When You Love a Scotsman Read online

  “Ah, good, we will need that for Boyd,” said James, whose eyes narrowed as he finally gave the wagon a good look. “What the devil is all over it?”

  “Flowers,” replied Abigail as she hopped down. “I like flowers and they are easy to draw.”

  “Why is it black?” asked Boyd.

  “Because it now looks fresh and new and black paint was all I had. But the flowers dress it up nicely, don’t you think?” She turned and walked over to Boyd to push open the lid of the chest set beside him to search for a blanket.

  James slapped his hand over Danny’s mouth when the man opened it to speak, turned him around, and shoved him toward the horses. “Very nicely done, miss,” James said, and followed Danny.

  “They hate it,” Abigail said as she approached and paused to trail her hand along the side of the wagon. “I was much younger but, to be truthful, I still like it.” She put the quilt she had removed from the chest by Boyd and spread it on the bottom of the wagon. “We best get him inside, don’t you think?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Just make sure his arm does not bump into anything or allow him to put any weight on it.” She kept a close watch on Matthew as he helped Boyd climb into the wagon then hurried back to the box to close it and bring it back.

  Abigail intended to slide it in next to Boyd. She felt it would keep him steady in the wagon bed. It was important to her that he did not do anything to or with that arm. His injury was one of the most serious she had ever worked on and she needed to know she had done it right. It was selfish; she knew her concern should all be for Boyd, but she could not help it. She wanted to know she had done right by the younger man and she would only be sure of that when he was healthy again.

  She stood back and studied the wagon then sighed and grimaced. Although she still liked it, she could see how the men might find it a bit less than a joy to ride in. They were probably concerned that someone they knew would see them. At that thought, she smiled, and climbed into the back of the wagon.

  “I assume one of you fellows knows how to drive a wagon,” she said and then busied herself fixing the quilts so that she and Boyd could ride comfortably.

  “I can,” James said with a reluctance he could not hide and jumped onto the seat.

  Matthew and the others mounted their horses after tying James’s up behind the wagon. When James started the wagon moving, Abigail settled back against the box, which she had covered with a blanket. She had no idea of where they were taking her and wondered if she should be concerned. The more she fretted over it the more concerned she became. Matthew moved to ride by her side of the wagon.

  “Where are you taking me?” she finally asked.

  “Bit late to ask, isnae it?” said Matthew and grinned when he heard her growl. “Back to the town we came from. There is someplace ye can stay there. There are a number of women there, ones, weel, who lost their place because of the war. Ye will do just fine there.”

  “Whether I want to go or not,” she muttered softly.

  Boyd chuckled. “It is a good place, a nice place. The women are nice.”

  “Well, they probably are to you.”

  “What does that mean? Why would you think they would be nice to me?”

  “Because ye are a bonnie lad,” said Matthew, and laughed when he glanced back and caught Boyd blushing.

  “But now I am broken so it will be different, I think.” He glanced at Abigail when she laughed. “What do you find funny?”

  “Just trust me to know, the hurt arm will simply be used as an excuse to help you with everything. It is not your arm they think of as bonnie.”

  The men laughed and Boyd gave them all a cross look before saying, “It is a good place, Abbie. There are about seven women there of all ages and a few children. You will not be alone, and from what little I know of them, they all seemed quite nice, friendly, and kind. Well, all except Mrs. Beaton who seems to rule the place.”

  “Mrs. Beaton used to be the wealthy leader of society in the town,” said Matthew.

  “Ah, I see. Is it her house?”

  “It is. It used to be headquarters but once we had collected up several widows and a couple of children it was decided it would serve better as the house for the women and all. Fortunately she offered before someone had to demand it. We keep her supplied with what food we can.”

  Abigail nodded, beginning to get a picture of the place. “So it is big enough for her to have her family and a lot of guests.”

  “Her family was just her husband and he died so, yes, it is big enough.”

  “Must be near as big as your place, sir,” said James.

