An Inconvenient Match. Janet Dean
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Her sister Lois’s family had crowded into the apartment over the bank with Abigail and her mother. Cozy hardly described four adults, four active boys and a newborn baby crammed into four tiny rooms.
Laid up with a broken leg and arm, injuries Joe sustained falling down the stairs while escaping the fire, her brother-in-law could barely get around, much less work.
Oscar raised a beribboned package to his nose. “A whiff of this lunch suggests roast beef with horseradish. Who’ll give five dollars?” A hand shot up. “Yip! I’ve got five. Who’ll give six?”
A nod.
“Yip!” Oscar turned back to the first bidder. “Do I hear seven?”
If this spirited bidding continued, the auction would raise enough money to purchase the building supplies. Every able-bodied man in town had volunteered their labor. They’d cleared the debris. But with none of the modest houses insured, the burned-out homeowners needed assistance.
One man could handle the loss with a mere nod of his head, but George Cummings did nothing unless he benefited. What else could she expect from the ruthless banker who’d brought about her father’s death?
A nudge of conscience reminded her that the senior Cummings had burned his hands fighting the fire and no doubt suffered. But then, hadn’t he brought suffering to others often enough?
Leon Fitch stepped to Abigail’s side. Tall and thin, a thatch of russet hair parted in the middle, Leon rested gentle hazel eyes on hers. Not like the intense, unsettling eyes of that rogue across the way.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said slightly out of breath. “Right before closing time folks lined up to withdraw money for the auction. I haven’t missed your lunch, have I?”
Abigail assured him he hadn’t.
For several months, Leon had escorted her to an occasional dance and church social. Not that she’d call their outings courting. Leon was far too deliberate to take such a momentous step in haste. Their companionable relationship suited her. She wasn’t looking for love.
As they watched, two more boxes sold, one for eight dollars, the other for ten. Rachel’s lunch came next.
Across the way, Abigail’s friend stood beside her father, her hand rested on his arm as if to ensure he wouldn’t bid. Rachel needn’t have worried. Two men vied for the privilege of sharing her lunch. Jeremy Owens, the owner of the livery, and Harrison Carder, the new lawyer in town, a Harvard friend of Wade Cummings.
One glance at Wade and her heart lost its rhythm. A sudden longing rose up inside of her. Refusing to ponder the absurd reaction, she forced her attention back to the bidding.
The attorney won the bid at nine dollars. Rachel beamed while her father looked bewildered, as if he couldn’t fathom his little girl stirring the interest of a man.
Oscar held aloft a box she recognized as hers by the blue-and-white checked cloth and red bow. She’d packed a hearty lunch for two of crispy fried chicken, golden biscuits, bread-and-butter pickles, potato salad, deviled eggs and slabs of blackberry cobbler, all Leon’s favorites.
And not a single bite of strawberry pie.
Oscar inhaled. “Just take a whiff of this, gents. I’d say whoever wins the bid is in for a feast of fried chicken. Who’ll give me five?”
“Is that yours?” Leon whispered. “It’s red, white and blue like you said.”
At her nod, Leon raised his hand, fingers spread wide.
Oscar pointed at Leon, taking his bid.
Abigail shot him a smile. Not the highest bid today but generous. Especially for a man who kept a firm grip on every dollar.
A smug expression on his face, Leon leaned back on his heels. “I know the contents will be worth the cost.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
With a grin, he patted his flat abdomen. “That too, but at the moment, my stomach wins hands down.”
“Who’ll give six?” Oscar called.
“Ten dollars!”
Abigail spun to the speaker, her heart slamming into her throat then plunging to the pit of her stomach with the weight of a boulder.
Wade leaned against a gaslight lamppost, loose limbed, his expression unreadable on his Stetson-shadowed face.
A face she’d like to slap.
How dare he ridicule her in front of the entire town? Why did he bid? What did he want?
Oscar whirled to Leon, seeking a raise in the bid.
Beside her, Leon huffed. “Eleven dollars,” he said in a voice that croaked, as if he might do the same.
Wade straightened, his gaze pinning Leon as if he were a frog in a science experiment. “Twenty-five.”
“Well, praise be!” Oscar hooted. “If that ain’t a bid that’d curl a pig’s tail.”
Around her folks murmured, a few chuckled nervously, aware no Cummings and Wilson shared a conversation, much less a meal.
Ever. Well, almost ever.
Abigail folded her arms across her torso and glared at Wade. Surely he had no intention of actually eating the food she’d prepared.
With her.
Not when their families had been at loggerheads for eons. Not when they’d never communicated more than a look in years. Until today.
“Leon, this here’s your chance to be one of them knights in shining armor. Are you going to twenty-six?”
Abigail met Leon’s baffled gaze. Why didn’t he raise the bid? Surely he could see the entreaty in her eyes. Would he turn her over to Wade?
Leon shoved his hat down and kept his mouth nailed shut. Obviously she wasn’t worth such an exorbitant sum. Her heart skipped a beat. Not to him.
Or perhaps Leon feared losing his job. The Cummingses owned much of the town, including the bank where Leon worked. Heat filled her veins. She wouldn’t put such malice past a Cummings.
“I’ve got twenty-five. Do I hear twenty-six? Twenty-six?” Oscar chanted, scanning the throng. As if anyone else in town had the wherewithal to match the bid. “Going, going, gone. Sold!” Oscar beamed. “Wade Cummings paid twenty-five dollars for the privilege of sharing lunch with the young lady who prepared it. Reckon with Leon bidding we all know that’s Abigail Wilson.”
Around her a few people clapped but far more spoke behind their hands. Everyone was aware of the feud and did what they could to keep the Wilsons and Cummingses apart. Agnes sat them in opposite corners of her café like prize fighters in a ring. Tellers at the bank opened a new window rather than let Wade and Abigail wait in the same line. At church the families occupied pews on far sides of the sanctuary.
Before Abigail had left the one-room schoolhouse for a position in the high school and Wade’s sister Regina and her husband had moved away, rumor had it George Cummings would refuse to let his future grandchildren sit in Abigail’s class.
As if she’d take out the bad blood between their families on innocent children, real or imaginary.
She gulped. Wade was no child, far from innocent and nowhere close to imaginary.
He took out his billfold and handed the money over to Elizabeth Logan, the pastor’s wife and president of New Harmony’s Ladies’ Club, the woman responsible for organizing the fundraiser and pretty much everything else in town. Whatever Elizabeth got involved in flourished. The feisty blonde had made a huge difference since she’d arrived at the depot two years ago to marry Ted Logan, a total stranger.
Abigail admired Elizabeth and wanted to help her sister’s family and the others who’d lost everything