Page 19 of More than Words Can Say

Rosalind Kemp released the handle and plastered her back against the door. Her face was pale, but a wobbly smile brought a touch of life to it. “Looks like we have two days to plan a wedding.”

CHAPTER

11

Abigail attempted to treat Friday like any other day. She rose before dawn to knead and bake. Opened Taste of Heaven promptly at seven, served Zacharias Hamilton his sticky buns and coffee at seven thirty. Not an easy task when the delicate butterfly flutters he previously inspired had turned into a company of deranged bats swooping through her abdomen.

For the last two mornings, after their tense encounter with the marshal, they’d continued their ritual as if nothing had changed. She delivered his order, poured his coffee, and accepted his payment all without a word. He tipped his hat and nodded at her before he left, just as he always did, though she swore an added intensity heated his gaze.

Probably probing to see if she had changed her mind.

Well, she hadn’t. She couldn’t afford to. And truthfully, she wouldn’t want to even if her bakery wasn’t in jeopardy. Never would she have guessed that she could land a husband like Zacharias Hamilton. She looked forward to the shock on Sophia’s face when Zach escorted her to church on Sunday. She could almost hear the sputtering disbelief now.

Yet as Abigail locked the bakery door at three that afternoon, she had to admit that she didn’t want Zach as her husband simply to foil the city council or silence Sophia Longfellow’s spiteful comments. She wanted Zach as her husband because she liked and respected him. And even better, she could sense his respect for her. After growing up with a father who never found her good enough because she’d been born the wrong gender, her soul thirsted for validation. A validation Zach had given when he signed her contract without a single argument about her retaining control of everything related to running the bakery. Only time would tell if his words matched his character, but he didn’t seem the type to back out on his word once it was given.

Climbing the stairs to her living quarters, her stomach swirled over what was to come. In two hours, she’d be standing before a preacher with a man any woman would covet. A man she’d bribed with sticky buns, a free place to live, and the possibility of relations.

Good grief. What kind of foundation was she building for this marriage? Her steps stuttered, and she braced herself against the stairway wall. Doubts and second thoughts assailed her like an invisible maelstrom, churning her insides until she thought she might retch.

Then a gentle whisper echoed above the storm. If I am the cornerstone, whatever you build will stand firm.

A shiver passed through her, stilling her panic.

Her eyes slid closed. Yes. Jesus must be the cornerstone. That was the only way this crazy, unconventional relationship would work.

Help me, she prayed. Help me lean on you, not on myself. Not even on Zach. Only you are strong enough to make a marriage out of a business transaction. You’ve already performed one miracle by convincing Zach to wed me. Now I ask for another. Let friendship grow between us so we can be true partners. Teach me how to be a blessing to him instead of a ball and chain, and give me the courage to be the wife he needs.

Friendship. She could be content with that. The little girl inside her might crave love and fairy-tale romance, but the grown woman living in the real world knew better than to set herself up for disappointment. Friendship would be lovely. Having a man she could depend on, one who would stand by her side and support her, one she would support in return. That was what she needed. What she wanted.

Feeling more in control, Abigail straightened her posture and marched the final two steps to the landing and on to her bedroom. But when she walked through the open door and spied the bed, her confidence evaporated.

Husbands and wives shared beds. It was the natural order of things. Her parents had shared this bed before her mother passed. It had seemed big then, from a child’s perspective. Now, as she stared at it, the wooden frame shrank before her eyes.

Zach would never fit. He was a large man, tall and broad. And she . . . well, she was no slender willow branch. More like a solid chunk of oak. They’d be practically on top of each other.

Abigail wagged her head back and forth, the motion growing more pronounced as reality set in. No. No, this would not do. They couldn’t share the bed, wedged together like biscuits in a pan. She’d never sleep. His presence disturbed her equilibrium when an entire dining room stood between them. With nothing but a thin nightdress and perhaps a blanket to separate them, she’d likely develop some kind of nervous disorder.

“Abby, are you ready . . . oh.” Rosalind flounced into the room, took one look at Abigail’s face, and grasped her sister’s shoulders, quickly angling her away from the bed.

Abigail tried to focus on her sister, but her mind remained in a fog of blankets and overlarge men.

Rosalind gave her a strong shake. “Abby. It’s going to be fine.”

At her sister’s firm statement, the last of the fog cleared. “I know. It’s just . . .” Her gaze shifted to the ceiling. “Everything’s hitting me all at once.” She sighed and tilted her chin back down to find refuge in Rosie’s kind eyes. “I thought I was prepared. I have a plan, after all. It’s not as if I didn’t know what was coming. But . . .”

“But knowing in theory is different than knowing in experience.”

“Precisely.” The tension in Abigail’s neck eased at her sister’s words. Rosalind understood. Maybe not all the details of the situation, but she understood the gush of uncertainty.

Perhaps better than Abigail did. Abby was used to being in charge. Bending ingredients to her will, managing the business, running the family. But today, as soon as she conquered one obstacle, another appeared to lay her flat. Hadn’t she just been praying in the stairwell? Was her faith really so weak that she couldn’t hold on to her assurance for more than a minute? Thank God for Rosie.

Abigail pulled her sister into an embrace. “I’d be lost without you.”

Rosalind returned her hug, then stepped back with an expression that warned she was ready to lecture. “You’re the strongest woman I know, Abby. You’d be fine without me. Not that you’ll be getting rid of me anytime soon,” she hurried to clarify. “I plan to hang around long enough to make sure this new husband of yours behaves himself.”

“That’s good.” Abby smiled despite the momentary panic that had stabbed her heart at the thought of her sister leaving. It would happen one day, she knew. But today was not the day to ponder that eventuality.

“Perhaps I should move back into your room for a while,” Abigail said, latching on to the notion as if it were a rope tossed to a drowning swimmer. “Zach and I need time to get comfortable with each other before we . . .” Her eyes said what her tongue couldn’t, focusing back on the bed.