  “My place is not just mine. Whole family shares it. My brothers are thinking of adding on to it.”

  “How many brothers do you have?” asked Abigail.

  “Six.”

  “Good Lord,” Abigail said, and James laughed. “That is an impressive family.”

  “It is my brothers, my elder brother’s wife and daughter and his wife’s nephew Ned. We built a little cottage for Mrs. O’Neal and her kids, too. She is the one who helps around the house.”

  Abigail could not picture it but she nodded and smiled. She would have loved such a large family. Instead, she had had a very small family and now she had none. Hastily correcting herself, she thought she only had one left because she did not want to send Reid any hint of an ill fate. She inwardly shook her head at her own superstitions and became determined not to feel sorry for herself. For most of her life her family had been small but happy and that was the memory she would hold fast to.

  “What were ye writing on the stall?” he finally asked.

  “A message for my brother if he returns here.”

  She looked at the scenery passing her by and realized she had rarely left the cabin once they had moved in. Her mother had not liked it when she and Reid had wandered far. When their father took them for a walk he had always had a specific place and it was most often through the orchard to the creek. She frowned. Her parents had not been very adventurous despite their move to this new place. Then the troubles in the hills had begun, the harsh determination of some to make people pick a side in the coming war, and they had felt their caution had thus been thoroughly justified.

  “You have a fine apple orchard, Miss Abigail,” said Boyd.

  “Thank you. It produced well, too. Father would take the apples to market and make a decent living. Mother kept hoping he would return to being a doctor, but he had lost the heart for such work.”

  “Your father was a doctor? Why did he never hang his shingle out here?”

  “Well, Da had too much heart. He could not abide causing pain to anyone or anything, and when all his fine knowledge and skill failed, he grieved. But the biggest reason was the wrong person died under his surgeon’s knife.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He had to operate on a rich young woman, one from a very high social station. Once he opened her up he realized what ailed her was nothing he could ever fix so he sewed her up again. He always knew she was going to die. What he did not understand was why her family blamed him. But they did and their talk eventually lost him his place and he decided to just leave them all behind.”

  “What did she have?”

  “Da called it a malignancy. He could never explain it well for me but he did say that it grows and it kills you. I gather it can grow anywhere in the body, even in blood and bone. Doctors can recognize it but cannot fix it. He suspects one day they may figure it out but not now.” She shrugged. “I decided it is probably what kills people and leaves everyone surprised.”

  Boyd nodded and Abigail returned to looking at the scenery, leaning her head back and letting the sun warm her face. Soon, her eyes closed and she found herself thinking of her family, praying for her brother. She sighed and just let her thoughts roam through the memories.

  * * *

  Matthew peeked in the back and saw that both Abigail and Boyd were asleep. It was probably for the be
st as it would take a while to get back to their camp but a step or two outside of Missouri. He did not know how she had lasted as long as she had because there were a lot of men traveling through these hills with little concern about who lived here. There were small skirmishes all the time and few were noted. He would be surprised if he found more than half of the people who had called these hills home still lingering in the hills.

  He sighed at his part in that even though he had only fought to defend. It was evident he was not a warrior, which had to be an embarrassment to his ancestors. What he ached for besides peace was home. He wanted to be in his workshop making something with wood that could be useful and beautiful. Shaking his head, he shoved those thoughts aside. They were driving a decorated wagon through woods that often served as hiding places for bands of Rebel marauders or soldiers and he could not let his mind wander.

  Dan and Jed rode as if waiting for a battle. James drove with his rifle on the seat beside him. Matthew kept his weapon close but prayed they would meet no trouble. He just wanted to get Abigail and the wounded Boyd someplace safe.

  “Think Miss Abigail will like the ladies’ house?” asked James.

  “Why wouldn’t she? It is safer than where she was,” said Matthew.

  “Don’t know except I get the feeling none of the ladies are particularly happy. Meet one from time to time and, no, don’t get the feeling they are happy.”

