Chapter 6

Abigail passed the night restlessly, thinking of little but Henry. The ticking of the clocks may as well have been drumbeats, ushering her toward a battle for which she felt wholly unprepared.

Giving up on sleep, she walked out to the mayor's office just before sunrise, distracting herself with pending business, and newspapers she had not read. Lucas' meaning dawned on her just as the day dawned on Hope Valley.

She had been so very stupid.

She walked to a locked file where she'd hidden Henry's letters, a temporary measure so that Cody would not find them once they'd returned home. She read the letters over again, laughing in places, sighing in others, and placing a hand over her heart. Folding Henry's last letter so that it might fit inside the breast of her undergarment, she took out paper and a fountain pen and began to write, her heart warmed by his words against it.

ooooo

Henry took his dinner in the saloon, kindly greeting those who spoke to him but otherwise keeping to himself. Somewhat to Lucas' surprise he was not rustling a newspaper or working on accounts, but reading a book of poetry.

"Tennyson?" the younger man asked curiously.

"I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair," Henry quoted bittersweetly, not looking up from the text.

"T'is not too late to seek a newer world," Lucas responded with a suggestive glint. Henry's face was unamused.

"Listen," Lucas tried again, "I actually came over to let you know I'd like to start discussing business, but I can't step away just now. In any case, I'll certainly be interrupted if we talk here. Could we meet in your office in an hour or so?"

Henry might normally suggest the morning, but it was not a lie that he needed to occupy his mind with things not Abigail. It was also a potential way to exhaust himself so he might get more sleep that night. He therefore agreed, and Lucas excused himself back behind the bar.

When the time had passed and Henry had spent an hour more wallowing in his emotions – for indeed that was where his subconsciously poor choice of distraction had led him – he stood and looked over at Lucas.

"You go on ahead, Henry," his partner called from the bar. "I'll be right behind you after I talk with Gustave."

"It will take me twice as long to get there anyway," Henry grinned. Grabbing his hat and cane, he headed off down the road. Despite the summer and the dinner crowd moving back toward their homes, a chill still ran through the air. He bundled his coat around himself and pulled down his hat, anxiously pushing his body into his office as he arrived.

"Hello, Henry."

His head shot up at the soft and unexpected voice. She'd already started a fire and was standing in front of it, framed by the light.

"Abigail." The greeting was half hope, half caution.

"I talked with Lucas yesterday, about the settlement," she started with an obviously purposeful tone. "He was quite grateful to you. Intent on singing your praises, in fact." She paused but Henry said nothing. "Did you know that there are exemptions to compulsory military service, Henry?"

Henry saw no point in pretending he did not know her meaning, and closed the door in an abundance of caution so the conversation might be kept private. But though he knew she did not disagree with what he'd done, he misinterpreted her intent in coming to confront him.

"I don't know if it will work or if it's even what Lucas will want. But Elizabeth is too kind to suffer another great loss if it can be helped," he explained. "You won't have to worry about suffering me though, Abigail. I know that whatever we might have shared has been torn irreparably by my foolishness, and my recent actions were not meant to impress you."

"I know that, Henry," she said sincerely. "That's what makes them so impressive."

Something swelled in him, but he pushed it down. Clearing his throat, he said, "I should tell you, Lucas will be along here any minute."

"No," Abigail said. "I don't think he will be." A flutter in his stomach.

Abigail took a piece of paper from a chair next to her, an almost playful smile hinting at her lips. "It occurred to me that in my preoccupations back east I had neglected to write back to your last letter, and I think that was quite rude of me. May I read my response to you now?"

Henry was overwhelmed with what was happening – was it really happening? The expectant twinkle in her eye rendered him motionless. He finally answered, awe-struck, "Of course."

Abigail lifted the paper into her line of sight. "Dear Henry –" she stopped abruptly and lowered the letter again. "You can make yourself comfortable first, Henry," she told him.

"Oh, yes," Henry said with a quick smile, his anxiety beginning to ease in the presence of her charms. He hung his hat and coat and sat in another chair near the desk, facing her. Hamming a bit as he propped his cane and settled himself, he finally looked at her and made a gracious gesture for her to continue. She lowered her head in thanks and started again.

"Dear Henry,

You are, without a doubt, the strongest man I have ever known. People like to talk about sacrifice and penance, and they pray for redemption, but you are the living work of it. You have strived each day to be better, even when few took notice, and that takes a courage so rarely found. My admiration for you is beyond what I can ever express.

And yet, you seem not to know how extraordinary you are. You are always presenting yourself as somehow unworthy of me, when the truth is I am the one who has shown weakness at every step. I have been afraid of being too vulnerable. I have been afraid of giving you too much. I have been afraid of being in love with you. I have been afraid of it for seven years. And when I saw an opportunity to retreat back into those fears, I am ashamed to say that I gave into my weakness once again.

So I am asking you now, Henry, to share your strength with me, so that I might deserve the greatness of your love. And I will offer you my strength, such as it is, in whatever life brings. You will have my faith always, and my heart forever. I am no longer afraid to give what was, in truth, lost to you long ago, because I know that you have kept it safe all this time."

She slowly lowered the letter and met his eyes, full of feeling. She knew the last bit by heart:

"I am yours, Henry, and I always have been. And I pray that I remain, your dearest Abigail."

Henry was silent, a hand covering his mouth. After a moment, he pushed himself up out of the chair, moving carefully off his injured leg.

"I take it you're not going to let me argue with any of that," he said with a sly look.

"Not a chance," Abigail shook her head.

He nodded knowingly, coming closer to her. "Only one thing left to do then, I guess."

She smiled as he grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up into a perfect kiss. The kind of kiss that flowed through their bodies to engrave itself on their souls. A kiss whose passion came not from longing but from knowing – knowing that its joy would be felt again and again, as they returned to each other always.

Henry loosened his grip, continuing to pepper her lips with little kisses as she slipped down to the floor. They both laughed as they broke apart, and Abigail brushed away a tear. Looking up at Henry, she gave a tender smile and gently wiped her thumb across his cheek as well.

"So," she exhaled. "All the rest of your days?"

"Hmm?"

"That's what you said in your letter to me. Something about all the rest of your days," she said, feigning cluelessness.

"Oh, that!" He shook his head. "I wouldn't read too much into it," he teased, leaning down to kiss her again.