An Inconvenient Match (22 page)

Who knew what would’ve happened if their affection had been allowed to mature as they did. Ending their courtship had been the toughest thing he’d ever done. But by giving her up, he’d ensured she’d keep what she valued most, the love and support of family.

In all the years since, he’d never found anyone like Abby. He felt certain she’d make a wonderful mother by the tender way she looked at her nephews. She’d grown into a caring, generous, determined woman. A woman he admired. A woman he’d do anything for. But a woman better off without him.

She wanted him to mend the rift with his father. This much he could do for her. To get what Abby’s family had, he must take the first step with his dad. And leave the outcome to God.

Abigail wasn’t fooled by Lois and Ma’s desire for more coffee. They were fishing for her feelings about Wade. The only thing they’d catch was the dregs of the pot.

Ma shot her a pointed look. “Never thought I’d see the day when a Cummings would step foot in our home.”

“Maybe we better get used to it.” Lois lifted a brow. “Anyone could see Wade only had eyes for Abby.”

Ethel gasped. “Lois, watch your mouth. I didn’t raise a daughter of mine to fall for the likes of Wade Cummings.”

“George Cummings donated the funds to furnish our homes. Wade’s building beds, helping Abby on the committee and providing her a job. Reason enough to rethink your opinion of the man.” Lois took a sip of coffee. “Besides, the father did our family wrong, not his son.”

“Don’t fret, Ma. I have no intention of getting involved with Wade.” That should tell them what they wanted to know.

Lois set her cup down and met Abigail’s eyes. “Because he broke your heart?”

“We were kids.”

“I fell for Joe when I was sixteen.”

That youthful romance led to years of misery. Lois of all people should understand Abigail’s inability to trust Wade.

“Ab, I can read your face like a picture book. You’re thinking about the years Joe’s gambling tested our vows. I’ll admit I fell for brawny muscles, a handsome face and a kind heart and married someone without faith. I prayed with every breath I took that Joe would come to God and he did.”

With a blue-veined hand Ma patted Lois’s sleeve. “In all those years of waiting, you never gave up. That’s strong faith.”

If Abigail had married someone like Joe, would she have stuck by him? Or would she have taken her children and walked out? Her stomach clenched. What would have happened to Joe if Lois had given up on him?

Ma rose. “I’m going to bed.”

“Night, Ma,” Lois and Abigail chimed in unison.

Once the bedroom door clicked closed, Abigail turned to Lois. “How were you able to hang onto your marriage vows all those years?”

“I knew God had the power and the desire to save Joe from gambling and for eternity. I prayed without ceasing and waited.”

Abigail lowered her voice. “Was it hard to forgive Joe for all the heartache he caused?”

“After asking God to give Joe and me a new beginning, I couldn’t very well hold a grudge. Besides, forgiving is a command.”

Abigail fingered the chain around her neck. She had tried to forgive but she couldn’t forget. Not when every day brought a reminder of all they’d lost.

Lois took Abigail’s hand and squeezed. “God may have brought Wade back into your life for a more important reason than that job.”

“Perhaps.” How could she know God’s will when it came to Wade? She faked a yawn and rose. “I’m going to bed.”

“You’re running from life, Abby,” Lois said with a huff. “Running from love.”

“No, I’m being realistic. Facing the truth and going on with my life.” She gave Lois a hug. “Hope Billy gives you a good night’s sleep.”

In the room she shared with Ma, Abigail turned back the covers and slipped into bed, listening to Ma’s even breathing.

Curling on her side, she waited for sleep.

Who knew what life could bring? What life could do to someone? Better to honor her teaching contract, to spend her life teaching children than take a risk on love. Ma and Lois might paint a pretty picture of their marriages, but Abigail had seen the heartache they’d endured.

She wouldn’t give Wade a second chance.

Not that he’d asked for it.

Wade finished the plate of food Abigail had left for him. Even cold the meal was excellent, as delicious as Cora’s. He suspected Cora’s reason for leaving after all these years was a mutiny of sorts, her attempt to force his father to change.

As if anyone could force George Cummings to do anything.

He rinsed the plate, leaving it to drain then marched down the hall toward the parlor.

In the curve of the bay window George sat reading. Wade smiled at the title,
The Red Badge of Courage
. Abby had made huge inroads in expanding his father’s interests and taming that temper of his. Though his coughing had eased, Wade could hear his ragged breathing. Proof his lungs weren’t healed.

George glanced up then set the book aside. “You’re home late.”

“Abby and I met with the Lessmans tonight.” He stepped to his father’s side. “They’re grateful for your donation.”

George appeared not to hear.

“Joe was blessed to get out of that fire alive. You were too.”

“Lucky, I guess.”

Wade bit back his impatience. “Did you consider God had something to do with it?”

George shrugged. His father believed in God and in His power but somehow didn’t connect that to events in his life.

“I’m curious why you made that huge donation to the relief fund.”

“Generosity isn’t what you’d expect from me, is that what you’re saying?”

Shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, Wade leaned against the window frame, feigning indifference to his father’s caustic tone. Must every conversation end in an argument? Well, he wouldn’t back down. Not this time. “I guess I am.”

“Well, you’d be right.”

A desire to walk out seized him, to leave his father in his self-imposed exile. Wade closed his eyes, remembering Seth. If he did, he wasn’t the man a boy of seventeen was. Seth never gave up on Rafe, never stopped believing his father would be a better man and overcome what held him in its grip.

What overture could Wade make that his father wouldn’t rebuff? Abby had suggested he find a common interest they could share. He glanced at the small table across the way, set up for checkers. What little time his competitive father had spent with his family, he’d chosen to play checkers or chess.

