Suddenly a Bride Read online

  Suddenly a Bride

  by

  Cynthia Thomason

  This is a work of fiction

  Copyright, 1999, Cynthia Thomason

  Re-realesed as an e-book edition, 2011

  Part 1

  Chapter One

  Ohio - 1892

  Abigail’s father placed his elbows on the pulpit, threaded his fingers, and leaned slightly forward, his customary pose when he was nearing the end of his sermon. Abby wondered what the subject of his closing prayer would be. Forgiveness? Compassion? Brotherly love?

  She would have none of it. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and unabashedly sent a silent plea to Heaven for what she needed most. Money.

  Unaware of his daughter’s near blasphemy, the good reverend scanned his parishioners’ faces with soft hazel eyes and drew a deep breath. The chapel hushed with expectation. Only the breezes from the ladies' fans, swaying back and forth in languid hands, stirred the warm air. And James Chadwick concluded his service in the rich, velvet baritone that, for all her twenty-three years, flowed as sweet as music to Abby’s ears.

  "You must love your neighbor as yourself and remember the parable of the Samaritan teacher who showed us that all men are our neighbors. Go now into your homes and your fields with a solemn pledge to continue your good work in the service of this community." He bowed his gray head, paused while the worshipers did the same, and intoned softly, "Let us pray.”

  Before bowing her own head, Abby looked to her right at the children seated beside her in the first pew. The twins, Thomas and Timothy had stopped fidgeting, knowing the sermon was at a blessed end. Ten-year-old Susanna smoothed the worn fabric of her best cotton dress, folded her hands and placed them on her lap. Next to her, sixteen-year-old Rebecca, her blond head raised to the rough-hewn pine planks of the crude lectern, stared in rapt attention at Reverend James Chadwick.

  At the far end, Will sidled closer to the edge of the pew. He looked every bit as anxious to bolt as a fox who’d been cornered in a hen house. His furtive gaze connected over his shoulder with another of the young men of Seneca Township, each one straining to be the first outside on this warm, rain-washed day.

  When his prayer extolling the virtue of patience ended, Reverend Chadwick raised his hand over the heads of the congregation in the sign of benediction. But before he could say the words of parting, Abby cleared her throat and stared at him with eyes wide enough to make her unspoken intent perfectly clear. Her father’s face flushed, and a light of recollection dawned in his eyes. Dropping his arm, he said, "Oh, yes, one more thing...before we leave this morning, I would ask your assistance in a matter that my daughter has just reminded me cannot wait."

  He inclined his head toward the five children in the front row. "The youngsters you have placed in our care are in urgent need of necessities. We appreciate all the kind donations of beef and vegetables, and in your case, Ernest, for that fine sow you sent to us last week."

  The man who had been singled out for his generosity preened with pride in the pew next to Abby while Reverend Chadwick continued. "But the children need clothing and shoes, and we must ask for your help once more."

  He lifted a wicker basket from the simple altar. "I will leave this basket on the organ bench, and as you exit the church today, please deposit whatever you can for the children, even a few pennies will help. The Chadwick family thanks you for your generous gifts."

  After the service, when the other parishioners had gone home, and Abby had deposited the few coins in her pocket, she herded the children to the weathered buckboard harnessed to a pair of sturdy mules waiting patiently under an ancient elm tree. She climbed up on the driver's bench and sat beside her father. She remained silent, knowing the temper that often got her into trouble could erupt in a show of defiance.

  James snapped a practiced command, "Git up, mules," and the buckboard lurched down the rutted road toward home. He passed troubled glances Abby’s way. No doubt he was aware she was near her boiling point. After all, her father knew her so well he sometimes told her what she was feeling before she had even sorted things out for herself.

  After nearly a quarter mile of awkward quiet, he peered up at the clear sky and rubbed his hand over his short, trim beard. "This Ohio weather can sure be a puzzling thing, can't it Abby? Just over a week ago the wind was howling through the hills with a chilling blast, and snow dusted the ground. And now since the morning’s rain, the sun is out and it must be eighty degrees."

