Page 84 of More than Words Can Say

Zach shaped his features into a mien of forced solemnity and nodded as soberly as Brother Samuelson after one of his sermons on the dangers of sin. “No talk of kidnapping. Got it.”

“Thank you.” Her lips twitched in an almost-grin, one she managed to subdue. Unfortunately. “These ladies are dear friends, and whatever gift they have planned, no matter how small, we will receive it with a healthy display of gratitude. Remember the story of the widow’s mite from the Bible. It’s not the size of the gift that matters but the size of the heart doing the giving.”

“I know.” He covered the hand she’d placed on his arm with his palm, his teasing attitude shifting to one more serious in nature. When she tilted her head sideways at him, he slowed his step. “You have one of the biggest hearts of all, Abigail, and you’ve given me more than I dreamed possible. More than I deserve.”

She shook her head and tugged him forward as if embarrassed by his praise. But she needed to hear it. To believe it. He gave in to her tugging and picked up his pace, but he steered her down a side street where fewer people bustled along.

After they’d gone about a block, he drew to a halt near a large shade tree and turned her to face him. “You’ve given me your love and made me part of your family, Abby. There are no gifts more precious than those.”

“Well,” she said, her eyes not quite meeting his, “you’ve made me part of your family too.”

But he hadn’t given her his love. At least not in a way that allowed her to be certain of his feelings. Her unspoken words deafened him with that truth.

He wanted to tell her, needed to tell her, but the words that came out of his mouth made a different confession.

“I, uh, made my peace with God today.”

Her gaze slammed into his, no longer shy but brimming with excitement. “Oh, Zach! That’s wonderful!”

The woman so set on not displaying her affection in public wrapped him in a hug. It might have been quick and platonic, but he felt the warmth of it deep inside his bones.

“I’m so happy for you.”

He shrugged. “It’s because of you, you know.”

She started shaking her head, but he refused to let her belittle her part.

“You showed me that I did have a choice all those years ago, that I could have let God take the lead instead of charging forward on my own terms. I could have trusted God with Seth and Evie’s welfare the way you are trusting him with the bakery. But I didn’t. I want to change that. With you. With our family. I see you working with all your strength to preserve what is important but always in a way that honors the Lord. I want to do the same. With God’s help, I will from here on out.”

Abby rubbed at her eye with the back of her hand even as she beamed a smile at him. “Does this mean I’ll hear you sing at prayer meeting tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am. Though I gotta warn you, the bucket I carry my tunes in is pretty rusty. Probably has a few holes in it too.”

“Then you’ll fit right in with the rest of us. There’s a reason God told his people to make a joyful noise, you know. Musical prowess is not a requirement, just an engaged heart.” She patted his chest to emphasize her words, and he snatched the opportunity, trapping her hand and pressing it even closer to the organ that belonged to her.

“Church ain’t the only place my heart’s engaged.” In truth, it was about to beat its way out of his breast this very minute.

Her gaze sought his, her indrawn breath begging him not to disappoint her. Not in this.

“I . . . love you, Abby.”

She froze, her face completely expressionless.

Had he done it wrong? He’d said the words out loud. His throat still vibrated from the effort.

A tear rolled down her cheek. Then another one.

Confound it! He had mucked it up. He never should have opened his big mouth.

“C’mon, Abby,” he cajoled as he dug out his handkerchief and thrust it at her. “No cryin’. What will the widow ladies think?”

She ignored the handkerchief, lifted up on tiptoes, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “They’ll think I’m married to the most wonderful man in the world, and they’ll be right. Oh, Zach. I love you too. So much.”

She kissed his cheek—a quick peck that ended before it began. But that stamp of approval inflated his confidence to the point that he strutted all the way to Widow Putnam’s house, waving and tipping his hat to everyone he met because nothing could be finer than loving Abigail and having her love him in return.

Once they arrived at the modest home several blocks down Main Street, Mrs. Putnam ushered them into her parlor, where a dozen or so ladies nibbled on sandwiches and tea. The moment the Hamiltons entered, however, the ladies set their refreshments aside and rose to their feet. All but the two eldest, anyway. Elmira Welch was eighty if she was a day and had well earned the right to keep her seat, and Zach was pretty sure Gertie Donaldson had dozed off. But everyone else smiled at them in welcome, a secretive gleam lighting their eyes that made Zach a tad nervous.

Lydia Putnam cleared her throat and pivoted to face Abigail. “Abby Jane, we were all madder than hornets when we heard about that woman sabotagin’ your oven.”