Her mother nodded and leaned back against the pillows. Abby slipped out of the room and into the hallway, where she ran smack-dab into Sam.
Instead of stepping back to let her pass, he pulled her close and reached to finger a loose tendril of her hair. “Well, that’s a lucky coincidence,” he whispered.
“Indeed.” She fought the urge to giggle. Instead, she cleared her throat. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
He nodded and took her by the hand. Together they walked down the stairs. Cookie and Neville took one look at them and cleared the room, heading straight toward the kitchen. Abby would have to thank them later. Right now, she just needed a few minutes alone with Sam.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she led him out to the sidewalk, then across the street.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“You’ll see.”
She led him to the same bench where they had shared their very first conversation, just a few weeks ago. Underneath the glow of the lamps, the street looked different somehow. Any minute now she expected one of the men to ride by on horseback, pistol in one hand, whiskey bottle in the other. But the street remained eerily quiet.
Abby shifted her gaze to the Gold Rush Inn’s weathered facade. She remembered what she’d said, all those weeks ago—that they should dress up the exterior. Sam had balked at that idea. Now she understood why. Some things—and people—were better just as they were.
She took a seat on the bench and Sam sat next to her. He slipped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close then placed a couple of kisses in her hair, which brought her great hope that tonight was already headed in the right direction.
There was so much she wanted to say. So many words she’d rehearsed flitted through her mind. But in that moment, as Sam’s lips traveled down her cheek to her lips, Abby decided that any conversation—at least tonight—would definitely have to wait.
Two days after sharing sweet kisses with Sam, Abby attended church, just as she’d done in all the weeks prior. This time, however, she approached the building with a weight in her heart. Every time she thought about leaving San Francisco, she felt sick. But every time she thought about telling her father about her decision to stay, she felt even worse. It didn’t help matters that Mama had refused to attend service or speak to her father. This only complicated things and caused her heart to ache even more.
Five minutes before the service was set to begin, Abby made her way to the piano. She took her seat and thumbed through the hymnal to locate the first song. She glanced up when Sam took his seat in the front pew. He was so close she could have reached out and touched him. Something else drew her eye too.
“Sam, look.” Abby gestured to Chet, who had entered the church with a familiar young woman beside him. “That’s Katie.”
Sam’s eyes widened.
“I met her that night at the grand opening. I can’t believe she’s come.” Abby rose from her spot on the piano bench and approached Chet and Katie. She extended her hand.
“Katie, do you remember me?”
“Remember you?” The woman’s eyes sparkled with recognition. “Of course. You’re a hard one to forget.”
Abby wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Katie pulled her shawl over her shoulders. “Chet said it’d be all right. I haven’t been inside a church since I was a kid. Not sure I belong now, but figured it wouldn’t kill me to find out.”
“Naturally you belong. We all do. Would you two like to sit by us near the front?”
“Depends.” She laughed. “Does the reverend spit brimstones when he preaches?”
“Hardly. Just the opposite, in fact. He’s very genial.” Abby paused as she realized it was nearly time to begin. “I’ll be playing a few hymns, but then I’ll join you all when I’m done. Happy to have you.”
“You sure?” Chet asked.
“Certainly. We’ve got plenty of room.”
Minutes later, the service began. Abby spent a moment in prayer before the first song started. As she played the introduction, her fingers felt at home on the keys. Oh, how wonderful to lift a song in praise to the Lord. She enjoyed every moment of the service, from the first to the last. When it came to its conclusion, she just had one thought on her mind: I won’t get to do this again. Ever.
Her heart nearly broke in two.
As she walked away from the church a short time later, Abby reached for Sam’s hand. She didn’t mind if people saw. Let them talk. Right now, she needed the stability that his nearness could bring.
When they arrived back at the inn, she followed Cookie and Neville inside, then checked on her parents. Mama was in Abby’s room, staring out the window. Papa was in Sam’s room, reading a book. Neither seemed very talkative, and her father asked to have his lunch brought to his room. Abby decided to serve Mama in her room as well. For now, it made things easier to keep them apart. Still, she couldn’t picture what the journey home would be like, with everyone so standoffish.
Not that she wanted to go home. No, Abby wanted to stay put, right here in San Francisco. But how could she convince her parents this was where she belonged? After the miles they had both traveled to get to her? Father would have her head if she announced San Francisco as her new home. Oh, but it was, and no one could take it away from her. San Francisco had planted itself deep in her heart, the roots impossible to extricate. She would stay, no matter what it took.
After lunch, Abby helped Cookie tidy up the kitchen.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” her friend observed as they finished up. “Feeling blue?”
“Mm-hmm. Just can’t get over the fact that we’re supposed to leave in a few days.” A lump rose in her throat. “Has it really only been a few months that I’ve been here? Feels like I’m home.”
“You are, honey.” Cookie drew near and slipped her arm over Abby’s shoulder. “We’re family now, so it’s gonna sting—for all of us—when you go.”
Neville set down his dishcloth and leaned against the counter. Abby could read the sadness in his eyes.
