Poor man. He was probably embarrassed. Her presence had caused all of his friends to look at him so oddly.
Abby lifted her chin defiantly. Well, she told herself, if they want to stare, then give them something to stare at. No matter how rude the people were, she'd simply have to win them over. This little town was going to be her home now, and she just had to make them like her. She had to show Samuel that she could belong.
There were so many interesting things to look at! Abby turned in a slow circle, her gaze moving over the merchandise stacked on ir regularly placed shelves. From horse collars to hair ribbons, Mullins's Mercantile had anything you could possibly want or need. Sacks of grain were stacked beside a table holding a varied assortment of fabrics and sewing notions. Just above that display was a shelf holding three well-read books, two rifles, and a towering pile of ammunition boxes.
"May I help you?"
Abby turned and smiled at the older woman who'd stepped out from behind the counter. The woman's prominent nose jutted out from a too-narrow face, and her gray-streaked black hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the back of her neck. But her eyes reflected the smile that stretched across her homely face, and Abby immediately warmed to her.
"Hello. My name is Abby Sutton." She held out her hand, and after only a moment's hesitation, the older woman gripped it tightly, belying her almost scrawny figure.
"Minerva Mullins," she offered. "My husband and me… we own the place."
"Oh, it's a wonderful store!" Abby's hands swept out enthusiastically. "Why, you have just everything here!"
Minerva preened under what she considered a well-deserved compliment. After all, she went to great pains to see that the store's shelves were fully stocked.
"All I really need is some white sugar and some flour." Abby grinned and added, "But if you don't mind, I'd love to look around a bit."
"Surely, honey," Minerva said as she moved off to collect the order. "You just help yourself to a look-see."
While Abby moved slowly around the room, she managed to keep up a steady stream of conversation. Pleased that the woman appeared so friendly, Abby was determined to make as good an impression on Minerva Mullins as possible.
Minerva staggered under the rush of words from the tiny stranger. She'd never heard anyone talk so fast. Yet, for all that, Abby Sutton seemed a nice woman. Sutton.
The older woman's lined forehead creased in thought. Sutton. Abby Sutton. Minerva cocked her head and watched the tiny stranger as she fingered through the row of hair ribbons. Any relation to old Silas? she wondered silently. There certainly wasn't much of a family look about her. Of course, she reminded herself, Silas was a worn-out drunk, his features marked by years of hard living.
While she was studying Abby, Minerva took notice for the first time of her bonnet. The older woman's eyes narrowed, and she shook her head slowly in disbelief. It was without a doubt the ugliest hat she'd ever seen.
Abby turned then and caught the solemn stare directed at her. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Oh. Oh, no. Nothing. Nothing at all, Minerva stammered. "I was, uh… admirin' your hat is all."
"You like it?" A delighted smile lit Abby's face. "I made it myself."
"Did you, now?" Minerva asked, managing to avoid the other question.
"Oh, yes," Abby offered, stepping up close to the counter. "You see, I'm really a seamstress. And a very good one, too."
Minerva nodded, unconvinced. "I'm not nearly as good at making hats, but this one turned out beautifully, don't you think?"
Minerva's jaw worked, but she made no sound. She had no idea what she could say to that statement without telling an out-andout he. Briefly her eyes moved up to the hat in question again. It was all she could do not to turn away.
The plain straw base was attractive enough; it was the decorations that created the startling effect. Minerva had never before seen a hat that combined a yellow veil, blue fabric flowers, a pink feather that shot straight up from the brim, and, tilted at a precarious angle, a stuffed white dove with one eye missing. Add to that the wide purple ribbon tied in a flirtatious bow at the side of Abby's neck, and it was truly a hat to be noticed.
Though she could see clearly that the workmanship on the preposterous bonnet was expert, Minerva was sure that a compliment on her needlework was not what Abby was expecting!
Thankfully, the bell over the front door rang out, saving Minerva from having to lie to the pretty little woman before her.
"Morning, Minerva!"
Another woman entered the store and walked up to the counter, her eyes never leaving Abby's hat.
"H'lo, Charity," Minerva answered loudly, commanding the other woman's attention. "This here is Abby Sutton. She's new in town. Abby, Charity Whitehall. She's married to the blacksmith."
