Page 45 of More than Words Can Say

Several patrons had taken an interest in items on shelves closer to the front of the store, their eavesdropping intentions clear. Heat rose to Abigail’s cheeks, but she refused to back down. Sophia had disparaged Zach, and that, she would not allow.

Head high, heart pumping faster than a locomotive at full steam, Abigail stared down her former friend and ensured her voice carried to all those who cared to listen.

“Zacharias Hamilton is an honorable man and a good husband. Anyone who knows him at all will attest to his character. Yesterday my sister was accosted by a man in town, and Zach came to her aid. Today he met with her at noon to teach her how to defend herself against such villainy should a similar situation ever arise in the future.”

Sophia shook her head as if she believed Abigail’s faith too blind for her own good, but when she opened her mouth to offer her opinion, Abby cut her off. She wasn’t about to let her spew more of her poison.

“You have good reason to bear me a grudge, Sophia, but I won’t allow you to speak ill of my husband. He has done you no harm and doesn’t deserve your scorn nor the scorn of anyone who listens to your perverse twisting of the truth.”

Sophia gasped, as did a few of the ladies close enough for Abigail to hear. But she wouldn’t back down now.

“Neither of us can change the past, as much as we might wish we could.” And heaven knew how much Abigail wished she could. “All we can do is move forward with grace and build the best future we can. You have a life with Chester, a political career to navigate, and a town to help run. More than enough to keep you busy. Leave me and Zach alone.”

Sophia lurched toward Abigail, her expression hardening in an instant, though she was careful to keep her face angled away from the other patrons. Abigail drew back slightly, shocked at the vitriol in Sophia’s gaze.

“Chester isn’t the life I wanted,” Sophia hissed in a voice that, for once, wouldn’t carry. “You know that.” Her fingers grasped Abigail’s wrist and tightened like a shrinking manacle. “An eye for an eye, Abby. Isn’t that what the Good Book teaches? You stole my future from me. I’m returning the favor.”

After a final squeeze that nearly cut off the blood flow to Abigail’s hand, Sophia released her, pasted on an utterly false smile, and twirled back into the main part of the store. “Our Fourth of July celebration is going to be the best yet, don’t you agree, Mrs. Timmons?” She waltzed over to the woman closest to the counter, who held a conveniently located mortar trowel in her hand as if she were seriously contemplating trading in needlepoint for bricklaying as her hobby of choice. “Now that our dear Abigail has finally purchased her bunting, we’re guaranteed to have the finest-looking square in a hundred miles. Have I told you that the city has purchased fireworks for the occasion? Chester insisted. He does love a good show.”

As Sophia deftly drew the attention of the other shoppers, Abigail turned from them and stared unseeing at the top of the counter where her parcels lay. She absently rubbed the sore spot on her wrist, but the throbbing of her arm was not half as painful as the throbbing in her heart. Mercy. She’d known Sophia harbored a grudge against her, but she had never imagined her former friend actually wished her ill.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Hamilton?” The quiet murmur of the clerk brought Abigail’s chin up. Kind eyes met hers, and the softness there nearly undid her.

She blinked away the moisture gathering faster than she would like behind her lashes and smiled. “Yes. Thank you.” She fiddled with her purse strings, the obstinate things tangling instead of opening. “How much do I owe you?” Her purse refused to cooperate. Stupid strings. Must they set themselves against her too?

The clerk set the basin and ewer he’d fetched on the counter and reached for her hand. Unlike Sophia, his touch was gentle and feather-light atop her fingers. “I’ll write up a bill and send it around to the bakery later today. Don’t worry about it now.”

Her fumbling fingers stilled. She met his gaze, her own blurry with tears she refused to let fall. Yet she had the feeling that should one escape, her only witness would not hold the transgression against her.

“Thank you.” The words were too small to represent the flood of gratitude rising within her, yet he accepted them with a nod that somehow communicated he understood the wealth behind the words.

He removed his hand, stepped back, and recorded her purchases on a sales slip. “Let me summon a delivery boy to help you home with your purchases.”

Normally she would turn down such an offer. The ewer and basin weren’t so heavy she couldn’t manage, and a delivery boy would expect a tip, an extra expense she usually opted to avoid. But seeing as how she couldn’t even manage to open her own purse strings, having someone else carry her items gave them a better chance of arriving home unscathed.

“That would be much appreciated.”

By the time the boy arrived, Abigail had her emotions in check and her eyes dry, or at least no longer threatening imminent rainfall. She’d even managed to unknot her purse strings enough to extricate a coin for when the lad completed his duty.

A duty that was interrupted less than two storefronts down the boardwalk when Mary Bowen scurried up from behind.

“Abigail. Wait.”

Waiting was the very last thing Abigail wanted to do. Goodness, could she not just be left alone to lick her wounds and try to get her head on straight before Zach came home?

She kept walking.

“Please, Abigail.” Mary huffed a bit as she caught up. “I want to apologize.”

Not pour salt in her wound? Abigail cast a sideways glance at Mary. She looked sincere. Abashed, even. Abigail slowed.

The delivery boy fell back a couple paces, giving the ladies a modicum of privacy.

“I never should have told Sophia what I saw yesterday. She twisted it into something ugly that I knew wasn’t true. I barely slept at all last night, fretting about not standing up to her when she started spinning her tales.” Mary nibbled on her bottom lip and glanced at the ground before meeting Abigail’s eyes. “But you stood up to her today. Back there in Wilkins’s store. I heard you. We all heard you. It’s like you’re a completely different person from who you were yesterday. You didn’t let her intimidate you or sway you into believing anything bad about your husband. You just stopped her in her tracks and stood up for what was right. It was . . . amazing.”

Abigail’s feet ceased moving altogether. Amazing? Her?

But Mary wasn’t done. “What changed?” she asked, a hungry look on her face as if she too wished to transform overnight. “How did you find the courage to stand up to her?”