seventeen
At the sight of Wanda Washington exiting the general store with her little boy, Lyle, in tow, Zoe paused at the intersection of Main Street and the path that led up to the cabin. Clinging to a man’s arm, Wanda was laughing about something, her pretty painted lips alluring and the tilt of her head inviting. Wearing an opulent green gown and low-cut bodice, she had no trouble attracting the attention of the man at her side, and that of every man she passed by.
For just an instant, Zoe wondered what it would be like to attract Abe’s attention that way. Maybe if she were alluring, Abe would want to stay at home more. Since the night of the Royal Engineer accident up in the canyon two weeks ago, he’d been gone most of the time, showing up at odd times and only staying for a short while. She was beginning to wonder if they were even married.
But just as quickly as the thoughts came, she tossed them aside.
Abe was busy doing God’s work, and she couldn’t interfere with that. Hadn’t she learned her lesson from when she’d interfered with Zeke and his work? Look at the trouble she’d caused him. She’d do well to remember to stay out of Abe’s business and attend to her own responsibilities, including getting Violet home for a feeding.
Violet released another disgruntled cry. Having fashioned a sling for the baby, Zoe peeked beneath the linen and repositioned Violet’s thumb to help tide her over until they were back at the cabin and had a bottle.
“I’m sorry, wee one. We’re almost home.”
A glance overhead showed cloudy skies that were beginning to darken with the onset of night. She’d stayed too long in Shantytown that afternoon, and now Violet was protesting. When one of the Hurdy Gurdy girls had come to the cabin several days ago asking for the reverend to come and pray over one of her friends who was ill and near to dying, Zoe had gone in his stead.
As she’d entered the street lined with dilapidated shacks along the riverfront, the poverty and filth had taken her straight back to Manchester, reminding her of everything she’d left behind and how much her life had changed in a few short months. The biggest difference was that most of the residents of Shantytown were Chinese and natives and mostly women and children.
That first time she’d visited Shantytown, Zoe had prayed with the young woman, Mila. The second day and every day thereafter, she’d taken soup and biscuits along, to nourish not only Mila but also the three other women who lived in the tiny, cold shack. When Zoe had left a short while ago, Mila had been sitting up with color back in her thin face. Zoe could only pray the woman was through the worst of her illness, but she’d seen enough sickness and death in her life to know nothing was ever certain.
At another grunt from Violet, Zoe picked up her pace, trudging up the hill, the empty cedar-bark basket making her trek home easier. It also helped that a drop in temperature had frozen the ground so that she wasn’t having to slog through mud anymore. Even so, her back and legs ached from the climb.
She tried to distract herself by praying for Zeke, that he’d return to the Lord, a prayer she’d uttered every day since he’d run away. She couldn’t bear the thought that he’d rejected everything good and true he’d learned since childhood. The possibility that he’d die without making peace with Christ always made her prayers more desperate.
While she was anxious to travel to Williamsville and find out for herself if Jeremiah Hart was indeed Zeke, Abe had indicated that the roads and trails leading to the mountain town wouldn’t be passable until late spring. The recent accidents on the road only confirmed the danger and that she’d have to wait to find out more about Zeke for a few more months—if she could force herself to wait that long.
“Mrs. Merivale,” someone called, interrupting her heavenward pleas.
She raised her head to find that their middle-aged neighbor, Little Joe, was rushing out his cabin door toward her. “Let me help you with your basket.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself,” she said with a smile. “The basket’s empty.”
The slip of a man with his wire glasses and dusty apron approached her anyway and lifted the basket from her arm.
A carpenter turned miner, Little Joe spent the winter months creating custom-ordered furniture in his tiny cabin, the pounding, sawing, and chiseling sounding at all hours of the day and night. Not that Zoe minded the noise. In fact, with Abe gone, the woodworking noises were a comforting reminder she wasn’t alone.
As one of the rare women in town, she found that most men went out of their way to assist her, and Little Joe was especially helpful and talkative. Already in the short time she’d been in Yale, she’d learned about the family he’d left behind in Dorchester and that he was hoping to save enough to send for them. He’d told her she reminded him of one of his daughters, who was grown and married with a babe on the way.