Not that Wade could afford time for games. He should be in the shop building those beds, but putting a job before his family made him no different than his driven father.

“Care to play checkers?” he said, using a casual tone like the answer didn’t matter.

George blinked. “What?” Then nodded, slowly, not exactly eager, but then neither was Wade.

Before he had second thoughts, Wade repositioned the table in front of his father then pulled up a chair.

“I’ll take black,” George said. “Red goes first.”

Appropriate for his father’s mood.

Wade turned the board until the rows of black faced his father then pushed a red checker out of the front row, leaving behind an empty spot.

An empty spot like the hole his mom’s desertion made in their lives. Ridiculous to see all that in a game of checkers, but the simplest things seemed to boil down to that defining moment.

Eyes gleaming with zeal to win—as if a game had significance in life—George slid a black checker diagonally to the left.

Wade made a move, then his father another, until red and black met in the middle, a standoff of sorts, much as the two of them lived. Ignoring the impasse like they did each day in this house, they took turns studying the board then moving another piece. Neither spoke, as if the game demanded their undivided attention. Or merely concealed they had no idea what to discuss.

As the game progressed they crowned each other’s kings, enabling them to now move checkers back as well as forward.

If only they could move back in time. Help his mother see that running wasn’t the way to handle her unhappiness.

Abby had accused him of running from confrontations. By keeping aloof, by avoiding talking about the past, he supposed he had. If he shared his feelings, perhaps George would open up.

He’d make the first move toward ending the stalemate.

With his king, George plucked Wade’s checker from the board with a smirk, adding it to his growing pile. His father had amassed much in his lifetime, but at what price?

Another move, then another until only three red checkers survived. Even as an adult, Wade’s father would defeat him.

Odd that he couldn’t remember his mom ever losing a game. “I’d like to know how Mom managed to beat you in checkers.”

George shifted in his seat. “I let her win.”

“Why? You never let me win.”

“Winning seemed to make her happy,” his father said quietly. He fidgeted with his vest, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle. “I wanted to give her that.”

Losing opposed his father’s instincts. That he’d lose deliberately revealed something about his parents’ relationship Wade hadn’t known with certainty. “You cared about her.”

Dark eyes flashed. “Are you dim-witted enough to believe I’d marry a woman I didn’t?”

“Your feelings must’ve changed.” The reason love was risky.

His father thrust out a hand, obviously impatient with the delay of the game. “It’s your turn,” he grumbled.

Wade’s move closed off a path to his last red king. “Did you love her when she left?”

Under the dark slashes of his brows, in stark contrast to his snow-white hair, George glared. “Why are you yapping about this? Instead of dredging up the past, get your mind in the game.”

“My whole world collapsed when Mom left.”

George’s nostrils flared. “You think mine didn’t!”

“How would I know?” Wade leaned across the board toward his father. “You didn’t try to find her. You didn’t try to bring her home. If you had, maybe she wouldn’t have taken sick and died.”

His father shuddered. Obviously that had occurred to him.

The time had come to uncover what went wrong between his parents. “I need to understand why she left. Your part in it.”

“So you can lay the blame on me? Isn’t that what this is about?” George jutted his chin. “
She’s
the one who left.”

Turning back to the game as if he considered the conversation over, George’s scarred fingers poised over the board. His hands were healing. What about his heart?

“Mom’s leaving hurt you. Well, she hurt me too. Why did the theater mean more to her than we did?”

Heaving a sigh, his father rose and plodded to the window, putting his back to Wade and distance between them as he’d done all these years.

In a couple long strides Wade reached him, turned him around, forcing his father to look at him. “Answer me!” he snapped, then said softly, “Please. I need to know.”

“Your mother was a dreamer.” He’d spoken the word as if dreamer was a curse. “There wasn’t a stage in New Harmony big enough to hold her.”

George pivoted to the grand piano in the corner. Did he see as Wade did, Ernestine sitting there, her fingers dancing across the keys? Did he hear her singing, the notes sweet to his ears? His mother’s voice was extraordinary; even as a small boy Wade had grasped the brilliance of her talent.

Yet he’d also seen her unhappiness. Somehow knew she felt trapped, as if she lived a prison sentence without parole.

“Sometimes Mom performed scenes from
Romeo and Juliet.
” Remembering, a smile curved his lips. “She’d come alive then, her beauty and skill dazzling.” His smile faded as quickly as his mother’s mood had. “When she thought we weren’t looking, she wore a sad expression, a vacant look in her eyes.”

His father’s face contorted in a blend of anger and pain. “I’d come home and find the three of you laughing, running around in circles like overwound tops. If you noticed me watching, you’d stop, standing there silent and uneasy.” Tears filled his eyes. “I was an outsider in my own home.”

Wade reached a hand. “You could’ve joined in—”

As if unable to bear Wade’s touch, George jerked away. “I had no time or energy for such foolishness. Can’t you see that the success or failure of my businesses rested on my shoulders?”

His parents were such different people. Surely neither understood nor accepted what drove and energized the other.

Eyes blazing like a raging fire, George threw up his hands. “I gave Ernestine everything. I built this house for her, kept her in finery and jewels. I worked like a slave—for what? She never appreciated any of it.” He slashed a hand, as if trying to dispel an image that haunted him. “I resented her discontent. Still do,” he said in a raspy voice that ended in a cough.

“Why weren’t you and Regina and I—enough?”

“You think I haven’t asked myself that a million times?” He flailed an arm. “Stop going over and over this! Finish the game.”