Page 46 of More than Words Can Say

“I didn’t find it,” Abigail said, a shy smile on her face as she recalled Zach shoving his foot in her door, demanding they talk things through and siphon out the poison before it infected their marriage. “It found me.”

Mary’s forehead scrunched.

Abigail knew she wasn’t making any sense, but she didn’t really care. Her equilibrium was coming back into balance, and it felt so good that she nearly laughed.

“I had a long talk with my husband last night,” Abigail explained, “and he made me realize that I have to choose which voices to believe. I can believe the ones that tell me I’m not good enough or brave enough or pretty enough and let them skew my perception of events, or I can push aside that clamor and seek out the voice that tells me I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

Mary blinked, her face blank.

Abigail did laugh then. “If you want to be brave, Mary, choose to be so ahead of time. I knew I couldn’t listen to Sophia anymore, not if it was going to hurt my marriage, so I told myself that the next time she tried to shame me or my husband, I would stop her before she could plant any negative thoughts in my head. That’s what I did. You can do the same thing. Just make a plan and stick to it when the time comes. It’s hard, and it might hurt.” A lot. “But it’s worth it.”

Especially if it meant strengthening her marriage.

Perhaps she should apply that principle to another area of her life. Might she be less afraid of sharing Zach’s bed if she made a plan ahead of time?

It couldn’t hurt to try.

CHAPTER

23

With nervous energy zinging through her at the prospect of actually planning to become a true wife to her husband, Abigail tossed her patriotic purchases on the kitchen worktable, paid the delivery boy for his trouble, then took the new pitcher and basin upstairs.

She stepped into the master bedroom, and a shiver danced along her arms. Don’t be a ninny. It’s not like you’re planning to don your nightclothes and wait for him under the covers. You’re just surprising him with a gift. A gift that might eventually lead to covers and what occurred under them, but she’d best not jump too far ahead on this planning thing. She’d lose her courage before she even began.

Bread won’t rise unless the baker first activates the yeast. Another of her father’s favorite sayings. In other words, take one step at a time and trust the process.

Only she didn’t know the process. Not for becoming a man’s wife. Nor for handling the arrival of children that might follow sooner than she’d like. Once she took this step, there’d be no going back. Changes would come. The bakery could no longer be the center of her existence. Her dreams would have to adjust. Could she do that?

Sophia mourned the future she’d lost so much that she’d let it embitter her. Would the same happen to Abigail if she could no longer manage the bakery? Would she come to resent her husband, her children?

There was no question in Abigail’s mind that Zach would be a good father. Just look at Evie. He’d raised his adoptive sister, and she adored him. And his treatment of Rosie only bore that out further. Protective yet at the same time empowering her to face her problems on her own. He didn’t see women as lesser beings. He respected their abilities and would defend them like a hero of old.

So it came down to trust. Did she trust God either to postpone pregnancy or to work out a way to preserve her career aspirations if she pursued intimacy with Zach? She knew what the right answer was supposed to be, yet she wavered, unsure of how reality would play out. Not only where children were concerned, but with the intimate act itself.

Abigail sat on the corner of Zach’s mattress, biting her lip when the bed frame creaked. If she knew more about what to expect or had a recipe to follow, it might be easier, but Mama wasn’t around to ask, and as frank as dear Lydia was, Abigail couldn’t imagine seeking such personal advice from someone outside of family.

She’d tried looking in the Bible, but the majority of the marriages chronicled there consisted of Husband X taking Bride Y into the family tent and—boom—wifedom. Sometimes on the very day the two met. There was the lovely story about Jacob loving Rachel and working for her for seven years, but nothing about courtship was revealed, only work. And the whole bride-switch trickery with Leah brought up too many uncomfortable notions about older, less attractive sisters.

Which meant Abigail would be making up this recipe on her own.

Heaven help her.

Abigail stood and crossed the room to the washstand situated to the left of the wardrobe. After transferring what water remained from the old ewer to the new, Abigail wiped the old pitcher dry with a towel, moved it and its matching floral basin to the floor, and arranged the new set nicely in the center. She tidied Zach’s shaving mug, brush, and razor, then hung the damp towel on the rack to dry. Satisfied with the increased masculinity of the items, she turned her attention to finding a place to store the old set.

The wardrobe made the most sense. The last time she’d checked, Zach hadn’t stored anything on the high shelf above the hanging rod. The pitcher would be too tall to stand upright, but she could lay it on its side next to the basin.

She opened the wardrobe door, her gaze skimming over her husband’s Sunday suit coat and the two starched shirts that hung on the rod. Such ordinary items, yet they stirred her heart. These were the clothes of a hardworking man. A good man. A man willing to fight for the well-being of their marriage even though she had yet to share any wifely intimacies with him.

A man who planned to abduct her the day after tomorrow. Abigail’s stomach fluttered, and a quiet giggle bubbled free. Maybe she didn’t have to plan much after all. Her husband obviously had some schemes in mind already, so perhaps she could simply go along with whatever he devised.

Then again, did she really want to be a passive partner in this marriage? Zach might be the one instigating their romantic rendezvous, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t wage her own war to capture his heart. For that was what she wanted: his heart. He desired physical intimacy, loyalty, and trust from her. She wanted love.

Abigail bit her bottom lip as she stretched up on her tiptoes and slid her mother’s basin onto the top wardrobe shelf. When had a practical solution for saving her bakery turned into an emotional campaign for a love match?

The minute Zacharias Hamilton said yes. That was when.

Add a month’s worth of delicious good-night kisses along with companionable evenings, the zealous championing of little sisters, and a large smashed foot in her doorway, and Zach had perfected the recipe for love. At least on her side. Now she just had to discover the secret recipe for claiming his heart in return. Equal partners, that was the bargain they’d agreed to. If she were going to fall head over heels, it was only fair that he do the same.