An Inconvenient Match (15 page)

“Considerate of them to pitch in.”

Head back, Oscar watched men crawling on the roofs. “Not sure if we was dropped on our heads or what, but Cecil and me don’t cotton to heights. Like our feet planted on terra firma.” He turned to her. “That’s Italian for ‘ground.’”

Abigail bit back the chuckle trying to force its way out of her throat and offered Oscar a cookie.

“I’ve thought about asking Cora to marry me,” he said, taking a cookie. “Wish she could marry Cecil and me both, but with bigamy against the law and all, that ain’t likely. If I was to propose, Cecil would resent me getting the drop on him.”

“If Cora accepted your proposal, you could always invite your brother over for dinner.”

“Yeah, we could, but then there’s the matter of Cecil and me owning a house. Reckon I’ll forget matrimony.” He took another bite. “Sure is tempting though.”

Abigail doubted Cora’s cookies were a solid foundation for marriage. But perhaps no more apt to crumble than other motivations she’d heard.

“Might want to plug your ears,” Oscar said then held his hands to his mouth, creating a megaphone of sorts. “Ice cold lemonade! Come get it, gents!”

Within seconds men eased off the roofs, tromping down the ladders leaning against the house, lumbering toward them. Faces flushed, shoulders drooping, wrung out from laying hot shingles. They gathered around the wheelbarrow, gulping a dipperful of lemonade then passing the ladle on to the next man.

How could she ask these tired men to do more? Perhaps they’d welcome a break. She carried the tray among them, offering Cora’s cookies. They thanked her profusely then gobbled the cookies as if they were starving.

“Gentlemen, before you go back on that roof, could four of you haul a bedstead downstairs at the Cummings house? The second floor is hot and confining.”

“Shingles are getting soft in this heat and could use a rest, same as me,” Jim Johnson said then scratched his head. “Though a Wilson working for the Cummingses is about more than a man can digest.”

Orville Radcliff whipped a red-patterned bandana out of his hip pocket and wiped his brow. “Never thought I’d see the day—God at work for sure.”

Abigail had all she could do to keep her lips sealed shut. Mr. Radcliff meant no harm, but too much stood between the Cummingses and Wilsons to consider that a few days working in their house had somehow resolved the feud. Things were better between her and George, but to pretend a reconciliation she didn’t feel would be dishonest, even self-deceit.

Dan Harper wiped cookie crumbs off his mouth. “Let’s not keep Cummings roasting like a hog on the spit.”

Harrison Carder, the new lawyer in town, shot her a smile as he twisted his neck and shoulders, working out the kinks. “Any excuse to get off that roof sounds good to me.”

“Do you gentlemen know when the Lessman house will be livable?”

“We’re aiming to finish them about the same time,” Dan said. “Expect it’ll take another month. Hard to say, since the number of workers varies each day, depending on a man’s job and how long he can let the chores slide.”

A month.
“Lois and Joe could move in by early July.”

Dan Harper grinned. “Yep, should have a humdinger of a Fourth of July party, celebrating the country’s birth and that burned-out block’s rebirth.”

“That’s a fabulous idea,” Abigail said. “I’ll talk to Elizabeth Logan. The Ladies’ Club will ensure the celebration is the best this town’s seen.”

“Reckon our wives will get tied up in the planning.” Jim Johnson shook his head. “We won’t get a decent meal for a week.”

“A big ’ole party will be worth the sacrifice, Jim. Well, I’d better wash this wheelbarrow down before the bees find it and me,” Oscar said.

As the men set off, Harrison offered Abigail his arm. “Communities don’t band together like this back East.”

“I’m surprised New Harmony interests a man like you.”

He wagged his brows. “A woman like you makes this town downright appealing.”

“Thank you,” she said, but knew flattery when she heard it.

At the Cummingses’ house she led the men inside and up the stairs, listening to murmurs of admiration. None had been in the house before, a sad commentary on the Cummingses’ connection to the community.