“Has it always been this way, Neville?” she asked, her heart in her throat. “Did Mother want to run from Father the moment they married?”
The discomfort in the butler’s expression was more than evident as he pressed his hands in his pockets. “I dare not say,” he added after some time.
“Meaning you don’t want to betray any confidences. I understand.” Abby paused. “But Mother has hardly spoken since she arrived, and Father’s not the only one she’s avoiding. If I tell her I want to stay, will she even mind? Father will, I know. He’ll have a conniption. But Mama? I just don’t know.”
Neville’s silence felt painful.
“A daughter has a right to know if she was wanted by her mother. It’s only right that I should know.”
“Oh, you were wanted, Miss Abigail. That was never in question.”
“So my father was the unwanted party, then?” She gave Neville a piercing stare. “Mama stayed busy to avoid being with him?”
He slung a dishcloth over his shoulder. “Not everyone is meant for married life, I suppose. Take me, for instance. I’ve been perfectly content to tool about, a confirmed old bachelor.”
Cookie cleared her throat.
Neville reached for a stack of clean dishes and set them on the shelf. “I don’t claim to know what goes on inside your mother’s heart and mind, Miss Abigail, but I do feel obliged to help mold yours. You cannot let their hurts, their disappointments, shape or define you. No matter how this story ends, you can still have a happy, contented life.”
Abby was suddenly overcome. She threw her arms around Neville’s neck. “You are a diamond, Neville, and I’m blessed to have you in my life.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “The feeling is mutual, Miss Abigail.”
“Could you try calling me Abby?” she said.
“Miss Abby,” he offered.
“St
op it, you two.” Cookie lifted the hem of her apron and dabbed at her eyes. “I’ve got work to do over here and you’re making it impossible.” Abby paced the tiny kitchen, her heart in her throat. She needed to do something. Anything. If she didn’t make some sort of move, her parents would never mend their ways. She would be forced to live with them in a quiet, strained home in Philadelphia. She couldn’t abide that idea.
“You okay over there?” Cookie’s voice sounded. “You’ve gone quiet on us.”
“No. Not okay, Cookie.”
She glanced up as Sam entered the kitchen. He walked her way and wrapped her in his arms.
“I see how it is.” Cookie looked back and forth between them. “Suspected as much. Do your parents know?”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t want to go.” Her words came out choked in emotion. “I’ve got to do something.”
“Well of course you do. You’re a fixer, honey.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You’re a fixer. You always come up with ways to fix things, don’t you?”
Why did her words sound more like an accusation than affirmation?
“Well, I try,” Abby said. “And aren’t we all fixers, in our own way?”
Cookie shrugged. “I suppose, to some degree. But there really are some things that only God can fix. Take Sammy’s situation with his mother. He tried to fix her when she was ill, tried to heal her. I did too. Showed her all sorts of remedies and ointments. Gave the doctor some of my ideas. But in the end, God healed her in a way that neither of us understood.”
“Healed her?”
“By taking her to heaven. I’d say that’s an almighty healing, wouldn’t you?”
“I … I see.”
“But my point is, I had a plan, and I wanted to see it fulfilled. You’re a lot like me, Abby.” She gestured for Abby to sit on the stool and Abby complied. “You came all this way from Philadelphia to California to fix your parents’ marriage.”
“Not just that,” Abby said. “I missed Mama.”
“Right.”
“But in your heart you felt you were doing her a favor. Your father, too. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you were never meant to fix it.” Cookie gave her a sympathetic look. “Just as we were never meant to heal Sam’s mama when she was so sick. Maybe some things really are better off left in God’s hands. Perhaps all He requires from us is prayer.”
“I do pray.” Abby paused. “But it’s a little late to turn back now. I’m in California.”
“Where God brought you. See what He’s done, Abby? He’s used you mightily during your time here. But maybe He’s not telling you to do anything right now, other than leave your parents in His hands.”
“Maybe.” Abby pondered Cookie’s words and then sighed. “Never thought of it that way.”
“What if you just prayed, ‘Thy will be done,’” Cookie suggested. “That might free up the Lord to do things His way. And it might relieve you of the burden of telling Him how to do it.”
“But, I …” Abby’s words drifted off. She cast her glance toward Neville, who had remained painfully silent during this conversation. A quick look at his eyes spoke volumes. He agreed with Sam and Cookie. She needed to back off and let God be God.
As Sam took in the somber look on Abby’s face, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss those tears away. In front of the others, though, he didn’t dare. Instead, he touched her elbow lightly and she turned toward him.
“Want to go for a walk?” he asked.
She nodded.
When they got to the sidewalk, he took her hand and made a turn to the right, past the empty building that would one day—if Cookie had her way—become the bakery. His gaze traveled to the mercantile, closed up tight this afternoon, and thought about the troubles he’d had with Marcus.
“Cookie was right,” he said as they made their way along the sidewalk. “I’m like you. I’m a fixer.”
Abby sighed.
“I’ve tried to fix things with my father, and even the mess with Marcus.”