  It was a tactic of her father's to engage her in idle conversation that would eventually lead to what was really bothering her.

  "I've never seen an April like this one," he continued. "Winter’s barely gone and spring seems to have passed us by." He steered the mules around a muddy crevice in the road. "Yep, it's time to get the first corn in."

  Abby wasn't the least bit interested in the weather, but she nodded and responded with a clipped, "Yessir, Papa."

  He set his elbows on his knees and turned to face her. "All right, Abigail, you might as well come out with it. Something's eating at you, and if you don't tell it, you'll be wearing that grim face for the rest of the day."

  The flood gates burst. "One dollar and thirty-three cents, Papa! That's all those nickel-nursing misers put in the basket today. I can't dress these children on one dollar and thirty three cents!"

  "Ah, so that's it.” He paused, obviously choosing his words carefully. “It's been a hard winter, Abby, and times haven't been so easy for folks..."

  "It's been plenty easy for some, Papa - the ones who you'll notice didn't contribute anything this morning. Even after your lecture about the importance of being a good neighbor, the people of Seneca Township are as pinch-fisted as ever!"

  James frowned as he nodded toward the back of the buckboard. "Abigail...the children."

  "It's because of the children that I feel this way! Ernest Sholski puffed up like a rooster this morning, priding himself on giving us that skinny old pig. I didn’t see him put so much as a penny in the basket, and I’ll bet his pockets are stuffed with coin!"

  "You’re not a wagering girl, Abigail," James teased, trying to lighten the mood.

  She managed a smile but returned at once to her point. "Most of our neighbors can afford more than they give, I know it."

  "You expect too much of people, Abby."

  "Maybe I do, but these children need so much."

  "You've got to have faith that everything will work out. We'll get by, we always have. Next week we'll just ask again, and the week after that. I'll say a special prayer tonight to thank the Lord for the blessing we received today, and I'll ask Him to shower a measure of guilt over the heads of the ones that didn't give." He winked at Abby from under the wide brim of his best black hat. "I listen to you, daughter, and the Lord listens to me. It'll all come out right in the end."

  "Papa James is right, Miss Abby," Rebecca said from the back of the wagon. "The Lord will take care of us."

  "Oh, Rebecca..." Abby stopped short when she saw the look of hurt on the girl's face. "I mean Angel," she amended quickly. "Yes, of course He will." Then to her father, she whispered, "Even though she’s been with us a few months, I still find it strange that she made up a new name for herself."

  "Indulge her, Abigail. Remembering a name isn’t such a hard thing to do for a poor lost creature who's been abandoned by her parents. It helps her get by, and after all, that's why they come to us, isn't it? To get by?"

  "And because there's nowhere else to go.” Abby fingered the scant coins in her pocket. She looked at the children, and as always, her heart swelled with love for them. "You're right Papa. These children ask little enough, but unfortunately that's what they get!"

  Wisely James didn’t argue and
kept his attention on his driving until they reached a fork in the road. The main path followed an easy curve north to Seneca Village and bigger towns further on, while the narrower path, bordered by budding maple trees, was the direction James Chadwick guided his mules, for it ended at Chadwick Farm. The animals plodded instinctively toward the familiar path until James suddenly tugged both reins to his chest. The animals halted and shook their large heads in obstinate displeasure.

  "Look there, Abby," he said, pointing up the village path to a disabled wagon on the roadside. "Someone's having trouble. We'll see if we can lend a hand. This being Sunday, there may not be anyone else along this road for hours."

  As they drew near, Abby recognized the stranded traveler who was having difficulty with a large freight wagon. Everyone knew Duncan Walthrop, the hardware salesman who'd been working the rural areas of Northern Ohio for years. Today, however, he wasn’t using his salesman skills. He was crouched in mud and gravel at the rear of his wagon where he scooped up the littered contents of a packing crate that had broken into splinters on the ground. And though the brake handle at the driver's seat was pulled back and set, the wagon pitched forward and back as one of the two large horses at the harness thrashed against its restraints.

