twelve

Zoe reached for Jane’s hand, smiling at her friend as they walked along the rocky shoreline, icy wind whipping their hair and tugging their skirts. As they laughed and breathed in the scent of pine that hung in the air, the setting sun glistened on the strait and poured its rays all the way to the snow-covered peaks of the mountains on the mainland.

“We can start over here and make our lives whatever we want them to be.” Jane’s voice was faint, far away.

When Zoe turned again, Jane had dropped behind. She’d stopped walking and was waving at Zoe, almost as if she were saying good-bye.

No! Zoe tried to shout at her friend, but the words wouldn’t come out. Stay with me! You can’t give up yet!

She startled at a gentle touch against her shoulder. Her eyes flew open to bright daylight and a strange room. Abe’s cabin.

She calmed her thudding heart and listened for Violet. Silence met her and meant Violet was still sleeping. Zoe knew she needed to wake the babe and try to keep her occupied for greater lengths each day. But after the sleepless night next to Abe, Zoe hadn’t been able to resist lying down and resting while Violet napped.

At another gentle brush upon her shoulder, Zoe twisted her neck to find Abe sitting on the edge of the bed. As with last night, he’d taken the liberty of touching her hair, his fingers caressing a loose strand that had fallen across her shoulder. His touch was as soft as a summer breeze blowing through an open window.

She didn’t know quite what to think of his caress. No one had ever touched her hair except Mum, who had stopped brushing her hair years ago.

Abe had propped an elbow on his knee and rested his forehead in his hand. His shoulders were slumped, his hair tousled, and his collar askew. He was the picture of dejection itself, which only sent a shiver deep into her body. He still regretted their marriage, and he must have made up his mind not to go through with it.

Maybe if he saw how she’d tidied the cabin, folded his clothing, made the bed, and swept the floor, he’d realize she was good for something. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to hire a maid.

“Abe?” she whispered.

His head jerked up and his eyes opened. In the same moment, he drew his hand away from her hair as quickly as if it had burned him. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” He shifted enough that she glimpsed the opposite side of his face—the black and purple that rimmed his eye.

She gasped. “What happened?”

He angled his face away from her. “Nothing I want you to worry about.”

Wrestling against the sagging mattress, she pushed herself up until she was sitting and could see his face more clearly. The area beneath his eye was swollen and discolored. She grazed his skin.

He winced and pulled back farther, making a motion to stand. But she tugged his arm to keep him in place. “No, sit. I’ll get a cold rag to help with the swelling.”

“I’ll be fine,” he murmured.

“Don’t move,” she insisted as she rose from the bed. She was surprised when he did as she said while she retrieved one of the soft cloths she used for bathing Violet and dipped it into the pail with the remains of the frigid water she’d drawn from the well. She wrung out the excess, the cold stinging her fingers, and then she returned to the bedside.

Without waiting for Abe’s permission, she tilted up his chin so she could get a clear look at his injury. He’d taken a hard hit in the face. That much was clear.

“This might hurt a little.” She pressed the cloth gently against his cheekbone.

He winced again.

She studied his face for any other injuries. “Who hit you? And why?”

“What makes you think someone hit me?” He avoided her gaze, looking instead past her to the window. “What if I ran into something?”

“The only thing you ran into was someone’s fist.”

His lips twitched with the beginning of a smile.

Satisfaction wafted through her. She liked that she could make him smile. “So will you tell me what happened, or am I gonna have to search Victoria for the man whose knuckles are as bruised as your face?”

“You won’t have time to search,” he said, much too serious again. “We’re leaving Victoria today just as soon as we can.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He’d said we’re and we. “Does that mean you’ve decided to stay married to me?”

He reached up then and cupped his hand over hers. “I’m sorry for my indecisiveness earlier. I was wrong to consider other options. We were married in the sight of God and man, and I need to honor our vows and the commitment I made to you.”

At the sweetness and sincerity of his words, her breath stuck in her chest. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. We’ll make the best of the situation.”

The best of the situation? Her breath deflated, her confidence slipping away with it. It appeared he still regretted their hasty marriage but was resigned to staying with her anyway. She ought to be happy about his decision. After all, this was exactly what she’d wanted in marrying a stranger—no feelings, no attachments, no worry about losing someone she cared about.

She shifted the cloth against his bruise.

He sucked in a breath.

“What happened?” By the light of day, his hair was lighter, almost blond. It was in disarray with a long strand falling over his forehead.

“Seems I made a wrong assumption last night.”

“How so?” She was tempted to comb that stray strand back, but such a move seemed too forward with a man she’d known less than a week.

He shifted on the mattress, his sturdy square jaw flexing as though he didn’t quite know how to formulate his answer. “I assumed you were proposing marriage to me,” he finally said. “But apparently you were asking me to officiate your wedding to Dexter Dawson?”

She cast her eyes down, unable to meet his gaze. She’d known something wasn’t quite right, but she hadn’t corrected him. “I thought you were proposing to me to keep from having to take Violet away to wherever the bishop told you to.”