She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Herein lies the dilemma. I don’t see that as a bad thing. There are times when someone has to take a stand. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I do. Unfortunately, I’m usually running about three steps ahead of the Lord. That’s where I get into trouble most of the time. I’m not keen on waiting on Him.”
“So where do we find the balance, Sam?” Abby started walking again, this time faster than before. “God doesn’t want us to sit idly by and watch as the enemy takes control. Surely we’re not called to pray and do nothing.”
“I guess there’s a time to move and a time to be still.” He felt a smile tug at the edges of his lips. “Pretty sure that’s a scripture somewhere, but don’t quote me on it. Point is, God does the fixing, but He uses us. The key is to listen and move only when He gives instruction. We’ve got to trust His timing.”
“Trust His timing,” Abby echoed and then nodded. “Would it be awful to admit that I’m having trouble with that, since my parents are ready to whisk me off to Pennsylvania in a few days?”
“Not awful at all. I dare say we all go through seasons of not trusting. God is big enough to deal with it.”
Sam pulled Abby into his arms, right there on the sidewalk. Let the fellas whoop and holler. He didn’t care. He fingered a loose tendril of hair on her cheek and whispered, “I can’t help but think He knows what He’s doing here, Abby.”
She nodded and he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“And I can’t help but think the answer is just a prayer away, as Cookie would say.”
“Actually, Cookie would quote a verse.”
“True.”
He took her arm and they began to walk together. Together. A couple. Moving as one. No words need be spoken. They did what came naturally, moving in perfect synchronization.
When they reached the corner, he slipped his arm around Abby’s waist. She placed her head against his and he could feel her heartbeat, moving in time with his own. Around them the street remained eerily quiet this afternoon. No brawling. No horses barreling by. No rowdy music coming from the saloon.
Just … peaceful. Still.
And in that moment, Sam’s heart was stirred as never before. Things that had been fuzzy suddenly came into view. He didn’t trust himself to say anything aloud, because little nudges, little whispers from the Lord consumed his thoughts.
Did Abby hear it too?
Was God speaking, giving direction, even now?
Sam’s heart felt fuller than ever as he paused and lifted his eyes to the heavens.
Indeed, the Almighty was sharing some rather remarkable instructions, laying out a plan, step by intricate step. Oh, how marvelous, to have the assurance that all would end well.
Now, all Sam had to do was act on what he’d been told.
Sir, I am in love with your daughter.” Sam spoke around the lump in his throat as he delivered the words to Abby’s father, who sat on the edge of his bed.
Mr. Effingham blanched. “That’s all well and good, son, but—”
“And sir, I plan to ask her to marry me.”
He half expected the man to punch him squarely in the jaw, but Abby’s father fell silent. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Not a good sign.
“Does she feel the same?” Mr. Effingham looked up at him.
“She does, sir. Though she doesn’t know I plan to ask for her hand. I wouldn’t dream of doing so without your permission.” Sam’s tone grew more tense as his emotions intensified. “And Mr. Effingham, sir, I beg for your permission. I can’t live without her.” His voice cracked. “If she leaves, I’ll stop breathing. I’ve already rehearsed what that will feel like and nearly fainted dead away, just thinking about it. She can’t go. She just can’t.”
“I hadn’t pegged you for a dramatist, Sam.”
“I’m not. Trust me, I’m not. I’m reliable old Sam, t
he guy who’s always holding steady when others are off on a wild-goose chase. If you knew me better—and I hope you’ll take the time to do so—you would know that I’m not an emotional man.” His voice cracked again. “But your daughter, sir …”
“Has driven you to the brink of madness?”
Sam offered a lame nod. “That’s the long and short of it, yes.”
“Then it must be love.”
“Oh, it is.” Sam put his hand on his aching belly. “I can’t imagine feeling this awful for any other reason. I had influenza last year and it didn’t hit me this hard.”
Abby’s father rose and paced the room. He released a loud sigh as he turned to face Sam. “I know that feeling well, Sam. Pining away for a woman will wreck you.” He placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “If this is true, and if my daughter feels the same, then I will not stop you.”
Sam shook his head. “I need more than that, sir.”
“All right. I will give you my blessing.”
“Thank you, sir. You won’t be sorry. I promise I—”
“Just one more thing, Sam, and it’s important.”
“Anything.”
“Do as I say, not as I do.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Do as I say. Love her unconditionally. Don’t drive her away by letting your work come first. Give her the attention and love she needs—and trust me when I say that the Effingham women love attention—and you’ll never find yourself chasing her halfway across the country to prove you’re the same fellow she once fell in love with.”
“Oh, I plan to. Trust me, I plan to.”
“Good.” Mr. Effingham gave him a curt nod. “Now, do me a favor and tell me how to win my sweetheart back. Then we’ll both be happy.”
“You just told me yourself,” Sam countered. “Make sure she knows that she’s the most important part of your world, that nothing—short of your relationship with the Lord—will ever come before her.” His voice lowered. “I don’t mean to nudge myself into your affairs, sir, but have you done that?”