  Pulling alongside the larger wagon, James braked his buckboard and settled his elbows on his knees. "Duncan Walthrop! What's happened?"

  The burly drummer rose to face James. He shook his hands, relieving them of clumps of mud and wood chips. "Reverend Chadwick! I mighta’ known if anyone was to stop and help, it’d be you."

  "It looks like you're having trouble with one of your horses."

  Duncan frowned. "That cussed old mare just up and reared like she was full of loco weed. I don't know what got into her, but her gyrations knocked down the gate and spilt twenty pounds of nuts and bolts all over Summit County!"

  James stared at the horse and shook his head. "I’ll be happy to take a look at her. Maybe I can figure out what's wrong."

  "Don't dirty your Sunday suit, Reverend. I've got a new man helping me who swears he can fix anything. If he can settle this crazy horse, I just might believe him."

  A tall man in an open-necked shirt suddenly appeared on the other side of the wagon. He rested his elbow on the horse’s rump and scratched his forehead. "The shoe's clean," he called to Duncan. "I can't find a stone or burr or anything that would have set her off."

  Keeping a hand firmly on the bridle, the man spoke in a soothing tone that should have quieted the mare...under normal circumstances. But Abby realized that these circumstances weren't normal, and the man's attempts to calm the horse only increased the animal's discomfort.

  Duncan threw his hands in the air. "Well see if there's a thorn in her harness, Sam, or check for horseflies biting her. There's got to be some explanation unless that thievin' Brady at the livery rented me a mare that's missing a few oats in her bag!"

  Abby strongly suspected the man wouldn't find any bothersome insects, and she decided not to wait a minute longer to come to the mare’s aid.

  “I think I know what’s wrong,” she said as she gathered her skirt and petticoat in her fists and began to climb from the buckboard.

  Duncan raised a palm to stop her. "You just stay put, Miss Abigail. You don't want to get your pretty dress all dirty."

  "I can wash my dress, Mr. Walthrop," she said, her feet hitting the soggy road. "What I can't do is sit here and watch that animal suffer!"

  All at once she was acutely aware of an intense stare from Walthrop’s helper. Did he resent her interference? The question was answered as the soles of her shoes sank in an inch of mud.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, ma’am,” came a raspy voice. “I can handle this.”

  Her determined gaze met an equally obstinate one, but she hiked her hem up past her ankles and slogged toward the wagon. “No disrespect intended sir, but it appears you cannot.”

  # # #

  All his life Sam Kelly had avoided becoming the focus of unwanted attention. Yet here, on this country road, he was the object of considerable scrutiny by six curious pairs of eyes, and one seemingly judgmental one partially hidden under the brim of a sun bonnet. He felt his discomfort in a sudden burst of heat to his face, and in truth, despite the woman’s words, he felt more than a little disrespected. No doubt this Abigail found him lacking the skills to deal with the simple task of quieting a skittish mare.

  Though his gaze remained on the determined female, Sam clearly heard Duncan's warning. "You'd better stop your daughter, James. That mare's in a bad temper."

  "So's Abby," James countered. "So I suggest we leave her be."

  Sam watched her approach with increasing annoyance. What did this dainty-looking woman think she was going to do that he hadn't already tried? He increased the pressure of his fingers on the bridle to keep the mare from thrashing out and attacking Abby. He certainly didn't need any more problems. It was enough to hold the mare without having to protect this interfering female as well.

  She stepped between the horse and Sam. The mare reacted precisely as Sam had predicted and pranced about nervously at the arrival of this other human.

  "You're going to have to stand clear, ma'am," Sam ordered. "I don't want you to get hurt."

  Abby didn't budge. "She won't hurt me. Let go of her headstall."

  "I can't do that. She'll come around and bite you for certain if I do."

  "No, she won't. Now please take your hand away." When he resisted, Abby narrowed her eyes at him and said, "I’m assuming you haven’t been around horses much.”

