. “Good to see you, Mr. Henderson. What brings you out here this fine day?”

“Just a neighborly visit,” he replied. “Abigail noticed Ben and Sue had made a gift of chickens when we were all here for the barn raising. My daughter grew concerned that without a mate, your hens would be unable to increase your flock, so she wanted to make you a gift of a rooster.” He reached under the seat of their carriage and brought out the crate.

“That’s mighty nice of you,” Harry thanked the man. He looked over at Abigail’s eager eyes. “Abigail, I do appreciate your thinking of my chickens. No doubt, they’ll find some male company a fine idea.” He stopped as Abigail let out a giggle. “I thank you heartily.”

She smiled warmly and said nothing. She wanted him to notice her womanly charms without breaking the mood by speaking.

Abigail glided along with him as he walked into the barn and opened the crate to release the bird. The hens clucked, the rooster preened. Harry chuckled. “I wonder what their conversation is all about.”

With that, he turned and walked away, not so much as offering her his arm. Perhaps he wasn’t such a gentleman, after all. Huffing, she told herself she would correct that little flaw before long.

“They seem to be getting along well,” Harry announced. “I’ll bet my egg production will pick up quickly and it will be nice to have chicks in time.”

“No doubt,” his benefactor agreed.

Abigail smiled and gazed up at Harry through her lashes, knowing it was best to look demure. “I’ve read that all creatures, animals, birds, and especially humans, need mates to keep them happy and healthy.”

Harry annoyed her by grinning at Ben after a mere glance at her while she finished speaking. “You could be right. Ben certainly looks happy and healthy.”

Father cleared his throat. “Abigail, I believe you have something else for our new neighbor?”

“Oh my, yes,” Abigail announced, handing the pie to Harry. “This is my mother’s recipe known far and wide around here as the best apple pie you can find. I do hope you will enjoy it.”

“I’m sure we will,” Harry replied, looking toward Ben.

“I’ll enjoy it,” Ben said excitedly. “I’ve had the pleasure of eating your mother’s pie before, and it is indescribable.”

“Just remember I baked this one,” Abigail reminded the two men. “I baked it to say welcome, Mr. Barton… er, Harry.”

“I am touched by the generosity of all my neighbors. Thank you kindly.”

Abigail stood her ground, counting on more attention and possibly an invitation of some sort. But none came. After a few long minutes of silence, her father broke the stalemate. “Abigail, I think we’d best get along home. These men have work to do, as do I.” He tipped his hat, and climbed into the carriage. Abigail did not move.

Getting the hint, Harry walked to her side, offered his arm, and escorted her to the carriage. When she was seated, he irritated her by saying, “May I have my hand back?”

“Of course,” she murmured, hiding her chagrin with what she’d been told was an endearing smile.

As her father drove off, Abigail was pleased at having successfully delivered the message of the chickens—and every other creature—needing a mate. That ought to get the man thinking about his own unmarried state. Ben had praised her pie, meaning Harry would take note it was something unusual and special. Yes, all in all, it had been a worthy step toward the altar. But how disappointing the lack of invitation from Harry had been.

She suddenly worried maybe Harriet was occupying his time in some manner. There must be an explanation for him not extending an offer for a ride or picnic, or something in appreciation for her pie baking. After riding a short time, wondering how she might find out, she asked her father, “Could we drive into town for a quick stop?”

“I suppose. But I can only spare a half-hour or so. I have chores to do.”

“I understand. That will be fine.”

“Where do you need to go?”

“The blacksmith shop,” she instructed. “I want to speak with Harriet about Harry.”

“What’s she got to do with Harry?”

“She seems to be a friend of his, and I want to see if she’ll help me get better acquainted.”

“Fair enough. I’ll drop in on Otis and see if he has anything of interest. Your mother’s birthday is right around the corner, you know.”

“I remember, Father. Don’t worry. I’m making her a new doily for her dressing table.”

“Do you need anything you don’t have?”

Abigail always needed something. “Could you buy me some ribbon for my hair?”

“What color and how much?”

She placed her specific order as they arrived into town. He stopped the carriage at the blacksmith’s and asked his daughter to come over to the store whenever she was done. “Don’t dawdle,” he said, though she was fully aware he’d wait until she’d completed her mission.

~ * ~

Abigail’s appearance surprised Harriet, and not pleasantly. She put her hammer down, and met the young woman close to the entrance. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to ask you a favor. You are friends with Harry Barton, and I want to get to know him better. My father and I were just out at his homestead. Papa gave him a rooster to mate with his hens. Harry was most grateful. I think he’s been considering the importance of having a mate.” She smiled that sly little smirk of hers and paused. For effect, Harriet surmised, in case the subtlety of the message carried by such a gift, somehow could be lost on her.

