Page 86 of More than Words Can Say

“A little more to the right,” she directed as her husband and Reuben adjusted the heavy cast-iron range. “There! Nate, does the exhaust pipe line up properly?”

The boy, who’d been left in charge of the hollow pipe, jumped back onto the chair he’d been using and fit the large L-shaped cylinder to the rear of the stove, then twisted to see if the end would connect to the wall in the same place as her old industrial oven. Abigail said a quick prayer. This was the fourth time they’d adjusted the position of the cookstove, and she had a feeling that if it didn’t match up this time, Zach would just cut a new hole in the wall.

“I think if I twist it around a little . . . yes! It fits.”

“Wonderful!” Abigail clapped her hands even as she sent a silent thank-you heavenward. “I’ll pour the celebratory lemonade while you gentlemen finish up the final connections.”

Reuben exhaled an exaggerated groan, pressing his palms into his lower back as he slowly straightened his posture. “How long until you order the bigger oven? I think I’m going to need a year or two to recover from installing this one.”

“Milksop,” Zach grouched good-naturedly as he squished his large frame behind the oven to secure the exhaust pipe.

Reuben shrugged off the insult and handed Zach a wrench. “What can I say? Old age is setting in. Making me frail.”

Zach snorted. “You’re about as frail as a slab of granite.”

Reuben made a fist and examined his bicep. “You think so?”

Abigail rolled her eyes. Men. They had their foibles, but they had their good points too. She and Rosalind never would have managed this stove on their own. Filling three glasses of lemonade, she thanked God for bringing these particular men into her life. A dear friend always ready to lend a helping hand, a boy with a big heart and a head that soaked up knowledge wherever he went, and her husband—the man she couldn’t imagine living without.

Who would have guessed that a ridiculous, antiquated city ordinance would bring her the biggest blessing of her life?

But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good. The words Joseph had spoken to his brothers after their jealousy led them to sell him into slavery resonated in her heart as if they were her own. Sophia had intended her harm, but God had used it for good. He’d given her a true partner in life, one who saw her as an equal, who respected her and loved her even with her abundant curves and independent mindset. Her bakery profits might be down, but the profits that truly mattered had surpassed all expectation.

Taking a glass in each hand, she made her way to where the men were huddled around the stove—Zach working the wrench, Nate holding the pipe, and Reuben offering unsolicited advice.

“Here you go.” She handed the first glass to Reuben.

“Ah! Beautiful.” He accepted the lemonade and promptly gulped down half the glass. “Mmm. Delicious. Thank you.”

“Thank you for all your help today.”

Reuben dipped his chin. “My pleasure.”

“Oh, and to answer your question, you’ll have at least six months to rest up before we order the new oven.” Abby grinned at him. “We need about sixty dollars more to have sufficient funds to cover the purchase and shipping of the industrial oven. I’m hoping that with this addition,” she said with a nod toward the new cookstove, “I’ll be able to start putting money aside again. We’ll have to see how things go, but I hope to have the Taste of Heaven back to peak performance by the new year.”

“That’s great.” Sincerity eclipsed Reuben’s usual teasing charm for a brief moment. But then he grinned and pressed a hand against his lower back. “Guess I better get home to rest up, then.” He finished off his lemonade in one long drink, then handed the glass back into her keeping. “I’m off, Zach,” he announced with a little salute. “Gonna see if Audrey needs some rest too. She works hard, you know. Could probably use a nap.”

Zach looked down from where he’d been attaching the pipe to the vent in the wall and caught Abigail’s eye. “I might need one myself after this.”

Those pesky flutters started up in her belly again, like they always did when he looked at her like that. He was simply incorrigible. And she loved it.

As Reuben opened the door to leave, Rosalind and Ida Mae arrived on the step. He moved aside to allow them to enter, then gave a final wave and set off for home.

“Have you seen the paper?” Rosalind asked as she held up a copy of the Honey Grove Signal.

Abigail set Nate’s glass of lemonade on the worktable along with Reuben’s empty one, then crossed to meet her sister. “What does it say?”

“Mayor Longfellow has resigned.”

“What?” Abby took the paper from Rosalind and scanned the headline article: Longfellow Stepping Down. Former Mayor J. H. Smith to Fill Vacancy.

“The official story is that he decided to move to Clarksville to oversee his father’s bank,” Rosalind reported, “but the rumor mill has it that he’s moving to get his wife away from all the memories tied to Honey Grove.”

Memories of Benedict Crowley.

“Well, I wondered what Sophia meant yesterday when she accosted me in Patteson Dry Goods and accused me of ruining her life a second time,” Abigail mused. “I guess this explains it.”

“You didn’t tell me she accosted you,” Rosalind said, concern in her eyes.