Epilogue

TEN DAYS LATER

Abigail never thought she’d actually be pleased to have a kitchen full of sweaty, grunting men, but she had to admit that they made a lovely frame around her new Montgomery Ward cookstove.

“A little more to the right,” she directed as her husband and Reuben adjusted the heavy cast-iron range. “There! Nate, does the exhaust pipe line up properly?”

The boy, who’d been left in charge of the hollow pipe, jumped back onto the chair he’d been using and fit the large L-shaped cylinder to the rear of the stove, then twisted to see if the end would connect to the wall in the same place as her old industrial oven. Abigail said a quick prayer. This was the fourth time they’d adjusted the position of the cookstove, and she had a feeling that if it didn’t match up this time, Zach would just cut a new hole in the wall.

“I think if I twist it around a little . . . yes! It fits.”

“Wonderful!” Abigail clapped her hands even as she sent a silent thank-you heavenward. “I’ll pour the celebratory lemonade while you gentlemen finish up the final connections.”

Reuben exhaled an exaggerated groan, pressing his palms into his lower back as he slowly straightened his posture. “How long until you order the bigger oven? I think I’m going to need a year or two to recover from installing this one.”

“Milksop,” Zach grouched good-naturedly as he squished his large frame behind the oven to secure the exhaust pipe.

Reuben shrugged off the insult and handed Zach a wrench. “What can I say? Old age is setting in. Making me frail.”

Zach snorted. “You’re about as frail as a slab of granite.”

Reuben made a fist and examined his bicep. “You think so?”

Abigail rolled her eyes. Men. They had their foibles, but they had their good points too. She and Rosalind never would have managed this stove on their own. Filling three glasses of lemonade, she thanked God for bringing these particular men into her life. A dear friend always ready to lend a helping hand, a boy with a big heart and a head that soaked up knowledge wherever he went, and her husband—the man she couldn’t imagine living without.

Who would have guessed that a ridiculous, antiquated city ordinance would bring her the biggest blessing of her life?

But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good. The words Joseph had spoken to his brothers after their jealousy led them to sell him into slavery resonated in her heart as if they were her own. Sophia had intended her harm, but God had used it for good. He’d given her a true partner in life, one who saw her as an equal, who respected her and loved her even with her abundant curves and independent mindset. Her bakery profits might be down, but the profits that truly mattered had surpassed all expectation.

Taking a glass in each hand, she made her way to where the men were huddled around the stove—Zach working the wrench, Nate holding the pipe, and Reuben offering unsolicited advice.

“Here you go.” She handed the first glass to Reuben.

“Ah! Beautiful.” He accepted the lemonade and promptly gulped down half the glass. “Mmm. Delicious. Thank you.”

“Thank you for all your help today.”

Reuben dipped his chin. “My pleasure.”

“Oh, and to answer your question, you’ll have at least six months to rest up before we order the new oven.” Abby grinned at him. “We need about sixty dollars more to have sufficient funds to cover the purchase and shipping of the industrial oven. I’m hoping that with this addition,” she said with a nod toward the new cookstove, “I’ll be able to start putting money aside again. We’ll have to see how things go, but I hope to have the Taste of Heaven back to peak performance by the new year.”

“That’s great.” Sincerity eclipsed Reuben’s usual teasing charm for a brief moment. But then he grinned and pressed a hand against his lower back. “Guess I better get home to rest up, then.” He finished off his lemonade in one long drink, then handed the glass back into her keeping. “I’m off, Zach,” he announced with a little salute. “Gonna see if Audrey needs some rest too. She works hard, you know. Could probably use a nap.”

Zach looked down from where he’d been attaching the pipe to the vent in the wall and caught Abigail’s eye. “I might need one myself after this.”

Those pesky flutters started up in her belly again, like they always did when he looked at her like that. He was simply incorrigible. And she loved it.

As Reuben opened the door to leave, Rosalind and Ida Mae arrived on the step. He moved aside to allow them to enter, then gave a final wave and set off for home.

“Have you seen the paper?” Rosalind asked as she held up a copy of the Honey Grove Signal.

Abigail set Nate’s glass of lemonade on the worktable along with Reuben’s empty one, then crossed to meet her sister. “What does it say?”

“Mayor Longfellow has resigned.”

“What?” Abby took the paper from Rosalind and scanned the headline article: Longfellow Stepping Down. Former Mayor J. H. Smith to Fill Vacancy.

“The official story is that he decided to move to Clarksville to oversee his father’s bank,” Rosalind reported, “but the rumor mill has it that he’s moving to get his wife away from all the memories tied to Honey Grove.”

Memories of Benedict Crowley.

“Well, I wondered what Sophia meant yesterday when she accosted me in Patteson Dry Goods and accused me of ruining her life a second time,” Abigail mused. “I guess this explains it.”

“You didn’t tell me she accosted you,” Rosalind said, concern in her eyes.

Abigail shook her head. “Sorry. Accosted is too strong a word. Our paths merely crossed in the fabric section, and she hissed at me a bit. Said she hoped I was happy, now that I’d ruined her life a second time.” She shrugged. “I ignored her and moved to a different section of the store, not wanting to engage in another of her verbal skirmishes, but now I wish I had said something. Tried to encourage her in some way. It breaks my heart to see her so bitter and miserable.”

