Summer of Promise (25 page)

“You must have read my mind,” Abigail said when they met in front of Old Bedlam. Two families who were sitting on the second story verandah waved at Abigail, the women’s faces radiating sympathy. It seemed that the story of Puddles’s banishment had spread quickly. Abigail shouldn’t have been surprised, and she tried not to mind that her family had become grist for the rumor mill. Instead, she smiled at Ethan, grateful for the answering smile he gave her.

“I missed the scamp and wondered whether you’d let me take him for a walk.”

Ethan looked at Puddles, who was jumping up and down, his excitement obvious. “I’d say Puddles has the same idea. He practically tore my arm off when he saw you.” Ethan handed her the leash and waited while Abigail patted the dog and murmured reassuring words.

“How is it, being a dog owner?” she asked as they started to walk. Rather than continue the way Ethan had begun, which would have meant passing Puddles’s former home, Abigail headed toward the former cavalry barracks and stables.

Ethan chuckled when Puddles spotted a bunny and jerked on the leash. “I didn’t realize just how much energy a puppy has.”

“But a puppy is not a puppy forever.” Abigail tossed Ethan’s words back at him, hoping he’d continue to smile.

He did. “Thank goodness. I’m not sure I could handle a whirlwind like him for too long.”

Abigail bent down to ruffle Puddles’s ears. His coat was smoother than many dogs’, his ears almost as soft as silk. “You’re not a whirlwind, are you, Puddles?” As if in response, the dog shook his head, then scampered away, once again tugging on the leash, as if suddenly bored by the adults.

“I heard your class went well,” Ethan said as they began to walk. “From all accounts, you’re a born teacher.”

Abigail found herself flushing at the praise. “I enjoy it. The truth is, when I finished class tonight, I had more energy than I can recall. Usually I’m tired by nightfall, but not tonight. That’s why I decided to take a walk.”

“I’m surprised your sister didn’t come with you. I thought she’d miss the dog.”

“She does miss him. Too much. She got used to having Puddles around, but now he’s gone, and if Charlotte is right, Jeffrey won’t relent. I don’t know what to do.” Abigail bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to confide her concerns to Ethan. The words had simply slipped out, perhaps because she felt more at ease with him than she had with anyone other than Charlotte herself.

Ethan tipped his head to one side, as if pondering Abigail’s statement. “It sounds as if she needs something to take her mind off the dog and the fact that you’ll be leaving when summer ends.”

Abigail stopped and stared at Ethan. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She had made a concerted effort not to think about the fact that she and Charlotte would be separated again. When she thought of autumn, and that had happened less frequently over the past few weeks, she focused on her students and the beauty of sugar maples decked out in their fall finery rather than the fact that the season’s change would mean leaving her sister.

“A lot of things are changing in Charlotte’s life.” Though Ethan did not voice the words, Abigail knew that one of those changes would be the baby’s arrival. “My grandfather used to say that the best way to deal with a problem was to keep busy doing something else.” Ethan chuckled. “That advice hasn’t helped me figure out who’s behind the stagecoach robberies, but it might help your sister. What does she enjoy doing?”

Abigail thought for a moment. “She’s a wonderful seamstress, but Jeffrey won’t let her sew for others. He says that would reflect poorly on him.”

Ethan stared into the distance for a moment. “I can’t imagine Jeffrey would object if she didn’t charge for her services. All the officers try to make Christmas special for the enlisted men and their families. What if Charlotte sewed something for them?”

Abigail nodded, remembering how Charlotte and their mother had organized Christmas baskets for the less fortunate parishioners. “She could enlist the other women’s help. They already have a sewing circle, but this would give them a goal.”

And Charlotte would be the perfect person to coordinate everything. Knowing Charlotte, she would find a theme and would design garments to fit it, all the while ensuring that the other wives knew their contributions to the effort were essential. It was something Charlotte could do now and even after the baby arrived. Perfect.

Abigail looked up. Though night was falling, they were close enough to one of the street lamps that Abigail could see the question in Ethan’s eyes. He was still waiting for her to confirm that she liked his suggestion.

“It’s the perfect answer. I love the idea, and I’m sure Charlotte will too. How can I possibly thank you?”

Ethan tilted his head to one side as a mischievous smile curved his lips. “How about another kiss?”

15

A
kiss?” Abigail’s eyes widened with something that might have been shock.