She’d started knitting him mittens as a way to thank him for his friendship.
“Don’t know how you manage with the baby and the basket the way you do,” Little Joe said, falling into stride next to her.
“Violet hardly weighs more than a button.” She used her free arm to jiggle the babe, who was once again fussing.
“She seems to be filling out right nice enough.”
“Aye. The goat’s milk and pap are helping. . . .” At the sight of the open door of the cabin ahead, her heart lurched. Was Abe home?
Whenever Will visited, he closed the door behind him, conscious of allowing the cold air into the cabin. But Abe . . . well, he was as heedless of the door as he was of being tidy.
At the distinct whistling of a hymn coming from inside, Zoe picked up her pace. Abe was home, and her body suddenly thrummed with the need to see him. For just a moment, she wondered at that need and then quickly rationalized that he was a friend, like Jane. They shared easy conversation and companionship, and being with him always made her ache for Jane seem a little less painful.
A dozen paces away from the cabin, Little Joe handed her back her basket. With a glance to the open door, he frowned. “If I were Pastor Abe, I wouldn’t be neglecting my new bride so often.”
She squeezed Little Joe’s arm. “I can’t complain. He’s giving me a very good home and everything I need.”
It was the truth. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—complain. Especially after walking again through Shantytown and seeing the kind of life she’d escaped.
As she approached the door, her steps lightened with the anticipation of seeing Abe, of sharing a smile, and of looking into his dazzling blue eyes. Maybe she’d throw caution aside and even hug him.
Her blood pumped faster at the thought. Did she dare do something so bold? Of course she would.
With a widening smile, she stepped inside only to stop short at the sight of not only Abe, but the kind-faced young reverend who’d married them, John Roberts. Abe was at the stove with his back to the door, and John Roberts was sitting at the table.
At the sight of her, John scooted back and stood.
She couldn’t keep her smile from fading. Disappointment rose swiftly, although she wasn’t sure why. She shouldn’t expect Abe to be anxiously waiting to see her or longing to spend time with her after so many days apart. And maybe she shouldn’t be so excited either.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Merivale,” John said.
At the mention of her name, Abe swiveled, a wooden spoon in hand. His whistling came to a halt, and he grinned. “There you are. I was about to serve John some of this delicious-smelling soup, but now that you’re here, I’m sure you’d like to do the honors.”
She paused for just a moment, wishing for a comment—even a tiny one—about how much he’d missed her and was glad to see her again. But as soon as the thought came, she stuffed it away. She couldn’t allow herself to wish for what wasn’t meant to be. Instead, she needed to remember just how blessed she was to be here and be his wife.
“’Course I’d like to do the honors.” She forced a smile. “You go on and sit down, and I’ll serve you both.”
Abe’s face registered relief as he crossed to the table. “I told you Zoe would be happy to have your company tonight, John. Right, Zoe?”
John nodded his thanks, but at his raised brow, Zoe guessed she hadn’t convinced him of her happiness.
Abe stood outside the cemetery gate and shook hands with the last of the Royal Engineers who’d attended the funeral service. Since the accident up in the canyon two weeks ago, he’d been ministering to those who’d been injured. One had died the first night. And now, another had finally succumbed to his injuries.
While the tragedy had been heartbreaking, Abe had seen God at work through it all, moving the men to seek after Him.
“Good sermon, Abraham.” John Roberts reached out to shake his hand. His friend and fellow cleric had arrived yesterday on a steamship, having traveled upriver from Hope, where he oversaw a small parish. Though Abe had just returned home himself, he’d invited John to stay for the dinner Zoe had prepared. They’d talked well into the evening before John had insisted on taking his leave, saying he didn’t want to impose any longer.
“Thank you for being here, John.” Abe squeezed his friend’s hand. “I appreciate the help officiating.”