“Her heart’s so hard, I doubt anything you could have said would have penetrated.” Rosalind laid a comforting hand on Abigail’s arm.

“Maybe not, but I’ll say an extra prayer for her tonight. Chester too. Perhaps with God’s help, Sophia can finally stop grieving over what she’s lost and appreciate what she has.”

Rosalind tipped her head. “Perhaps.” A distracted look passed over her face, one that clearly indicated she had something more than the mayor and his wife on her mind.

Abigail smiled at Ida Mae, who was still lingering near Rosalind’s side, no doubt eavesdropping on the conversation about Sophia. Given her own history with the mayor’s wife, her interest was certainly understandable. Nevertheless, Abigail sensed Rosie wouldn’t share the rest of what was on her mind until they had sufficient privacy.

Abigail pointed to the counter where the third glass of lemonade stood. “Ida Mae, will you take that last glass of lemonade over to Mr. Hamilton, please?”

The girl looked from one sister to the other, then nodded and hurried off to do what she’d been asked.

Abigail turned back to Rosalind. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Rosalind bit her lower lip, then drew Abby aside. “Yes.” She reclaimed the paper and flipped the pages to a section near the end. She pointed to an ad in the right column. “Here.”

Abigail took the paper back and read the words.

Wanted: Young women, 18 to 30 years of age, of good character, attractive and intelligent, as waitresses in Harvey Houses in the West. Good wages, with room and meals furnished.

“I don’t understand,” Abigail said as she looked up from the paper. “What does this have to do with us?”

Rosalind took the paper back and crinkled the pages with the force of her grip. “I’ll be eighteen in a couple months.”

Her meaning clicked in Abigail’s mind, sending a boulder of dread sinking in her belly. “You want to apply.”

Rosalind nodded. “I do.”

“Why?” Abigail forced her voice to remain calm even as panic built in her breast. What would she do without Rosie? They had depended on each other their entire lives. Her sister couldn’t leave.

“Maybe I need to get away from the memories too.” Rosalind’s voice echoed softly in a room that suddenly seemed too quiet. Work on the oven had ceased.

Zach appeared at Abigail’s side, his palm resting against her lower back, his attention fixed on Rosalind even as he braced Abigail. She glanced around, not wanting the kids to overhear this discussion, but they were nowhere to be found.

“Gave Nate a nickel and sent them to the store for some candy,” Zach said. “They’ll be gone for a bit.”

How had he known? Had he been watching her that closely? He must have been, for here he stood, being exactly what she needed him to be—her anchor in a storm she hadn’t seen coming.

Rosalind set the paper aside and widened her stance as if preparing for a battle. “I want a fresh start, Abby. A chance to leave the girl in those photo cards behind for good. Working for Fred Harvey will give me a chance to get out of Texas, to see new places and meet new people. I already know how to run a food service, thanks to you, so I know I can do the work.”

She licked her lips, glanced from Zach back to Abby, then continued her plea. “You have Nate now to help you with the shop. He’s picking things up so fast. He’ll know the price list better than I do in another week. And you have Zach.”

Was that what Rosalind wanted? A husband? If so, couldn’t she find one here? Why did she have to travel to some far-off city?

No, it wasn’t a husband she sought. Not really. She sought peace. Abigail had finally put her past to rest with God’s help and Zach’s understanding. Rosalind wanted to do the same.

So, setting aside the sorrow of losing her sister and dearest friend, the fear of all the things that could possibly go wrong, and the selfish desire to hold on tight and never let go, Abigail offered the one thing her sister had always offered her—support.

“All right.”

Her agreement startled Rosalind. She blinked several times before she managed to speak. “You’ll let me go?”

Abigail smiled. “You’re a grown woman, Rosie. You don’t need my permission. All I ask is that you pray about it before you apply. Make sure you are following God’s leading and not simply trying to escape.”

“I—I will.”

“Then I will support your choice.”

“Thank you!” Rosalind lurched forward and wrapped Abigail in a rib-crunching embrace.

Abigail hugged her back just as tightly, wishing she could hold on forever but knowing that wouldn’t be right for either of them.

“You better write to me,” she said, taking refuge in the bossy big sister role before she completely lost her composure and started bawling like a baby. “Often.”

Later that night, Abigail sat with her husband on the sofa in the parlor. Nate and Ida Mae were back at their apartment, and Rosalind was washing her hair. Abby leaned her head on Zach’s chest, letting the thump of his heart soothe her spirit.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured. “It’s hard to let them set their own path.”

He would know. He’d done it himself. Twice. It still amazed her to realize how well-matched they were, how similar their pasts. She might have come up with the crazy scheme to marry in order to protect her bakery, but only God could have given her a husband who fit her so perfectly.

Zach bent toward her and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Abby-mine.”

Her heart thrilled at the words. He didn’t gift her with them often, but when he did, they shone like well-polished silver.

“I love you too. For always and forever.”

He gave a little grunt and squeezed her close. Abby grinned. He’d just promised to love her forever too.