How stupid could a man be? Ethan could have kicked himself for the words that had come from his mouth, seemingly of their own volition. Abigail was obviously appalled by the idea of another kiss. Justifiably so. Now that he thought about it,
he
was appalled. Of course she wouldn’t want to kiss him, especially since the kiss he’d envisioned had been far different from the gentle buss on the cheek she’d given him when he agreed to rescue Puddles. The only excuse Ethan could find for suggesting such a ridiculous thing was that his brain must have taken a leave of absence. That was no excuse at all, especially since his foolishness had upset Abigail. What he needed to do was find a way to ease her discomfort.

“It was a joke, Abigail,” he said, hoping she’d accept the implied apology. “I was teasing.”

“Oh.” Her expression changed. Surely it wasn’t disappointment that he saw reflected from her eyes. It couldn’t be, for he knew she hadn’t wanted to kiss him. As if to prove that, the furrows between her eyes vanished as she said, “A joke. Of course. I understand.”

The awkward moment was past. There was no reason to dwell on it, no reason to even remember how silly he’d been to propose a kiss. And yet that night when Ethan dreamed, it was of a woman kissing him, a woman with Abigail’s hazel eyes and a smile that could light the evening sky.

Unfortunately, there was no way to arrange her hair without peering into the mirror. Abigail tried not to frown when the looking glass reflected dark circles under her eyes. What else had she expected when she’d hardly slept? She could blame it on Charlotte, pretending that if her sister had been awake when she returned, Abigail would not have spent the night tossing and turning. But the truth was, Abigail wasn’t certain that would have helped. She’d lain in bed, reliving the evening. Class had been exhilarating, she’d enjoyed her time with Puddles, but what had kept her from sleep were Ethan’s suggestions. Suggestion, singular, she corrected herself. The Christmas baskets had been a genuine suggestion, the kiss only a joke. That’s what Ethan had said, and yet there had been a gleam in his eyes that had made her believe he was serious, that he had wanted her to kiss him.

Abigail frowned as she twisted her hair into a knot, securing it with half a dozen pins. Had Ethan really wanted to kiss her? The thought was like a haunting refrain that kept repeating itself inside her head. No matter how often she shook her head, it would not go away. She kept remembering his smile and the way his eyes had crinkled when he’d said, “Another kiss.” He hadn’t looked like someone who was teasing, and she . . . Abigail sighed.

There was no point in denying it. She had wanted to kiss him, really kiss him, not simply give him another peck on the cheek. She had wanted to feel his lips pressed to hers. The longing had been so strong that she could almost taste it, and that was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. A woman who was practically engaged to another man did not entertain such thoughts.

It was pure temptation, put in her path so that she would stray. But she wouldn’t. She would not stray. She would not succumb to something she knew was wrong. She would not think about kisses. Whenever those errant thoughts appeared, she would turn them away, keeping her mind firmly fixed on Charlotte. Charlotte was the reason she had come to Wyoming.

A few minutes later, Abigail descended the stairs and followed her sister to the kitchen, waiting until they’d served themselves bowls of porridge before she introduced Ethan’s suggestion. Though she hoped Charlotte would be enthusiastic, after last night, Abigail wasn’t certain of anything regarding her sister. But then Charlotte smiled, and Abigail’s doubts vanished. The malaise she’d seen the previous evening was gone, replaced by a brilliant smile and eyes that glowed with happiness.

“It’s a wonderful idea!” Charlotte practically crowed. Laying down her spoon, she started planning. “I can sew caps and gloves. You know how I love gloves.” She extended her hand and feigned smoothing a glove over her fingers. “Mrs. Alcott is a wonderful knitter. She can make scarves, and we can tuck some of Mrs. Montgomery’s pretty handkerchiefs into the corners.”

This was the Charlotte Abigail remembered from her childhood, filled with enthusiasm and energy.

When her sister frowned as she picked up her coffee cup, Abigail knew a new thought had assailed her. “What will I do if the others don’t want to participate? I can’t do it all alone,” Charlotte said.

Abigail gave her sister a reassuring smile. “Leave it to me. All you have to do is invite them for tea.”

That afternoon when Mrs. Alcott and Mrs. Montgomery were seated in the parlor, their little fingers properly crooked as they lifted their teacups, Abigail began. “Ladies, I need your help.” Mama had taught her daughters that a sure way to gain people’s approval was to ask for their assistance. “My sister is thinking about a new project, and—as worthy as it is—I don’t believe it would be successful without your expertise.”

