sixteen

Zoe stirred the bubbling soup, the waft of onions, carrots, cabbage, and beef making her stomach growl. With a rag cloth, she moved the pot to the warmer, scooped a scant amount onto the wooden spoon, then blew on the steaming broth before taking a taste.

As she turned, a face outside pressed against the window, making her jump and yelp at the same moment. Seeing her reaction, the person backed away, but not before she recognized the young boy, one she’d noticed earlier when she’d gone to the well. He’d been hiding in the brush near the privy, as ragged and skinny as a street urchin. He’d stared at Zoe then with as much fascination as now, almost as if he’d never seen a woman before.

“Wait!” She dashed to the door and threw it open. The daylight was fading fast, and darkness was bringing a chill that seemed colder than earlier.

She’d taken the faded piece of calico down from the window after returning from the store earlier in the day. And she’d spent part of the afternoon cutting and hemming new curtains from the material Abe had purchased for her. Though she’d hoped to have them finished by nightfall, she’d run out of time between tending Violet and making dinner. She’d have to put the old fabric up in the window again for another night, especially since they’d had a steady parade of visitors throughout the day who thought nothing of privacy or coming inside without knocking.

Abe hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, after they’d returned from the store, he’d left the door wide open, as if to let people know he was home and available. When the cold had become too much, Zoe said so, and Abe had apologetically closed the door and kept it that way the rest of the afternoon. That apparently hadn’t stopped the entire town from swinging by to see the reverend, his black eye, and his new wife.

When Abe had left to visit several of his homebound parishioners, more fellas poked their heads inside. But without Abe around to talk to, none of them had lingered.

“Stop!” she called after the boy as he scampered away.

He glanced at her over his shoulder but darted faster, like one of the hares she’d seen on their trudge back up the hill after shopping.

She stepped onto the muddy stoop, debating whether to chase after him but knowing she couldn’t leave Violet alone. She did the only thing she knew to do—offer him food. “Would you like some soup?”

His steps halted.

“And biscuits.” She added to the temptation. “With butter.”

Slowly, he turned to face her. His hair hung unkempt over a freckled face, and curious brown eyes regarded her through the strands. He wore trousers he’d long outgrown that showed the bare skin of his calves and the dilapidated condition of his boots.

Though he was thin, almost scrawny, she guessed his age to be ten, maybe twelve. He carried himself with a sense of wary experience that told her he’d been making his own way for a while now. She’d seen many boys like him back in Manchester, orphans who’d been forced too young to survive on the streets.

“Come on with you.” She beckoned him with the wooden spoon. “You can warm yourself and fill your belly.”

“Can’t pay you none.” He remained frozen in place, clearly wanting to take her offer, but ready to bolt all the same.

“The only payment I require is that you lick the bowl clean. Can you do that?”

“Aye. That I can.”

“Good.” She turned back into the house, leaving the door open, hoping he’d soon trail after her. As she approached the stove and removed the lid, she heard his slight footsteps at the stoop. She reached for one of the tin bowls she’d found among Abe’s odd assortment of cooking ware and began to ladle soup into it.

When his footsteps moved inside the cabin, she nodded toward the table. “Go ahead. Have a seat.”

In addition to starting on the curtains, she’d spent time organizing and cleaning so that the place was beginning to look and feel like home. The table and chairs were finally cleared and Abe’s books now neatly shelved—except for the stack that she’d left in front of Lizzy’s picture.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she heard the chair scrape against the floor.

“Will.”

“I’m Zoe.”

“And your baby?”

She glanced at Violet napping in the middle of the bed, surrounded on all sides by pillows and blankets to keep her from rolling off. “Her name’s Violet.”

“That’s sure pretty.”

“It is, isn’t it?” As she placed the soup and biscuit in front of Will, she waited for him to ask more questions about Violet as most of the others had. Thankfully, Abe’s answer about Herman Cox’s death seemed to satisfy everyone. But she still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was bound to tell her she had no right to the babe and to hand her over.

Will stuffed the biscuit into his mouth. As fast as he chewed and swallowed, he couldn’t have had time to taste it. “You’re sure pretty too,” he said with his mouth still half-full.

“Thank you—”

“Never expected Pastor Abe to get himself a wife. Never figured him for the type.”

“What type?”

“The marryin’ type.”

“And why is that?”

“Cuz he don’t watch the Hurdy Gurdy girls like the other men.”

Hurdy Gurdy girls? Zoe could only imagine what that was.

“And he never stares at Wanda the way everyone else does. Never even seen him look at her.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

“But I can see why he took a fancy to you, since you’re such a good cook and all.”

Zoe smothered a smile. “Aye, I’m sure it’s my cooking.”

Will slurped through his bowl of soup, telling Zoe everything she wanted to know—and then some—about Wanda Washington. Apparently the woman had come from San Francisco to Yale several years ago, working in the saloons as a madam. Since she was so pretty and popular, she’d earned numerous offers of marriage and had held out until the richest man in town had proposed. He’d died only a few months later in a steamboat accident, leaving her a fortune. Eventually, she’d married another rich man, Mr. Washington, who’d lived a mite longer, long enough for her to have a baby boy. Then he’d been shot and killed in a saloon brawl, leaving Wanda Washington even richer than before. Apparently she was a multimillionaire with more money than some of the richest gold miners.