Abby smiled and refused to remember the big blacksmith staring so rudely when she'd entered town. Instead, she held out her hand to the man's wife, determined to make another friend.
Charity took the proffered hand, and Abby noticed that her own hand practically disappeared in the woman's grip. As tall as Minerva, Charity Whitehall outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. Her round, placid face was creased in lines that spoke of frequent smiles, and her soft brown hair was braided and wrapped like a coronet around her head.
"Sutton, did you say?" Charity asked. "You ain't kin to Silas Sutton, are you?"
"Why, yes!" Abby smiled. "Did you know my uncle?" The two other women exchanged knowing glances before turning back to Abby.
"Well, now," Charity answered slowly, "I reckon it'd be fair to say ever'body in town knew of Silas."
Minerva nodded. "Yes, you could say that… "
Neither of the women wanted to mention the fact that it would have been hard indeed not to know Silas Sutton. When you had to step over a man, sleeping off a drunk in the middle of the street every morning, you did get to know him. But surely they didn't have to tell this poor little thing all of that!
"I'm so glad he had friends," Abby went on, completely unmindful of the piteous stares directed at her. "He was such a lonely man before he left Maryland."
Again the women looked at each other. Lonely? Silas? Not likely. He'd never had much trouble findin' a drinkin' partner.
"I can't tell you how excited I am to finally be in Rock Creek! Why, Uncle Silas wrote to me about this place often &mdash many years ago."
Minerva guessed silently that it had been quite a while since Abby'd received a letter from her uncle. In the last few years the old coot had never been sober enough to hold a pencil. Then something else occurred to her. "You didn't come all the way out here to… visit your uncle, now, did ya?"
Abby's smile faded. "No. No, it's all right. I know that he passed over."
Minerva sighed her relief.
"In fact," Abby continued, "that's why I'm here!"
“What d'ya mean?" Charity asked.
"Well," Abby said, stepping closer to the other women, "my uncle left me his cabin. So I've come here to live in it!"
Charity and Minerva looked at each other in desperation. The poor child didn't know, then. She had no idea that her cabin was already occupied by that great monster of a man. And how would they tell her that her trip had been for nothing? That Silas Sutton had sold his cabin months before his death to the big man who still remained a stranger to them all.
"You're plannin' on livin' there?" Charity asked.
"Oh, yes." Abby nodded excitedly, sending the one-eyed dove on her hat to flopping back and forth.
"Abby dear," Minerva began, trying to ignore the bobbing dove, "there's something you should know about that cabin." Charity gave her friend an encouraging nod, and Minerva added, "Y'see, there's already somebody &mdash"
The bell on the shop door rang out, and all three women looked up.
While Charity and Minerva stared, speechless, Abby rushed over to the big man standing uncertainly in the doorway and drew him into the store.
"There you are, Samuel!" she cried happily. "I've just been talking with some of your friends!"
Chapter Five
Friends?
Samuel stumbled forward, propelled by Abby's firm grip and eagerness. His gaze never left the two women who stood staring at him as if he were a ghost. Vaguely his mind registered the fact that Abby was talking again in a steady stream of words, but he couldn't make any of them out. His mind was much too preoccupied with hoping against hope that neither of the two women would say anything to destroy Abby's belief that he was a normal man. For some reason, still unclear to him, Samuel was desperate to keep Abby from knowing that the people of Rock Creek were terrified of him.
All at once his brain cleared, and he heard Abby say, "You see, Samuel, I was just this minute telling Charity and Minerva about how we're sharing the cabin… "
He looked quickly from her shining face to the two shocked ones across from him. He couldn't believe that she'd said that! Didn't the woman realize that she was about to destroy her own reputation and any standing she might have hoped for in this town?
"Sharing?" Minerva breathed, her hand at her throat. Samuel shifted uneasily and avoided both ladies' eyes. "The both of you?" Charity asked. "Together?"
"Oh, yes," Abby revealed. "Of course," she added with a serious nod of her head, "the proprieties are observed at all times."
"Proprieties… ?" Minerva echoed with a quick glance at Samuel's blushing cheeks.
