Abby’s cabin had been built by Evan Browett before he died. Only one photograph decorated its sparse interior. It was of Evan, his likeness captured in Salt Lake City just prior to their engagement. She had placed it opposite her door in a stained pine frame three or four times the actual size of the photo so that she saw it every time she walked in. Her cabin was not unlike all the others—log walls chinked with mud, bunk attached to the wall, planked floor, and a fieldstone fireplace built low in the center of one wall.
Yahnai had already built a fire that popped and spurted orange embers by the time Winny arrived. Winny’s look from the moment she stepped inside told Abby where the conversation would head—her decision to marry Isaac. It was the same thing she’d heard for weeks, even months, only now it would be supported by the morning’s events.
Isaac might be old, but there was a far more complicated problem with David Perkins. He was not a member of the Church. She’d been down that road before. Evan Browett had not been a member. He’d died before he actually accepted the Church, shattering her dreams. She’d vowed that wouldn’t happen again. Isaac was worthy to enter the Endowment House. Her second husband would be a member, even if he were twice her age. Isaac Jacobs—despite all his faults—fit the bill.
Abby expected Winny to start in as soon as she arrived, but she didn’t. Instead, she talked about the weather and the harvest and how happy Carl was that they’d returned home safely. Under Yahnai’s watchful eye, they rolled the dough out on her sawbuck table. Yahnai used a mason jar to cut circles of dough and a small bottle to cut out the holes. Each time he snuck a piece of raw dough into his mouth, she mildly scolded him. But each time he disarmed her with his cute, mischievous smile.
Winny bustled her way past Abby, their skirts brushing; then with a small piece of dough, she tested the heat of the fat in a large iron pot that hung over the fireplace. “I suppose we could let Isaac have this first doughnut, especially if it’s burned.”
Abby tossed her head and said, more sharply than intended, “You don’t need to pick on the poor man. Not now. Not after what happened today. ”
Winny riveted large hazel eyes upon her. She looked as though she were plotting something—composing an argument in her head. “I’ve already said it all, haven’t I?”
Abby smiled and laughed in spite of herself. “Yes, you have. Several times.”
“All right,” Winny said, holding stock still. “But Abby, can you tell me that none of this seems like a sign to you? A sign that you’re not meant to marry Isaac?”
“And he that seeketh signs shall see signs, but not unto salvation.” Abby rolled bits of dough into a ball and slapped it down so hard her palm tingled.
“And she who doesn’t seek to know God’s will may end up going against it.”
It was the one part of Winny’s argument that stuck in Abby’s heart like a thistle. She hadn’t received a burning confirmation—or even a quiet, peaceful one—that marrying Isaac was the right thing to do.
Winny drew the test doughnut out of the pot. “The temperature’s just right. Let’s fry our doughnuts. We’ve got a crew of anxious men out there surrounding a campfire.”
Yahnai’s eyes opened wide as saucers. “Can I have the first one?”
“Yes, but stand back so you don’t get burned,” Abby said. She carefully placed the pieces into the pot, one by one. They quietly watched the dough react to the boiling fat, bubbles rising up around the edges, slowly browning the doughnut. Abby liked the silence and hoped it would last a bit longer.
Winny started in again, her tone blunt. “Abby, you know I like Isaac. He’s a nice man, one of the best in our settlement. It’s just that he’s not the right man for you.”
“You’ve told me that before. I know how old he is. He’s losing his hair, and his eyelids droop. Enough. You sound just like the mule skinner.”
“You say the word like it’s a shameful profession,” Winny said.
Abby shook her head. “Just think about the first mule skinner we saw today. He crossed the creek and, right off, wanted to shoot Isaac’s horses. He was disgusting.”
“Our golden-haired boy waiting for doughnuts is not disgusting. He’s dreamy.”
Abby laughed. “Then you marry him and leave me alone.”
Winny snorted. “Me? I’ve got Carl and two children.”
Abby and Yahnai cut more doughnuts. She separated them and laid them out to be the next batch to put in the pot. Winny looked at her and smiled, expecting her comeback.
Abby said, with emphasis, “And I’ve got Isaac.”
“But he doesn’t have you,” Winny countered. “Not yet. Let him find a droopy-eyed, forty-six-year-old widow down in Logan or among all those new members of the Church that keep swarming into the Salt Lake Valley.”
Abby finally chuckled, though just a little.
Winny said, “Come on, laugh. You’ve grown so serious around Isaac. It’s almost as if you are already as old as he is. We used to laugh together all the time. I miss that.”
Abby knew Winny was right. She tried to laugh, just to satisfy her friend, but only a half-muted chuckle came out. This was serious stuff they were talking about. It had to do with the rest of her life.
Winny gave her a slanted look. “So now what?”
“I guess we wait until Isaac’s leg heals, and then we try again.”
Winny stiffened, and Abby could feel her friend trying to exercise self-control. “Well, waiting is good. And prayer is good. And confirmations are good.”
Waiting wouldn’t make her decision any less practical. Abby doubted that waiting would change her mind at all. Even though she hadn’t received confirmation that marrying Isaac was the right thing to do, she hadn’t received any indication that it was wrong. So she would choose for herself until she was inspired to do otherwise.
“Too bad Scooter’s not a Mormon,” Winny said. “He’d be mighty fine to have around. I’d trade a dozen Isaacs for just one Scooter.”
Abby glanced at Yahnai. She had to agree with her friend’s observation, although she wasn’t about to admit it. When Scooter had smiled at her, she’d felt all fluttery, like a young school girl all over again.
She said to her son, “Yahnai, run over to Brother Jacobs’s cabin and tell him, if he’s awake, that I’ll be there to check on him in just a few minutes.”
“Can I have a doughnut first?” the boy asked as he put on his sheepskin coat.
“Here you go,” she said. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”
Yahnai pulled the door open, nibbling at the doughnut, and left.
Winny didn’t let up. “Scooter is so mysterious. Where did he get the money, at his young age, to start up a freighting business?”
Abby shifted her weight indignantly from foot to foot, thinking. “I don’t care how mysterious he is. His lifestyle is so different than ours. Take your fantasies somewhere else. Besides, he’ll be on his way tomorrow, and we’ll never see him again.”
“Except when he passes through on his way back to Salt Lake,” Winny said.
Abby shook her head. “You don’t give up, do you? I’m not even going to think about it. Besides, he probably has a girl. You know how men like him are. You don’t have to use much imagination to know what’s going on between the women who work the dance halls in Bannack City and the miners and freighters.”
“I think you’re jumping to conclusions.” Winny shrugged. “He struck me as different.”
“Just because a man is charming and handsome doesn’t make him good. I don’t need a problem like him in my life. My parents taught me something long ago that applies here. When the character of a man is not clear, look at his friends. His friends are rough, so you have to conclude that Scooter is rough too.”
“Something about him makes me doubt it,” Winny said.
“So you’re receiving inspiration on my behalf now? You, instead of Isaac?”
Winny eyed her with a critical squint.
Abby felt stifled in the now too-warm house with Winny going on about things Abby didn’t want to discuss anymore. Out the window she saw Yahnai returning. He walked without a care, and Abby wondered if he had checked on Isaac at all. She put on her coat, turned on her heel, and grasped the door.
“I’d better check on Isaac. I’ll be right back.”
Abby went out into the cool evening weighing her friend’s words.