“Wanda’s got the biggest house in town,” Will said, finally slowing down with his second helping of soup and biscuit. “I ain’t never been inside, but heard it’s got dozens of rooms.”

“And now she’s looking for a new husband?”

“Acourse she’s lookin’. Wanda’s always lookin’.”

Zoe frowned, but before she could pry further, Violet woke up crying. Will hopped up onto the bed and entertained Violet by playing peekaboo while Zoe got her bottle ready. Then he watched as she fed the infant, seeming in no hurry to leave, telling Zoe all about himself—how he’d been born in California, how his pa had brought him along when he’d come to Yale to mine gold, how his pa had gotten sick and died two winters ago, and how he’d been living above the livery ever since and working in the stables for Mr. Barton.

From how independent Will was, she suspected he’d done more taking care of his pa than the other way around. In some ways the boy reminded her of Zeke, of how her brother had to grow up so quickly after their father had resorted to drinking and lost his mill job after being late too many times. Zeke had borne the weight of supporting their family, even after Zoe had taken over their mum’s position in the cardroom.

If only Zeke hadn’t had to bear such a heavy weight. Maybe then he wouldn’t have gotten involved in the wrong crowd and in so much trouble. . . .

When Abe ducked inside as Violet finished her meal, Will offered to hold the babe so Zoe could serve Abe dinner. She settled the two on the bed and dished up a bowl of soup and a biscuit for Abe. She was surprised when he insisted that she sit down and eat with him, waiting to start until she’d taken the chair across from him. Even then he offered up a short prayer before digging into his meal with gusto.

She refilled Abe’s soup three times, cleaning out the pot. His compliments over the meal warmed her every bit as much as the flow of conversation and the kindness he extended toward Will. Abe never once questioned the boy’s presence in the house, accepting him there as if he belonged.

Abe pushed his empty bowl away and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and stretching his long legs under the table so that they almost bumped hers. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so fine a meal. Thank you, Zoe.”

She reclined in her chair, satisfaction filling her more than the food. With darkness having fallen, the cabin glowed with lantern light and the stove’s warmth.

“Sure is a good thing you got married, Pastor Abe,” Will remarked from where he sat cross-legged with Violet snuggled on his lap.

“I cannot argue with you, Will.” Abe settled his gaze upon Zoe and smiled with such contentment her breath snagged.

This. This was what it was like to have a family and a home. She had only a few memories of her own family together this way, when they’d been much younger, before Mum had delivered a stillborn babe and Father had turned to drinking to drown his sorrows.

She’d never imagined she’d have this all so soon after arriving at the colonies. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of having and more.

“I’m glad you chose Zoe and not Wanda,” Will continued. “Zoe’s sure a lot prettier. And nicer.”

“I agree.” Abe’s gaze shifted to her cheek, to her ear, and then to her hair. His expression was as open and readable as always—filled with stark appreciation.

Even so, a prick of envy plagued Zoe as it had on the steamship. “Wanda’s a fine-looking woman too. I’m sure any man would be happy to have her.”

Abe’s attention dropped to the table, and he rearranged himself in his chair.

More prickles lifted the fine hair on Zoe’s neck. Maybe Abe wasn’t as immune to Wanda’s charms as Will claimed. What if he’d had a relationship with her in the past? Maybe he’d visited her when she’d been a madam?

She wanted to press him further, but at a knock at the door, Abe shot out of his chair. After opening the door and speaking with a man for several moments in low tones, Abe returned inside, grabbed his coat from where he’d tossed it over the end of the bed, and began to shrug into it.

“There was an accident today up in the canyon,” he said gravely. “Several Royal Engineers were hurt in a collapse inside a tunnel they’re blasting, and they think one of the injured might not last the night.”

“What can I do?” Zoe paused in her cleanup of their dinner. She wanted to be of help to Abe in his ministry but felt suddenly ignorant of her duties. What did a minister’s wife do in such situations? Surely she did something?

“There’s nothing you can do right now.” Abe stuffed his Bible and Book of Common Prayer into a sack, along with a few clothing items. She picked up his hat from the bed, and when he’d finished packing his bag, she handed it to him. “I don’t know when I’ll be back—maybe tomorrow or the day after. If you need anything, though, don’t hesitate to ask Mr. Allard.”

“I can help Zoe too.” Will settled Violet on the bed amid the pillows and blankets.

“Thank you, Will.” Abe situated his hat on his head. “I’d appreciate it if you’d swing by once in a while to check on Zoe and Violet.”

“That’ll be no trouble at all.”

After Abe was gone and Will had left, Zoe hugged her arms to her chest and shivered against a chill that had crept into the cabin with the coming of night. The wind rattled the windowpane and the cedar roof shakes and whined down the stovepipe. With Violet asleep, the small cabin suddenly felt too dark and lonely.

Even though she hadn’t been in Abe’s home for very long, one thing was becoming clear—she may have married Abe, but he was in some ways already married to his work and the people he served. He loved them deeply and was committed to them—perhaps even above her.

That was to be expected, wasn’t it? She certainly couldn’t ask him to care more about her than his work, not when he hadn’t asked for or wanted their marriage. And she certainly couldn’t get upset at him for going away so soon after arriving in Yale.

Maybe she’d had a glimpse of what having a home and a family again could be like. But that’s all it was—a glimpse. Not a reality. She had to remember she was only and always just a bride of convenience.