  A humiliating conclusion for a woman to be drawing about a man, but there was no point lying to her. Sam's handyman chores at the Chilton-Howe Boys' Preparatory School had never included stable duties. For that, the school hired a full-time professional groom. And Sam had only rarely been given permission to ride the thoroughbred ponies available to the young masters.

  "I can't honestly say that I have,” he admitted. “And being around this one doesn't make me any too eager."

  A trace of a smile lifted the corners of Abby's mouth as she turned back to the horse. Then her fingers worked deftly to release the buckle on the mare's bridle.

  "If you'd had more experience," she explained patiently, "you would have known that this poor creature's bit is too loose. Her tongue's over the metal bar, and every time you pulled on the reins or tugged her bridle, she's been in considerable pain.” Abby tugged on the headstall. “It's no wonder this horse tried to topple your wagon."

  The instant Abby removed the bit from the mare's mouth, the horse stopped prancing, and Abby was able to replace the gear properly. "There," she said, rubbing the satiny equine nose which nuzzled her shoulder, "isn't that better?"

  "Well, I'll be," Sam muttered. The truth was he didn't know how to respond to this woman’s superior skill. But clearly she had saved him a lot of time and guesswork, so he simply said, “Thanks.”

  "You're welcome. And don't trouble yourself because you didn't know what was wrong. It's just something you learn when you've been around animals for a long time."

  Though the shadow from the brim of Abby's bonnet hid much of her face, Sam decided that the smile he could see seemed genuine. She hadn't belittled him for his lack of expertise, and he appreciated that. He waited to see if she offered her hand to him, and when she didn't, he introduced himself anyway. "My name's Sam Kelly."

  Her gaze dropped from his face to scan the length of him, and he was suddenly conscious of his disheveled appearance. He hadn’t seen a barber in weeks. Minutes ago he'd undone the top buttons of his shirt when the front became damp with perspiration, and he'd rolled his shirt sleeves up well past his elbows. All in all, he didn't look even remotely like Samuel Kelly from the Chilton-Howe School, and he assumed he didn't look like anyone this woman would like to shake hands with. He withdrew his hand and wiped his palm on his denim pants. "I'm sorry,” Abby said, thrusting her hand at him. “You must think I'm terribly rude. I was thinking of...
well, I must have been daydreaming.” She smiled again. “I'm Abigail Chadwick."

  "Nice to meet you," Sam said, wrapping her hand in his own. He took a long, slow look at her and surprised himself by wishing she would take her bonnet off. He couldn't even see what color her hair was, but for some reason, he imagined it was auburn. Maybe it was because he'd just determined that her eyes were the prettiest shade of green, and green-eyed girls often had red hair.

  "I don't suppose you have anything cool to drink, do you, Miss Chadwick?" he finally said when it became obvious he had stared too long.

  She glanced over to the buckboard. "Will one of you children see if there's any lemonade left in the basket?"

  All the children but Will scrambled to the rear of the buckboard to be the one to deliver the requested drink. "Here you are," the victorious Angel said, holding out a tin cup.

  Abby and Sam walked over to the buckboard. Sam took the cup and drank the contents in three big gulps.

  Duncan came up behind them, put his hand on Sam's shoulder, and gave Abby a sheepish grin. "I guess we're darn lucky the reverend and his daughter came by, ain't we, Sam? 'Course if I hadn't been so tied up picking up this litter, I'd have took a look at the mare myself and probably figured out her problem right away."

  "Of course you would have, Mr. Walthrop," Abby said with a sweet smile.

  Duncan cleared his throat and turned to James. "Now that all the ruckus is over, Reverend, why don't you and I talk a little business? I'll be around to your place in a few days, and I hope I can count on you for an order."

  "I can't make any promises, Duncan. Money's tight, though now that I know you're here, I'll see what we're most in need of."

  While the men talked, Abby climbed into the buckboard. The twins had begun to fuss in the back, and Thomas called out, "Aren't we ever going home, Papa James?"

  "Guess that's a sign we'd best be on our way," James said, reaching inside and ruffling the boy's hair.

  "Thanks for stopping, Reverend," Duncan said. "And I know Sam thanks you, Miss Abigail."