George greeted the men, his voice raspy with emotion, obviously touched by the turnout.

Unsettled by the confusion, Blue rose and hid behind George’s leg as the crew took the bed apart and carried the headboard, footboard, slats and rails downstairs to the parlor. Jim and Dan reassembled the four-poster in the spot Abigail had emptied of furniture. Harrison and Orville brought down the mattress. Then all four tromped upstairs for the washstand, washbowl, lamp and wheelchair while Abigail remade the bed.

Within minutes they’d taken unneeded furniture to George’s bedroom—with the exception of the grand piano—and converted the front parlor into a combination bed-and-sitting room with everything George needed at his disposal.

On the last trip, the men brought George, carrying him in a seat fashioned from their hands and arms. Blue plodded after them, ears flopping on each step.

“I could’ve handled the stairs,” George protested as they deposited him in a rocker. “But your way was faster. Good to be in the heart of things. Thanks, men.” He reached into his vest pocket and removed his billfold.

“Just being neighborly,” Jim protested. “If you want to spend your money, donate to rebuild the burned-out houses.”

George handed Jim a wad of bills. “Will you see that this gets into that fund?”

“Sure will! Thanks for the contribution, Mr. Cummings.”

He flapped a dismissive hand. “Hear you’re making progress.”

“Yes, sir, the community’s coming together to get it done.”

An unsettled look in his eyes, George nodded.

Abigail walked the men to the foyer, thanking them again. As they traipsed out the door, Harrison lingered. “If you need help with anything, let me know.”

“Thanks, that’s nice of you.”

“Contrary to what Wade may have said, I’m a nice fellow.”

Biting back a smile, she cocked her head at him. “Sorry to disappoint you, but Wade hasn’t told me anything about you.”

“Once he hears about our conversation, he will. The man’s the jealous type.” A grin on his face, he tipped his hat then jogged down the steps and caught up with the others meandering down the drive.

Harrison implied Wade was jealous. Over her? Could that be true? She pictured Wade, handsome, broad-shouldered and those indigo eyes. Oh, my. She could lose herself in their depths.

Wade worked hard, was kind, even generous. More importantly, he loved God.

But he was a Cummings.

She refused to give such silliness another thought. Nevertheless she glided to the parlor, feet barely touching the ground. One look at George’s impatient stare brought her down to earth and a chuckle to her lips.

“Why the delay, woman? Let’s get outside.”

“Yes, sir.”

She took George’s arm and helped him out of the house onto the porch, where there was only room for two chairs. From here he could watch the world go by, at least the part passing his house.

Once he was situated, Abigail stood soaking up the beauty of the shrubs and trees dotting the lawn, the drive curving around the bubbling fountain. Every room in the house had this lovely vista or a view of the garden and paddock where the horses grazed and the woods beyond.

Across the cinder alley behind their apartment, burning barrels rusted. Fire escapes clung to the backsides of buildings like vines.

George motioned to the other chair. “Sit.”

Blue dropped down beside him.

Abigail plopped hands on hips. “Stop issuing commands as if I’m that dog of yours or I may start baying at the moon.”

“Nothing wrong with that, is there, Blue?” Giving her a wink, he reached a hand and patted the top of the dog’s head.

Grinning, Abigail sat and leaned back in the chair, enjoying the peace of the moment. She’d accomplished what she’d set out to do. Gratified George not only appreciated her efforts, he’d thought of others.

“You were generous to donate to the building fund.”

He flapped a hand, as if shooing a pesky fly. “I’m one of many to donate.”

“True, but from that fistful of money I’d say your donation was significant. I appreciate it. My sister and brother-in-law are one of the families that lost everything in that fire.”

“I know.”

Something closed about his tone made her wonder if he resented helping a Wilson. But then he smiled. That good mood of his suggested this might be the right time to broach the subject of Seth. “Someone else in this town could use your help.”

