Page 85 of More than Words Can Say

By Sunday morning, news of the vandalism at the bakery had spread far and wide, and by Sunday night, rumors of Sophia Longfellow’s alleged involvement in the crime had tickled nearly every ear in town. Zach wasn’t sure how word had gotten out about Sophia. Perhaps the marshal had related the tale to someone, or one of the Longfellows’ servants might have found the gossip too juicy to resist passing along. However it started, the story had certainly soured public opinion toward the mayor’s wife.

Mrs. Putnam pulled a scrap of paper from her skirt pocket, unfolded it, and held it out at arm’s length as she squinted at the words. “For years,” she intoned, “you and your family have given back to this community by supplying baked goods to those of us in reduced circumstances. Not only did you feed our bodies with your visits, but you fed our souls as well, always taking the time to ask after our families and our health. It is only right that we do something to give back a measure of what you have given to us.”

She folded the paper back up and shoved it into her pocket. “Ella Sue wrote them fine words.” She nodded to a tall slender lady at the back of the parlor. “Every lady here had a part in this effort.”

“What effort is that, Miss Lydia?” Abby’s sweet smile revealed her genuine love for the ladies present. Whatever pittance they’d come up with, he had no doubt she’d thank them as if it were a king’s ransom.

“We took up a collection, girl. For a new oven.”

“That’s so kind. You didn’t have to—”

“Don’t you act all demure, now, Abby Jane.” Lydia Putnam was a fierce little thing, shaking her bony finger at Abigail as if she were an errant child. “You need a new oven. A proper oven. And while we might not have gathered enough funds to cover the entire cost, we figure we’ll get you pretty close.” She turned to the fireplace mantel behind her, took down a small battered paperboard box, and handed it to Abby. “We collected eighty-seven dollars and thirty-two cents.”

“Eighty-seven . . . ?” Abigail’s eyes widened to the size of silver dollars, and her jaw dropped, leaving her words to dangle unfinished.

Zach stepped closer and fit his hand to the small of her back, though truth to tell, he felt just as stunned as his wife looked. How on earth had a group of penniless widows raised that kind of money in a matter of days?

Lydia Putnam crossed her arms over her chest, looking exceedingly pleased with herself. “We might not have more than a handful of coins to rub together between the lot of us, but God blessed us with other gifts we could put to use. We got feet to carry us, hands to knock, and faces that remind even our grumpiest neighbors of their grannies, aunts, or sisters.”

“And enough stubbornness not to take no for an answer,” one of the ladies called out from the back of the room.

Laughter filled the air as Mrs. Putnam shrugged. “God gave me more than the average helping of that particular attribute, I must admit. Gotta use what we’ve been given, right?”

A lady in blue stepped forward. “We knocked on every door in town.”

One in brown added, “We even staged a protest at City Hall.”

Abigail slanted a glance at Zach before turning back to the ladies beaming in pride in front of her. “A protest?”

“Yep,” Lydia confirmed. “All fourteen of us marched down to City Hall yesterday and parked outside Mayor Longfellow’s office. We refused to leave until he heard us out. He tried to dodge us by hiding in his office, but he had to come out sometime, and when a meeting with the school board demanded his attention, we nabbed him.”

“You should have seen Lydia.” The lady who’d written the speech made her way to the front of the pack. “When we asked the mayor for a donation, he tossed his spare change at us and tried to walk away. Lydia wouldn’t have it. She ignored his bluster when he demanded we leave, called his bluff when he threatened to send for the marshal, and then took him to task for knowingly letting a criminal walk free just because she was married to him. She accused him of being a co-conspirator and betraying his constituents.”

“Well, I didn’t use those words, exactly.” Was the feisty matriarch actually blushing? “Not even sure I know what half them words mean, Ella Sue.”

“You communicated just fine, as far as Mayor Longfellow was concerned,” Ella Sue insisted. “He sputtered worse than an overboiled teapot, adamantly denying he had any knowledge of the crime.”

“But Lydia wouldn’t let him dodge,” the lady in brown said. “She insisted an honorable man would do the right thing and make restitution to the wronged party. A man who cared about his city would protect its citizenry.”

The lady in blue took over the telling. “All the commotion drew a sizeable crowd, and in a matter of minutes, Mayor Longfellow folded like a paper doll. He ended up donating fifty dollars from his personal account to our oven fund.”

More than half of what had been collected.

“It’s a miracle.” Abby trembled beside him, her emotions perilously close to the surface.

Zach anchored her to his side with an arm about her middle even as his own thoughts spun. God had provided. They’d trusted him to take care of things, been content to wait as long as necessary, and then he’d done this—worked a miracle through a gaggle of women who could barely eke out their own existence. Their need was greater than any need he and Abigail faced, yet these women gave freely, without thought for themselves. It humbled him and made one thing abundantly clear in his soul.

“God is good.”

Zach scanned the females standing before him, then turned to his wife, the beautiful woman looking up at him with so much love, he swore he felt it seep into the pores of his skin. He tightened his hold on her waist and whispered the words again so that only she could hear.

“God is good.”

Epilogue

TEN DAYS LATER

Abigail never thought she’d actually be pleased to have a kitchen full of sweaty, grunting men, but she had to admit that they made a lovely frame around her new Montgomery Ward cookstove.