"Oh, my, yes," Abby went on, heedless of the ladies' shock. "I've set up a bundling board in the bed so that everything is quite proper."
"Abby… " Samuel heard himself moaning softly.
"Oh, Samuel." Abby shushed him with a wave of her hand. "These ladies understand that you can't be expected to sleep on the floor night after night. And there is only the one bed after all."
"For godsake… " he mumbled.
"Samuel! Really. Your language." She smiled at the two ladies conspiratorially and shook her head at the impossibility of getting a man to clean up his speech.
"A bundling what?" Charity asked in a hushed tone as she leaned closer to Abby. Clearly the woman's curiosity far outweighed any fear she held of Samuel. "In the bed?"
Minerva stretched out her hand and laid it atop Charity's. Shaking her head, she said, "I know what it is, Charity. I'll explain it all later."
"Oh, good!" Abby exclaimed. "Because I'm sure Samuel's ready to go now. You know, there's so much to do back at the cabin. Work, work, work!"
The women stared at her in stunned silence.
Unmindful, Abby pulled Samuel over to the table piled high with fabrics. Biting at her lip, she dug through the mountain of material until she'd found the two she was looking for. Holding the goods up for his inspection, Abby asked, "Now, Samuel, I'm going to make you a new shirt. The ones you have will most certainly fall apart the next time I do the wash. So. Which would you prefer?"
Samuel glanced over his shoulder at Minerva and Charity. They were still watching. God, how had he gotten into this mess? Wasn't it enough that everywhere he went, people backed away from him, whispering outlandish rumors? Was it really necessary to now have the two talkingest women in Rock Creek know all about his arrangement with Abby? And did Abby really have to act so… familiar in front of folks?
He looked back at the material she was still holding out toward him. Suppressing a shudder, he pulled his gaze away from the gaudy red-and-yellow-striped and almost sighed with relief to see she also held a plain, dark blue fabric. He knew very well it was no use telling her that he didn't need a shirt. That he didn't want her to make him one or that he didn't appreciate her fussin' over him in front of the whole blessed world. Samuel had learned in a very short space of time that Abby Sutton was going to do as she damn well pleased, and that was that.
Grudgingly then, he jabbed a finger at the dark blue. "That one," he grumbled.
Abby's face fell. Her thumb and forefinger moved lovingly over the red and yellow stripes as she asked, "Are you certain, Samuel? I really think this one would look lovely with your eyes… "
He heard a collective gasp from behind him and ignored it. God almighty! What color did she think his eyes were, anyway? He glanced at her hat and silently acknowledged that no matter her enthusiasm, Abby's taste was no better than a hog's.
"I'm sure," was all he said.
She sighed heavily, her disappointment evident. "Oh, all right, then. Minerva, would you mind cutting off a shirt length of the dark blue, please?"
Minerva didn't stir.
Abby went right on. "You'd better make it a little bigger than usual, though. Samuel is a fairly large man, after all."
Minerva's jaw dropped, and with a slight nudge from Charity, she walked toward the fabric, keeping an eye on the "fairly" large man and making a wide circle around him.
Samuel felt the blood rushing to his cheeks again. It was all he could do to keep from shouting. But that would only serve to frighten the women and convince them all &mdash maybe even Abby &mdash that he really was a wild man. Instead, he said simply, "I'll wait for you in the wagon."
Before he'd taken more than a few steps, he'd begun to recite the ABCs under his breath.
Abby sighed heavily as she watched him leave the store. Behind her, she heard Minerva's scissors slicing into the fabric. Picking up the edge of the lovely yellow-and-redstriped material, Abby couldn't quite contain a sigh. It really was such a shame to pass up such a nice piece of goods when she was absolutely positive that it would look wonderful on Samuel.
She tilted her head and tossed a mischievous grin at the closed shop door. Hadn't he told her to get whatever she needed? Well, then, she would do just that. And what a surprise it would be for him when she presented him with two new shirts. Then he'd see that she'd been right about the fabric.
"Minerva," she said thoughtfully, "would you cut off a shirt length of the yellow and red, too?"
The other woman looked up. "But he said he wanted the blue."