John glanced toward a sheltered boulder where Zoe huddled in her heavy cloak holding Violet. Will stood beside her talking animatedly, apparently having managed to sneak out of the livery and away from his duties there. He was wearing a snug winter hat Zoe had knitted for him, along with new mittens and thick socks. The moment Abe had returned to town, Will had made a point of finding him and showing him the gifts. He’d talked of nothing else but Zoe and Violet.
“It’s been good to catch up,” John replied, still watching Zoe interact with Will.
Her nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and guilt pricked Abe. Maybe he’d lingered too long with the fellows after the funeral. “I better walk Zoe home.”
With January turning into February, winter had finally decided to visit, bringing arctic temperatures that had frozen the mud and the ground. A light layer of snow coated everything, hiding the gray and making the mountain town beautiful—at least until the next thaw.
“You’re coming back to the cabin, aren’t you, John?” he asked. “I’m sure Zoe will have plenty of whatever she’s got cooking.”
John stuck a finger into his clerical collar and attempted to loosen it. “Abraham, I know I’m hardly one to offer marital advice, since I’m still single, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t caution you to take more care with your marriage.”
“Take more care?” Abe watched Zoe tilt her head back and laugh at something Will said, likely teasing him the way she oft did. As far as he knew, everything in his marriage was going superbly, better than he’d ever expected. And he found that after being gone for days, he relished coming home like he never had before. He loved the warmth and womanly touch she’d brought to the cabin, the delicious meals she always had ready, and the companionship and conversations they shared.
“Yes,” John said hesitantly. “As I said, I’m certainly no expert. . . .”
“Everything is great, John. Zoe’s turning out to be a fine wife—”
“Of course you think she’s fine,” John rushed to speak, his face turning red. “She’s taking very good care of you and your home.”
Abe sensed the but without John having to say it. “She seems happy, doesn’t she?” He’d assumed she’d been content with their arrangement. At least, she never complained about anything.
Now with a wife and child to take care of, he was thankful more than ever for his savings as well as his grandfather’s inheritance. His parents had also been generous in supporting his missionary endeavors. Of course he still needed to write and inform them of his new marriage, and hopefully they would continue to support him, although he was sure they’d have plenty of questions about whom he’d married and why. In light of Lizzy’s betrayal, surely they’d understand his choice to move on.
“She loves Violet. That’s clear.”
“But you don’t think she likes me?” The cold nipped at Abe’s ears, and a glance at the eastern mountains and the dark clouds obscuring the white peaks told him they would likely get another covering of snow before the day was over.
“From what I’ve witnessed, she seems more like a housekeeper than a wife.”
Housekeeper? Abe hadn’t set out to treat her like his housekeeper. But she had been doing a great deal, including laundering and ironing his clothing. “Should I hire a maid? Maybe one of the native women can come and help her.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps you ought to seek God and ask Him what kind of husband He would have you be.”
The kind of husband God would have him be? Abe wanted to be a godly husband, had hoped he was doing everything right. But he’d also been trying to keep his ministry a priority and hadn’t wanted to let his marriage interfere with his duties. What if, in his quest, he wasn’t heeding God’s instructions for husbands? What if he needed to give Zoe more attention?
“As I said, I’m no expert,” John hurriedly added, “but I would be remiss not to share my concern with you.”
“Thank you, John. I’ll consider everything you’ve said.” He waved at the snow-covered path leading away from the cemetery. “Shall we go warm ourselves and have supper?”
“Maybe Zoe would like to have you to herself this eve, especially since you just returned from a trip.”
“We have visitors all the time. She never minds.” At least, she’d never said anything. In fact, she’d taken to inviting Will to dinner almost every night. If she’d wanted more privacy, why would she have asked him for permission to feed and care for the boy? He’d been pleased with her desire to reach out to the child and had gladly given his blessing on her endeavor. He’d even approved of her sharing of her baked goods and her knitted items among their neighbors. He liked that she was thoughtful and generous.
“You’re probably right. Please, disregard I said anything.” John cupped his hands and blew into them.
“Then you’ll come for dinner?”
“Very well.”