“I suppose I was.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t clear up the misunderstanding.”

“It’s not your fault. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Because he’d been downhearted about his fiancée getting married to someone else?

“All that to say,” he continued, “Dexter Dawson is not very happy this morning, to say the least.”

Her gaze darted up. “He hit you?”

“He’s claiming I stole you from him.”

“He’s an arrogant cur.” She stepped back, letting the rag fall away from his bruise. “All he did was send me a note saying he’d marry me. If I was so important to him, why didn’t he come tell me in person?”

“I’m glad he didn’t.” Abe reached for her, settling his hands on her hips and drawing her back.

The strength of his touch and the span of his fingers circling her waist sent warmth spiraling into her middle. His hold was decisively possessive, and she had the sudden urge to thread her fingers in his hair, pull him close, and let him rest his bruised face against her chest.

She’d witnessed her mum do that very thing to her father many times, standing while he buried his face against her body. Mum would hold him close, letting him shut out the problems and draw solace and strength from her.

“I think it’s best if we get out of town and away from Dex as soon as possible.” Abe tilted his head so his chiseled face was in perfect range of her hands. “I don’t want to risk him finding you and thinking he can take you.”

“He wouldn’t. I’m not that important to him.”

“You’re very desirable.” His voice and eyes radiated sincerity.

“Am I, now?” She tried to mask her pleasure at his compliment with a light, teasing tone.

“Of course Dex is attracted to you. What man in Victoria wouldn’t be?” Once the words were out, he paused. Then, as if realizing the boldness of his confession as well as the intimacy of his hold, he released her and fumbled for a place to put his hands, crossing them, then folding them in his lap before crossing them again.

She bit back a smile.

“I’m afraid once Bishop Hills hears of my altercation with Dex, he’ll decide he can no longer abide my propensity for scandal and will put me on the first ship back to England.”

“Then he didn’t take kindly to the news of our marriage?”

“To put it mildly.”

“Are you in trouble because of it?”

Abe pushed himself up from the bed and crossed to the wardrobe. “The bishop and I have already been at odds over other issues, and this only adds to the tension already there.” He yanked out a bag from the bottom of the wardrobe, knelt, and began to stuff his clothing items inside haphazardly.

She watched for only a moment before tsking and starting toward him. “You’d better let me pack if you don’t want every stitch of your clothing to be hopelessly wrinkled.”

He halted, one hand in the bag and the other in the items she’d carefully folded earlier. Before she could say anything further, a firm rap upon the door made them both jump.

Abe’s gaze swung to the door. “The bishop.” His whisper was drenched with dread.

Zoe’s stomach twisted into a knot. She’d supposed she would have to meet the bishop at some point. But she hadn’t expected him to visit today, especially at this moment.

“I can’t let him see me with a bruised eye.” Abe rose, his expression panicked. “What should I do?”

Zoe searched the cabin. Abe was too large to fit into the wardrobe or to hide under the bed. “Get in bed and pretend to be asleep.”

“I don’t want to speak an untruth.”

“I’ll be the one speaking the untruth.”

“I don’t want you speaking untruths either—” Another knock sounded at the door, this one louder.

“I’ll tell him you’re resting,” she hissed.

Abe nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. He dove onto the mattress, yanked the covers around him, and turned to face the wall. One of his boots stuck out, and Zoe tugged the blanket around it.

“Are you resting?” she asked.

He expelled an audible breath. A second one. Then a third. “I think so.”

She almost smiled at his vain attempt to relax. Instead, she schooled her expression into what she hoped was severity. Surely the bishop would want Abe to marry someone serious. And polite. And perhaps gentle.

As she lifted the handle, she did her best to portray herself as respectable, although she suspected she looked as rigid and her smile as comical as one of the caricatures on the totem poles they’d seen from the ship as they’d neared Victoria.

Opening the door, she froze with the realization that she didn’t know whether she ought to bow to the bishop or not. Maybe she needed to kiss his hand. Or his feet? With a growing sense of alarm, she started to shut the door and turn back to Abe for further advice when a woman’s voice stopped her.

“There you are, my dear.”

Zoe glanced through the crack to find Mrs. Moresby standing outside, a large basket dangling from each hand. “I had to come see for myself if the rumors were true.”

Zoe opened the door wider and smiled at her friend. “Rumors are never completely true.”

Mrs. Moresby eyed her from the tip of her head to her toes as if attempting to decipher a riddle. “If the rumor that you married Mr. Merivale isn’t true, then why are you in his home?”

Zoe released a laugh of relief. “Aye, that rumor’s true enough. I married him last night.”

“I’ve also heard that miner who planned to marry you is quite livid.”

“I’ve heard that as well.”

Mrs. Moresby held up both baskets, the rows of ribbons on her cloak fluttering like a bird taking flight. “I’ve brought you a few wedding presents.”

“Mrs. Moresby!” Zoe clapped her hands in delight. “How kind!”

The matron inched into the doorway. “It’s nothing fancy, mind you. . . .” Her gaze snagged on Abe’s stiff form under the coverlet, and she froze. She stared for a moment, her mouth hanging open.