The women nodded, and Abigail took heart from the fact that neither of them interrupted her as she explained the plan. Mrs. Montgomery seemed almost as interested in the molasses cookies Charlotte had offered as in Abigail’s story.

“Charlotte is skilled with a needle, but there’s nothing better than a warm knitted scarf or a handkerchief with a delicate tatted edging.” Charlotte had confided that Mrs. Montgomery fancied herself the resident expert at tatting.

“Naturally we’d help you,” Mrs. Alcott said.

Mrs. Montgomery nodded. “Just tell us what you need.” She took another cookie from the platter and bit into it, obviously savoring the sweet. “What I need is someone who can bake like Mrs. Channing. Mrs. Nelson makes delicious roasts, and her bread is light as air, but she can’t seem to master desserts.” Mrs. Montgomery broke off another piece of cookie. “I must admit that I enjoy a good dessert.” When she’d swallowed the bite, she wagged her index finger at Charlotte. “Be careful. I may steal your cook away from you.”

Though she was certain the other women noticed nothing, Abigail heard her sister’s soft intake of breath and suspected that Charlotte’s thoughts had taken the same direction as hers. Was it possible they’d discovered a way to get Puddles back? A second later, Charlotte looked as poised as ever. “Perhaps we could arrange a trade,” she said casually, as if the thought wasn’t making her heart beat at twice its normal speed. But it was, for Abigail saw the telltale vein on her sister’s hand. “Mrs. Channing isn’t completely happy here, even though we sent Puddles away.”

Mrs. Montgomery nodded. “I heard about the pickled beets.”

Charlotte managed a little laugh. “I imagine everyone on the post heard about that. It took a lot of bleach to get the floor clean again.”

“Well, I have no dogs, so that wouldn’t be a problem.” Mrs. Montgomery took another cookie, chewing it thoughtfully. “This is simply delectable,” she announced when she’d finished it. Turning toward Mrs. Alcott, she waited until the other woman gave a slight nod. “If you agree, Charlotte, I’ll speak to Mrs. Nelson today. She can be here tomorrow morning.”

“I agree.” Charlotte gave her guest a radiant smile. The Puddles problem had been resolved.

Ethan pulled out his watch and frowned for what seemed like the hundredth time. Class should have been over by now. Abigail had said she’d set a limit of an hour, not wanting to overwhelm the men and discourage them from returning, but it had been an hour and a quarter, and there was no sign of anyone leaving the schoolhouse. He snapped his watch closed. It was only fifteen minutes, no reason to be upset. The truth was, he felt like a schoolboy being forced to wait for a treat.

It had been a difficult day, and he’d looked forward to spending time with Abigail. As if the continued concern about the robberies weren’t enough, his baseball team was becoming as blue as their name. Despite hours of practice and superior talent, they had yet to win a game. While Jeffrey crowed, the Laramie Blues grew increasingly despondent. Ethan knew of no way to encourage his men, especially when his own spirits had plummeted this afternoon when he’d received another letter from Mrs. Eberle. “Come home,” his grandfather’s housekeeper urged him. “He needs you.”

Hah! Grandfather didn’t need him. If he really was dying, all he needed was a manager for the railroad. There were dozens of men far better qualified than Ethan. As for home, the brownstone where Ethan had spent his childhood was no longer home. Home was wherever the Army sent him. Right now it was a single room that had felt oddly empty ever since he’d taken Puddles back to Abigail and Charlotte.

A round of applause rang through the night air, followed by the sound of men getting to their feet. Class was over. Ethan felt himself relax. Abigail would come out in a minute, and though he had no intention of telling her about Mrs. Eberle’s letter, just being with her would brighten the day. He took a step forward, then stopped, for when Abigail left the schoolroom, she was deep in conversation with Corporal Keller.

“I received a letter from Marta today,” the corporal told Abigail. “She is unhappy with me. All her friends are married, and she feels—how do you say it?—left out.” The corporal frowned. “I do not know vat to tell her. It vill take me three more months to save enough money to bring her here.”

He wasn’t eavesdropping, Ethan told himself. Anyone on this end of the parade ground could have overheard the conversation and Abigail’s response. “If she loves you, she’ll wait.” Was she thinking of Woodrow, he wondered? It seemed to Ethan that Abigail had done more than her share of waiting for the man to propose. Had Ethan been in Woodrow’s shoes, he would have made certain she was wearing his ring before she headed West, but of course he wasn’t Woodrow, and it was silly to even think of sliding a ring onto Abigail’s slender finger.