“I baked a pie just like my mother taught me. He is probably enjoying it right now.”

“Mighty kind of you and your father,” Harriet commented.

“Yes, but I was sorely disappointed when Harry did not ask me out for a ride or anything. I mean, we drove all the way out there, I was pretty in my best gingham dress, with my hair shiny, and my ribbon matching,” the conceited girl boasted. “Why would he not react to my pie with more personal attention? I just don’t understand.” She pouted.

Harriet shrugged. “He was probably busy.” In truth, she was glad to hear of Harry’s inattention.

“I can understand he’s busy, but that’s no reason not to pay attention to me, is it?”

“I suppose not.” The self-absorption of this young woman amused Harriet almost as much as it irritated. She’d never had friends the ilk of this one and she’d had few conversations involving self-praise. This was a new experience.

“I want you to suggest to Harry the proper thing to do when a young woman brings him a pie is to ask that woman out. I mean, he could accompany me to church. I saw him there, outside.”

“I remember. I was there,” she reminded Abigail.

“I know, and you interrupted our discussion. You walked away just when I was beginning to speak with Harry,” Abigail complained.

“I am sorry. I don’t recall interrupting. I left so you might speak with him.”

“Perhaps that was your intention, but he walked away, too, and joined you. I can’t imagine why he would do such a thing when I was standing right beside him. I really do not understand at all. What is it he wanted with you?”

Harriet was uncertain how to reply. Abigail wanted her to explain what she perceived as Harry’s abrupt departure? It wasn’t as if she’d dragged him by the hand. “He wanted to tell me about the progress he’d made at the homestead since I’d last seen the place.”

“Oh, so I was right. He just wanted to talk about work. I’m here to tell you what they say about ‘all work and no play’ is absolutely right. He needs more than work in his life, and I want him to see that. I want to offer him what he does not have—a wife, a real home, a family. I want you to help me do it.”

“Me? I know nothing about such things,” Harriet said bluntly. “I cannot tell anybody what is proper and what is not when it comes to courtship. I have no experience.”

“I realize that full well,” Abigail said with a light, scornful laugh. “You’re just a blacksmith. But I know a good deal about such things. I just need half a chance, and I need you to help me.”

“Help you how? I don’t know what I could do. Why don’t you seek advice from your friends? I don’t even know you. This is only the second time you and I have even spoken.”

“Well, we never had reason to speak before. It’s not as though we have much in common.” The girl swept a long, insulting stare from Harriet’s face, down her utilitarian work-clothes, to her sturdily booted feet. Then, she continued, “Now we do have something in common. You’re Harry’s friend and I want to be his wife. Of course I expect you to help me. And him.” Abigail pouted again. “Is that really too much to ask?” Her tone had turned sarcastic.

“Don’t you think it would be rather presumptuous for me to tell Harry what he ought to do simply because you gave him a pie? He is a grown man.”

“Possibly, but what do you care? He probably doesn’t know about etiquette in our town.”

“I don’t know about such things in our town.”

“Well I’m telling you what he ought to do.”

“That doesn’t make it etiquette.”

“Why are you being so stubborn? I thought you’d help me.”

“I simply think you haven’t thought out this idea of yours. First of all, how is it I would even know you brought Harry a pie, unless you told me? Second, if I suggest what you have asked, he’ll know you put me up to it. Third, most men with whom I’m acquainted do not like to be told what to do. You may be going about this thing with Harry all wrong.”

Abigail listened then grimaced. “I hadn’t thought of all that. I guess you’re right.” Then she conceded, “I’m used to boys, not men.”

“I really do need to get back to work.”

“Well, all right. But I want your promise if Harry asks you what he should do about my bringing a pie to his place, you’ll suggest he should reciprocate by inviting me some place. Perhaps on a picnic, that would do. Okay? Promise?”

Harriet figured there was no possibility of Harry asking her such a question. She really needed to get rid of Abigail and direct attention back to work. She shrugged and replied, “Yeah, I promise.”

Harriet sighed. The idea of a woman getting someone else to put in a good word to help her to trap a husband appalled her. Who would do such a thing? The answer was clear: Abigail.

Later in the day, Sheriff West came around to the smithy. “How you doing, Harriet?”

“Just fine, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

“Wanted you to know the prisoner is back where he belongs.”

