Chapter 17 – March 1910 – I am tired of being tested

When she and Henry next crossed paths, Abigail found herself grateful for it. The question of how to proceed with him had been clamoring unresolved in the back of her mind for nearly a week. Though she wanted to continue being friendly – and couldn't avoid him even if she had wanted to – the form such a friendship should take remained ambiguous. Once they met, the decision was blessedly if awkwardly plucked from her hands.

One of the other women had left the mercantile at the same time he was coming in, so Abigail's attention hadn't been drawn to the door. It was only when she heard Ned offer an enthusiastic greeting that she realized it was Henry's heavy step that was now traversing the floorboards. Her first thought was to drop down to the floor in a squat, hoping she might be mistaken for a pickle barrel, but thankfully some well of innate poise took over before she could attempt this misbegotten ruse. It was also ultimately her manners that made her clear her throat and walk toward him, as she still genuinely needed to thank him for the other night. Unfortunately, all of this practiced grace proved useless against a rogue lemon that had made its way down the grocery aisle and underneath her right foot.

Rough hands darted out to catch her as she teetered toward the pine planks, one gripping her forearm and the other snaking with quick instinct around the front of her waist. In the split second between getting her physical bearings and her mental ones, she turned her face toward her rescuer, inches from his wide-eyed worry. Her eyes stayed on Henry's, and his on hers, for just the briefest moment – the most her circumstances could ever permit.

"Abigail! Are you alright?" Ned was calling, still frozen behind the counter.

She had to move now. Henry made a strangled noise as he released her, letting her feet wobble flat to the floor.

"Well… that's one way to say hello," she said, smoothing her dress while her cheeks burned, mostly from embarrassment.

Henry smiled tightly. "You alright?"

"Yes, thank you. Good thing you were here." She didn't even know what she was saying; her mouth was just forming pleasant-sounding sentences while her insides did somersaults. Henry was frowning and fidgeting, compounding her discomposure. She moved to gather up the items that had spilled from her basket, but Henry stopped her.

"Don't. I'll get it."

Abigail's blush deepened as he fell to his knees, a layer of dust covering his tailored gray trousers. She tried not to watch as he reloaded her basket with runaway potatoes and onions, and other hardy stock that had thankfully sustained minimal damage. Ned had, in the meanwhile, appeared beside her to dispose of the offending citrus.

"Ned, I'm so sorry," she began.

"Now, nothing to be sorry for. I'm just glad you weren't hurt."

"I've got all of this, Ned. And the lemon," Henry said, rising from the floor.

Abigail shook her head firmly. "No, thank you, but that's not necessary. You already offered the dinner – "

"Offered, but apparently did not buy, so please let me take care of this."

"Why?"

The question snapped out of her, matching the frustrated and forceful tone he'd had since he opened his mouth. His hand was still gripping the shelf he'd used to pull himself from the floor and he loomed over her now, tense and dark. With hard steel in his gaze, he glanced up over her shoulder, and behind her she felt Ned slink away. She sighed.

"Can we start over?" she said quietly. "I was actually coming to say thank you for helping Noah plan such an incredible evening."

"It was nothing."

His dismissal was gruff, making her soften further. "It was not nothing, Henry. You went above and beyond. You even somehow found daisies in the winter. I honestly don't know how to thank you."

"Well…," he said, curling up the side of his mouth, "I just knew where to look." His voice was low and thick, cutting too close to her. The intensity of his stare heated the small space between them, concentrated with wafts of his aftershave and all of the essences that had soaked into her from his passenger seat. She mustered up the will she had left and averted her gaze again. Between the shelves, she could see Ned at the counter, his back purposely turned to their conversation. It occurred to her that this was the real proof of her transgression – not the looking, but the necessity of turning away.

Henry recovered himself, gently tugging the basket from her hand. Afraid to speak, she didn't resist, nor did she argue about the payment again as she followed him silently to the mercantile counter. The food was, coincidentally, for Noah's birthday dinner, but Henry didn't ask and Abigail didn't say.

"You sure you're okay, Abigail?"

"I'm fine, Ned, thank you."

"Peter getting excited for the games?"

"I think he is. He always loved watching the Tug of War, but I think secretly he's excited to be able to arm wrestle with the adults now."

The Miner's Games were coming up in about two weeks, and this was, of course, Peter's first time participating as an actual miner. He and Noah had played together in the egg toss since he was five, and would actually win most of the time. There were only two or three years when the Fremonts or the Montgomeries were able to snatch victory from their hands.

"My Katie likes the Tug of War too, but I suspect what she actually likes is watching people fall into a puddle of mud!"

"Oh yes, it's always a little disappointing when no one does, isn't it?" Abigail tittered.

The conversation had loosened her up a bit, but she knew was probably still a little flushed. She only hoped the agitation that shook her beneath her chest was not making its way too obviously too the surface. Regret and confusion churned with her racing thoughts. Had Noah offended Henry so deeply that he would react with this bitterness toward her? Or was the offense hers, in turning down his invitation to the café those weeks ago? Perhaps he even resented what he felt was an obligation to cover her grocery bill. Or was she just getting the better of herself again, straining to find some hidden meaning in his actions?

Ned pushed the basket back toward her with a smile. He did not offer up the amount of the sale, nor did Henry reach into his pocket. Both men stood like wax figures, rather pointedly but politely waiting for her to go before the bill was settled up. This only served to disorient her further, but being just as anxious to get away as they were to see her leave, she simply stated her gratitude once more and bid them farewell. Her escape was imminent when she heard Henry call her name. She turned, expecting she had forgotten something.

Instead, a more contrite Henry cleared his throat. "I'm glad you were, um… pleased with the evening," he said.

