CHAPTER
25

Abigail found it difficult to eat much of her sandwich, what with the intense looks her husband kept shooting at her from across the table. He didn’t seem to suffer the same affliction, polishing off two ham sandwiches, the majority of the watermelon salad she’d tossed together, and the largest of the cinnamon buns she’d saved for his dessert.

Dropping her napkin over her unfinished supper, she stood, collected her plate, and reached for the salad bowl. “I’ll just clear these away, then join you in the parlor.”

Zach rose to his feet. “Leave ’em.” His fingers traced the curved table edge as he came toward her. “I’ll clean up after you go to bed.”

A man volunteering to do women’s work? Her father had never washed a dish in his life, as far as Abigail knew.

Her astonishment must have shown on her face, for Zach chuckled softly, the rich sound dancing along her nape and causing her skin to tingle. “I lived alone for nigh on a year before we hitched up. I ain’t allergic to dishwater.”

“But . . .” She couldn’t make herself put the plate down. It just felt wrong somehow. Irresponsible.

Then he took the plate from her and removed her only excuse to stall. Though why she felt the urge to stall, she couldn’t figure out. She wanted to spend time with him. Hadn’t she been planning that very thing? Apparently spending time alone with one’s husband was more easily accomplished in theory than in reality. Nerves and insecurities barely existed in the hypothetical world, but here in the sitting room, they swarmed around her head like angry bees with stingers poised.

“Join me in the parlor?” Zach extended his arm.

Her belly fluttered, and some of the bees dispersed. How could she resist such a gallant invitation?

Nodding, she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her from the room. When they entered the parlor, she tried to slip free in order to fetch the Kemp family Bible that she usually read from after dinner, but Zach captured her fingers and tugged them back into place on his forearm. He gave them a little pat, a silent instruction not to stray again, then picked up the Bible himself from the bookcase and promenaded her over to the settee.

She usually sat in the rocker by the lamp where the light was better, but not tonight. Tonight her husband had different plans. Plans that included the two of them on the settee, his large frame taking up most of the room. Not that she minded. She enjoyed the close quarters, her limbs pressed up against his. Though how she was supposed to find the breath needed for reading aloud was a mystery yet to unfold.

Zach handed the Bible to her, the thick tome thumping down onto her lap. Then he did the oddest thing. He pivoted in his seat. Away from her.

Maybe he wasn’t as keen on getting close as she’d thought.

Abigail tried to scoot closer to the arm on her end of the settee, but he glared at her.

“Wrong way.”

“I thought you needed more room.” Her hips were rather wide, after all. Even she and Rosalind had little elbow room when they shared this small sofa.

“Nope.”

He bent toward her and dragged her against his side, fitting her hips quite snugly between the back cushions and the outer edge of his thigh. His arm came around her shoulders, securing her position while at the same time comfortably supporting her neck. One of his legs remained firmly planted on the floor, but the other stretched out, his calf coming to rest on the settee’s opposite arm. She followed his example and balanced her ankles as well. Shoes didn’t belong on the furniture anyway.

Little by precarious little, Abigail relaxed against her husband. He smelled good. Like soap and something a little musky. He gave no further instructions. Offered no topic of conversation. He just sat there, breathing. As if he’d accomplished everything on his list.

Get wife into parlor—check. Snuggle close on settee—check.

Let wife make next move . . .

He might be waiting awhile on that one, since his wife had no idea what kind of move she should be making. The only thing she was sure about was that she liked being close to him. Feeling wanted. Accepted. No performance required. No expectations to meet.

She’d spent her whole life trying to prove herself worthy in her father’s eyes, to earn his approval and thereby justify her existence. An impossible task when he only found value in sons. Yet toward the end, he’d depended on her more and more. He’d never gone so far as to verbalize pride in her ability to run the business, but the criticisms had faded, and she’d convinced herself that was almost the same thing as praise.

As much as she enjoyed simply sharing Zach’s company, however, the idleness ate away at her peace of mind. She needed to do something. The mending basket sat across the room out of reach, and Zach had declared the dishes off-limits. So unless she wanted to start picking lint off the sofa upholstery, she had one option. Start reading.