“Good to hear.”

“Seems another bounty is to be paid, but Mr. Featherbee wants none of it.”

“I see,” Harriet commented, wondering why the gambler was so gallant. She was surprised he’d meant what he said.

“I have it all here for you.” He handed it over in cash. “I do believe you earned it. Just sign this paper for me. Have to deal with the paperwork.”

She did, with some reluctance. “I’ll make a point to treat Mr. Featherbee to a dinner if he’ll let me,” she remarked. “Or a night or two’s free stabling for his horse.”

“Sounds like a fine idea. I am glad he came around that night.” West turned, about to leave, but then rotated back, facing her.

“Something else?” Harriet asked.

“Probably nothing, but thought I should mention it.” He looked uneasy. “Seems Harry stopped by the office when I was out and spoke to my deputy. It was the evening of that fire you had. Charlie told him about your run-in with the prisoner, and I figured you ought to know he knew.”

“Oh,” she muttered, with displeasure lacing her voice. “I’d have preferred he’d not learned about it.”

“I thought you might. But it’s impossible to keep folks from wagging tongues. You know this town.”

“Yep, I guess I do at that,” she smiled. Then, curious, she asked, “But what brought Harry to your office?”

“Seems he wanted directions to the Trolls’ place.” The sheriff studied Harriet for a reaction. She could feel the scrutiny of his eyes.

She feigned failure to understand. “What did he want with the Trolls?”

“I reckon he was going to warn them off of messing with you, don’t you figure?”

Harriet squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I don’t need anyone fighting my battles.”

“Dang! I didn’t mean to go starting a ruckus between friends, and I doubt he meant it that way,” the sheriff commented. “Can’t say I mind any help at all in reigning in those Trolls. If I only had some evidence Thaddeus did as we all know he did, I’d bring him in.”

“Can’t lock up someone for what we know and can’t prove,” Harriet declared.

“Nope, we can’t. Sometimes I wish I could. It isn’t right that man going around messing with other people’s property. It’s just not right.”

"Shouldn't worry over what you can’t do anything about, Sheriff. You do your job well. One day or other we’ll catch him and stop him. Until then, we have to be watchful.”

“Maybe Harry got through to the Trolls. Maybe we’ll be lucky and they’ll move away from here.”

“Perhaps, but I hate the idea of shipping our troubles to someone else.”

“I guess you’re right. Just the same, I wouldn’t mind it if they moved along.”

Then Harriet had an idea. “Do you think the Trolls might move on if someone offered them a good price for their place?”

“What do you have in mind?”

She handed the bounty money back to the sheriff. “Why don’t you see if they’ll sell their place for this. If so, then we’ll deal with what to do with the property later. We’d all have greater peace of mind, if this carrot works. I’ve always thought a carrot was better than a stick in getting what one wants.”

“Dang! That’s one hell—heck of a fine idea, Harriet. You know animals, and Thaddeus is sort of an animal. Not a whole person anyway.” Sheriff West brushed his hat back on his head and raised an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”

“Never more sure, Sheriff.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see what I can do. If this plan works, you’ll have the whole town beholden to you.”

“Not just to me. I’m betting Harry softened the pair up for your arrival.”

A broad smile filled the man’s face. “Maybe he has at that. We’ll see.”

As West sauntered away, thumbs in his gun belt, mixed emotions welled up inside Harriet. Harry had intended to protect her from the Trolls, no doubt by using strong-arm tactics. That had to mean he cared about her. She found that part of the story enthralling. But at the same time she resented the very idea anyone believed she needed a man for protection. Why, she had always looked after herself and had done so quite well. She took pride in that.

The more she thought about the situation with this man who had come into her life, the more confused she became. Was Harry merely watching out for a friend and the town, or was he interested in her as more than a mere friend? Had he felt the fire flowing through her veins as he held her up to paint the swatch of her house with the smoke stain?

As the feeling revisited her body, she was grateful the house had needed repair. Did that mean, in some twisted way, she was no longer angry over what Thaddeus had tried to do? What an odd thought.

Then her mind drifted to the young pretty women in town—Abigail and others. Her stomach churned, but she resolved she would not fret over the actions of such girls. They would know how to pluck at any man’s heartstrings. She did not. Nor did she really want to learn how to play such a game. Nope, if a man needed games, then she would not be the prize in such a match.

While saddened at her resolution to watch from the sidelines, Harriet couldn’t quite quench the glimmer of hope in her heart.

Perhaps Harry had not come to town to play games.