"It was perfect," she lied.

ooo


It was at the next church service that Reverend Nadeau announced he would be leaving Coal Valley for a new congregation at the end of the month, in about three weeks' time. The news was met with disappointment and shock, which very quickly gave way to hand-wringing and concern: how could a mining executive, who had never attended service, be trusted to choose their next pastor?

Henry was still considered a generally elusive figure in the town at this point, neither ill-regarded nor particularly sought out. It was not lost on Abigail, of course, that the good will toward him seemed in much higher supply when his wallet was open. But it was true that he was not a churchgoing man, and this was cause for some consternation.

"Maybe we can convince Mr. Gowen to have the town council handle it," Florence offered frantically on their way home.

"I don't see why the pastor should be hired by the Company anyway," Cat chimed in. "They own so much already."

"And who would pay for it all if they didn't?" Dottie countered.

"We already do pay for it, Dottie, just indirectly."

"Okay, okay, let's not jump at each other," Abigail said, holding her hands at her sides to calm her friends. "Maybe I can talk to Henry and at least get a sense of what he's thinking."

Molly took a step back and stared at her. "And why would Henry listen to you?" she asked pointedly.

Abigail stifled a flinch at the comment, continuing confidently. "Well, I have just as much right to speak to him as anyone else. And our interactions have been amicable so far."

Florence and Molly exchanged a look.

Now what? Abigail thought irritably. What did they even know about her and Henry's interactions? They must have gotten something in their heads about her using his first name – his damned first name. How stupid, drawing such attention to herself here, of all places.

She turned at a light touch on her shoulder. "Maybe you should let your husband speak with him," Mary was suggesting tactfully. "He can make it casual. Friendly lunchtime conversation!"

"Why are we even discussing this?" Dottie asked, bewildered. "Obviously, the mayor will handle it."

Maybe it was still jealousy over Noah's promotion? Even if it were, Molly had clearly found her use of Henry's name noteworthy enough to comment on. Why should there be anything wrong with it though? It was only that she didn't usually do it in front of others – out of respect for his position. But it was just his name, for goodness' sake! How much could they possibly read into it? Lord in heaven, was everyone still chattering? Were they still looking at her?

Molly huffed once more. "I don't understand why the reverend has to leave so quickly anyway. Couldn't we have gotten a bit more notice?"

Florence's eyes narrowed and shifted, a telltale sign that she was about to share some wild piece of speculation. Already tense, Abigail felt her stomach coiling as Florence drew out the question with a honey-drizzled innocence.

"You don't suppose this has anything to do with Alice Hayes' recent departure, do you?"

"My God, Florence!"

"Abigail!"

Florence's delicate hand flew up to cover her wide open mouth, protecting her soul from this secondhand sin. At her side as always remained Molly, clutching her friend's arm in a death grip, holding both of them upright against the shock. If Abigail was any less horrified than they were to hear the profanity that had shot unthinkingly from her mouth, the difference was quickly made up when she looked around and found herself the object of several gaping stares; and any optimism that they were reacting only to Florence's dreadful cry was abandoned when Noah, who had been walking in front of them, reached over to seize her arm into a tight hold of his own.

"Why don't we take our own way back," he said darkly. It was not a question.

Cat began to move forward sympathetically, as though she might step in, but they both knew that would only make things worse. Instead Noah led Abigail away alone, the cloud of whispers fading behind her back.

ooo

"What on earth was that about?"

Abigail took a deep breath and tried to steady herself.

"I'm sorry, it's just… sometimes they make too much of things. Everything is always a romantic scandal with them! And then silly gossip gets passed around, and it isn't right. There are people who haven't done anything wrong!"

"That's not news, Abigail. You've been friends with those women for twelve years and they've had big mouths all twelve of 'em. So what exactly went and set you off like that?"

Abigail tightened her jaw and shook her head.

"They were saying something about Alice Hayes. Absolutely baseless imaginings that she was the reason the reverend was leaving. I know it's not true, I talked to Alice before she left, but to even throw out a notion like that…"

"I'm not buying that one either. You weren't even that close to Alice, I don't know why that would bother you so much. Was that all that happened?"

That wasn't all, but what else could she tell him? That she feared Florence and Molly would be spreading rumors about her and Henry next? Or worse, that they might suspect the truth? Why had she gone walking around with him so brazenly? Why had she called him by his first name?

"Abigail?" Noah pressed.

"They were overreacting about everything, Noah! Panicking about H- about Mr. Gowen choosing the new pastor. And they've had their hands in more than a few rumors about him too, you know," she added for good measure. "It just isn't right, and seeing as he's been our guest and your friend, it would have been unseemly to let them go on like that."

Noah snorted. "Unseemly, she says…"

Her eyes fell shut. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you. I shouldn't have reacted so poorly."

"Just be grateful our son had already gone off and didn't hear his mother taking the Lord's name the second she stepped through the doorway of His house."

The mention of Peter reeled her back to indignation. "Now that isn't fair. Don't you act like you and the men don't say worse all day along!"

"I won't say we don't, but it's different, Abigail. You're supposed to be setting a moral example for him."

The words landed like a gut punch, freezing her in place. It wasn't that Noah was wrong. She knew her teachings and had always tried to model for Peter the right path. That was her role as a parent. But she felt an isolation, and an accusation, in the way her husband declared her responsibility now, the words piercing her more violently in the tender aftermath of all that had just occurred.

And yet he had trudged along ahead of her, thinking nothing more of the statement. When he realized she was no longer beside him, he turned and waited, his face still tight with anger. She could only stare back at him, not sure in that moment how to keep going. She was suddenly so desperately tired.

He tapped his foot, once, twice, three times, then scraped it back towards him. Crossing his arms, he looked down at the ground, pensive, until finally he sighed and let his shoulders fall.

"Come on," he said. "You'll get cold."