Without the bishop making an appearance, Zoe had forgotten all about the need to hide Abe. Now she scrambled to find a way to explain why he was in bed at this hour of the morning. Mrs. Moresby’s gaze swung from Abe to her and back before she finally snapped her mouth closed. Her eyes remained wide, and she slowly backed out of the cabin.

“My, my, my.” She glanced at Zoe’s hair.

Zoe rapidly smoothed the strands that had come loose during her recent nap, hoping Mrs. Moresby didn’t think she’d just come from bed too.

“When you didn’t answer the door right away, I should have realized.” Mrs. Moresby’s eyes began to light up with mirth. “I’m sorry for disturbing the two of you.”

“You’re not disturbing anything,” Zoe rushed to explain. “Abe didn’t sleep well last night. So I insisted he rest.”

“Of course. Of course,” she whispered almost conspiratorially. “You must be tired too.”

Heat spread across Zoe’s face.

“Would you like me to take Violet for a little while so that you can rest with your husband? I wouldn’t mind in the least.”

“You’re very kind, Mrs. Moresby.” Zoe stepped outside and attempted to close the door behind her, praying Abe hadn’t heard any of the insinuations. “We’ll likely be on our way soon. Abe’s anxious to leave town.”

Zoe directed their conversation to the baskets and the items inside, distracting the matron from talk of Abe. Thankfully, Mrs. Moresby was all too excited to show Zoe everything—more baby items for Violet, several new linens, including towels and a fancy embroidered tablecloth, matching pillowcases, and a silky but scanty new nightgown that made Zoe blush. The second basket contained an assortment of yarn in every color and thickness.

“To keep you busy during the long days of winter yet ahead,” Mrs. Moresby said.

Zoe exclaimed over the yarn, thrilled by the bright skeins and imagining all the things she could make. But then she protested that she couldn’t accept so many gifts. No one had ever bestowed so much on her before.

Mrs. Moresby waved off her concerns. “All I want in return is a visit when you come back to Victoria. And I wouldn’t turn down a really colorful scarf if you happened to make me one.”

A colorful scarf. “Wait just a moment, Mrs. Moresby.” Zoe opened the cabin door. Abe had gotten out of bed and was kneeling in front of Violet’s crate.

“Violet’s awake,” he said almost reverently, glancing at Zoe over his shoulder.

Zoe approached to find that Violet had clasped one of Abe’s fingers within hers and was staring up at him with wide, wondering eyes.

“I think she might like me,” he whispered, staring down at Violet with matching wonder.

Zoe couldn’t keep from smiling at the sight of the towering, muscular man completely mesmerized by the wee babe. “Of course she likes you. Everybody likes you.”

“Except for Bishop Hills and Dexter Dawson.”

“They don’t count.”

“Let us pray so.”

She rummaged in her bag until she found what she was looking for. She started back to the door only to realize Mrs. Moresby was peeking inside. As Zoe stepped out, the matron backed away and began to pump a fan in front of her face in spite of the cool January temperatures.

“I see Mr. Merivale is done resting,” she said.

Zoe thrust the item out, hoping to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory again. “I’ll still make you another one. But I want you to have this too.”

Mrs. Moresby fingered the rainbow-colored scarf.

“I knit it for my friend Jane.” Zoe’s chest constricted with the ache of her friend’s absence.

“I couldn’t—”

“You stepped in and were a friend when I needed one most.” Zoe pressed the scarf into Mrs. Moresby’s hands. “She’d want you to have it every bit as much as I do.”

Mrs. Moresby was silent, gently tracing the neatly stitched rows. When she looked up, tears shone in her eyes. “Thank you, Zoe. I know you’re going to make a very fine reverend’s wife.”

Zoe hesitated to accept the compliment. She didn’t know the first thing about being a reverend’s wife or what Abe or the people he served would expect from her. What if she let everyone down?

“Remember,” Mrs. Moresby said as she wrapped the scarf around her neck, “you don’t have to be perfect or have your situation all figured out to be used by the good Lord. If you have a willing heart, that’s all He needs.”

A willing heart. Was that really all that was required? Zoe wanted to believe Mrs. Moresby was right, that maybe eventually she could become the kind of wife Abe needed. But could she? Or would she be his downfall instead? After all, he’d said their marriage was a scandal. That the bishop might even send him back to England.

Though Abe had insisted he wanted to go through with their marriage, she didn’t want to see him come to ruin as a result. Did she need to set him free from his commitment to her? Should she go to the bishop for an annulment before their marriage went any further?

A part of her admonished her to do the right thing for Abe. He was a good man and didn’t deserve to suffer on account of her. But another part of her resisted. It was selfish of her, she knew. But now that she had him, she wasn’t sure she could let go, not when she felt so safe—safer than she had in a long time.

With a final hug and the promise to visit next time she was in Victoria, Zoe watched Mrs. Moresby make her exit through a side gate. Then she turned back inside, determined to make the most of her new life but unable to keep her doubts battened down.