Indigo irises lifted to hers, the resemblance to Wade unsettling. “Who?”

“Seth Collier, a student of mine. He’d do well in college, but his father can’t afford the books, clothing and other expenses.”

“And that’s where I come in?”

“You catch on fast. If you agreed to pay his living expenses, Seth could manage the rest.”

“Why this student?”

“Seth’s bright and a hard worker. More importantly he needs to get away from his father’s influence.”

“I’ve heard about Rafe’s antics. He doesn’t appreciate meddling. Been known to back up his opinion with a shotgun.”

“Another reason I want Seth out of there.”

A shadow fell across the porch. “Seth won’t leave his father.”

Abigail jerked toward Wade. Eyes snapping, face grim, he pinned her with his gaze. She rose to her feet. “I’m merely trying to save Seth from—”

“From what? His father? Or from the fate of being just like me?”

George snorted. Wade turned hostile eyes on his father. The elder Cummings’s smile faded.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m talking about protecting Seth. Rafe’s no example for his son, could even bring Seth harm.”

“Rafe may prize his privacy, but he’d never mistreat that boy.”

She leaned toward him until they were nose to nose. “Rafe’s example of using alcohol to handle problems could influence Seth, lead to his drinking.”

“Rafe has a problem, sure. So did your brother-in-law. Would you suggest Joe’s gambling made him unfit as a parent?”

His words slugged Abigail in the stomach. She sucked in a gulp of air, stunned by a comparison she couldn’t deny. Anything done to excess could impede a man’s judgment.

The scowl on his face faded. “I’m sorry if that hurt you, but we’re not talking about abuse here. Plenty of children must cope with the parents God gave them.”

Wade’s gaze locked with hers. His words evoked memories from her childhood, no doubt his too.

“Abby, you mean well, but you’re trying to shove your plan for Seth’s life down his throat. Instead, pray for the boy’s wisdom, give him gentle council—take the time to discover what’s important to him.”

She motioned to George watching them with hooded eyes. “Your father understands the importance of getting Seth out from under Rafe’s thumb.”

Wade’s narrowed eyes drilled into her like one of those augers in his shop. “Perhaps you’d like to find another place of employment.”

Abigail felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t earn the wage the Cummingses paid anywhere else…if she could even find another job.

George leaped to his feet, coughing with the exertion. “You’re not firing her. She had the sense to relocate me downstairs while you haven’t given my comfort a thought.”

“What are you talking about? I hired Abby to handle your needs so I could focus on your business holdings.”

“This young woman is thinking of ways to make me more comfortable. Ways to give me dignity. You’re not firing her!” he said, ending on a wheeze.

Abigail couldn’t believe she and George Cummings were on the same side of anything, much less this battle.

Red-faced, Wade turned glacial eyes on her. “I appreciate what you’re doing for my father. But I won’t tolerate you using Cummings money to maneuver Seth. I understand what’s important to that boy.”

“We’ll see about that. I intend to talk to Seth.”

Wade’s features hardened, appeared carved from granite. “Do that. I expect him in the shop any minute.”

“If Seth expresses a desire to attend college and your father wants to help, will you go along with Cummings money paying his expenses?”

“
If
college is what the boy wants. But Seth will never agree to leave his father.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “We’ll see which of us is right. Today.”

Chapter Ten

D
etermined to escape that infuriating female, Wade stomped inside the house. Once he changed his clothes, he’d hightail it to the shop and release his frustration making the salesmen samples—miniature versions of his furniture he’d use to bring in orders.

As he strode through the foyer, he glanced into the parlor. The furniture had been rearranged to make room for his father’s bed. Two wingback chairs had been pulled up near the bay window. Off to the side of the bed his wheelchair waited, ready if needed but unobtrusive. With easy access to the outdoors and kitchen, the move downstairs made sense. Wade sighed. A solution he should have thought of but hadn’t.