Abigail fingered the Bible’s cover as she snuck a sideways glance at her husband. His attention seemed to be focused on a spot on either her neck or shoulder. She couldn’t tell which, but he seemed quite absorbed. Hopefully his attention was based on admiration and not on a spot of dirt or a sandwich crumb that had become lodged in the pleats of her blouse. Ordering herself not to investigate the misplaced crumb theory—she’d barely eaten enough to create crumbs in the first place—she tightened her grip on the Bible and turned her thoughts in a more pious direction.

She thumbed through the pages until she found her place in Romans where she’d left off the evening before, but as she smoothed the page, her heart tugged her toward a story that had come to mind earlier today. Failing to recall exactly where it was located, she flipped through Luke until she found the passage she sought in chapter ten.

Not quite willing to jump straight into the section that pricked her heart, she began reading aloud at verse twenty-five, the parable of the Good Samaritan.

The coziness of their position made her modulate her voice to a soft timbre appropriate for such intimacy. As she read, Zach stroked her arm. Then her neck. Then the tendrils of hair behind her ear. By the time she reached the story her heart had led her to, she was pretty sure he had ceased listening. She’d nearly ceased listening herself, what with all those distracting, tingle-inducing caresses, but as she began verse thirty-eight, her concentration sharpened.

“Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard his word. But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to him, and said, Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? Bid her therefore that she help me. And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.”

Abigail fell quiet. She stared at the words on the page without really seeing them. She didn’t need to see them. They throbbed in her chest, convicting her, rebuking her.

“I’m Martha,” she admitted quietly.

Zach’s fingers stilled at her nape, but they didn’t pull away. They simply came to rest, their warmth continuing to radiate against her skin. “Yep, you are. You work hard, aren’t afraid to take charge, and value practicality. All good qualities.”

“Not when all that work blinds me to what is truly important.” She brought her chin around to look into his face. “I let Rosalind down, Zach. I was so focused on making the bakery a success that I left her to deal with our father’s illness on her own. Worse, I never noticed the strain it was putting on her, nor the attention that scoundrel Julius paid her. If I hadn’t been so consumed with work, she might not have felt so alone. I would have noticed . . . could have talked her out of . . .”

The tears she’d worked so hard to hold at bay during her conversation with Rosalind finally found their freedom with Zach, as if his strength gave her permission to let down her guard.

“Hey. Come here.” Zach shifted positions, scooping her up and setting her across his lap. He ran the pad of his thumb over her cheek to wipe away the moisture. “None of that.”

He did look a bit panicked, now that she got a closer look at his eyes. Adorable man. Her lips twitched in the beginning of a grin.

“That’s better.” His heartfelt relief added another layer of balm to her soul. “We can’t change the past,” he said, stroking the side of her face. “All we can do is strive not to make the same mistakes in the future.”

“You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.”

“Yep.”

She waited for him to elaborate, and for a moment she thought he would. But then he gently guided her head to lie in the crook of his shoulder. It was a comfortable spot, one that could easily lull her into not caring that he was holding something back from her. Curiosity begged her to ask questions, but caution kept her lips sealed. Zach had been waiting patiently for her to open up to him physically. She supposed she owed him the same courtesy regarding emotional intimacy.

After all, she harbored a secret or two of her own.

Zach resumed his stroking, this time focusing his attentions on her arm. He did love his touching, and my, but she was quickly becoming addicted to his caresses.

“I’m glad Rosalind told you about the photographs,” he finally said, breaking the silence and changing the subject in a rather neat maneuver.

Abigail sighed. “Me too. I just wish I could do something to fix it for her.”

“You can stand by her. Might not fix the problem, but it’ll give her the courage to face it.”

She nuzzled a little closer and slid her palm up to rest over her husband’s heart. “I know, but the Martha in me wants to do something.”

“Don’t you go sellin’ Martha short, now,” Zach said, a smile in his voice. “As I recall, she was the one who ran out to meet the Lord on the road after her brother died, while her sister stayed home with the mourners. Martha confessed Jesus as the Christ and believed he could do anything through his Father’s power. That there’s a woman of faith.”

“Yes, well, she also told Jesus the body would stink after being in the tomb for four days when the Lord ordered the stone rolled away.”

Zach chuckled. “Gotta love a practical woman. Best kind to have around in a crisis. Keeps a man grounded.”

Grounded was all fine and good, but Abigail suddenly found she wanted to be the one to enable Zach to fly.