  “Weel, they have all lost a lot and are probably just as weary of this war as we are.”

  “True. Have you met Mrs. Beaton?”

  “Nay, why?”

  James shrugged. “I have and she is a sour, rigid woman who has some specific ideas of how things should be done and how people should act. Reminds me of a woman back home who many of the other women disliked. A rich woman who knew little about how regular folks lived and clearly had no interest in finding out. Could be all that there is and she would be a trying person to live with.”

  “They dinnae have any other choice. It was Mrs. Beaton who opened her house to the women when she finally got it back. Very charitable of her.” When James laughed, Matthew looked at him in question.

  “Just thinking that might be what is the problem. The charity of it, especially if one is reminded too often of that very kindness. And I am thinking Mrs. Beaton is a woman who will mention it as often as she can.”

  Matthew chuckled. “True enough. Weel, as said, Abigail has no choice and I am sorry if it ends up grating on her heart but she cannae stay where she was.”

  “Nope. That lack of choice is always hard to swallow, too.”

  Nodding, Matthew hoped it would not be too hard on Abigail. He had a strong need to make sure she was somewhere safe, so there was no choice for him. He just promised himself he would keep a watch on her.

  The rest of the way back to the little town they were headquartered in was peaceful. It was growing dark and the evening shadows grew. Pulling up in front of the house, Matthew got down from the wagon and went to the back only to find that the stop in motion was enough to rouse Abigail. Boyd slept on and she immediately checked his forehead for signs of fever.

  “Ye can stay here,” Matthew said as he helped her down. “It will be safe for you.”

  “Where?” Abigail looked around at the houses on both sides of the street.

  “That house,” he said, and pointed to a large white house on her right. “Do ye nay recall? We told ye there are other women there and a few children as weel. All of them have lost their homes and families. We call it the Woman’s House.”

  Abigail stared at the big three-story house and idly wondered why such a huge fancy building had even been built here. “How sad. I suppose we will at least have something in common.”

  He nodded and walked her to the door as the men brought her chests. He knocked and Mrs. Beaton herself answered. At the door, he introduced her to Mrs. Beaton who directed the men to put the chests in the upstairs hall and then he left her there. He needed to get Boyd to the place where the infirmary had been set up so he shook aside his inexplicable guilt and hopped back up into the wagon seat.

  When they carried Boyd into the infirmary the doctor quickly showed them to a bed. The man looked over Boyd’s wound then tied the restraint for his wounded arm back on. He straightened up and frowned.

  “Who tended to this wound?”

  “A woman we just brought in,” answered Matthew. “Her da was once a doctor and she appeared to ken what she was about.”

  “Oh yes, she knew. That is what surprised me. I expected to find a still untended wound under the bandages. She did much the same as I would have done. Where is she?”

  “At the Woman’s House. Mrs. Beaton’s?” The doctor nodded. “It was at her place where Boyd got wounded. Since she was alone when the fight ended we brought her here.”

  “Good. I have to think on it but I might go speak with her. Help is always needed here but I rarely find anyone with any skill. That a woman may well be the one I need is a bit shocking. The boy is fine for now but I cannot say what the fate of that arm will be. May heal and still be useless.”

  “That is what Abigail said.” Matthew shook his head. “I can only hope ye are both wrong.”

  The doctor just smiled faintly when Matthew shook his head and left. It was not a look that gave Matthew any hope. It really looked as if Boyd’s soldiering days were over. Some might be delighted by that, but he knew Boyd would be deeply disappointed. The boy had seen little of the war so far and still held his dreams of glory in battle.

  Then he and the men took the wagon to the stables. They all stood patiently as the man running the place laughed heartily over the wagon. Matthew decided it should have been expected especially after all the looks they had gotten as they had entered the town. Leaving it in the still chuckling man’s care, he joined his men as they all made their way back to the tedium interrupted with moments of terror that had become their lives.

  Chapter Three

  Abigail slowly walked to a chair and sat down. She looked around at the other women in the room, finding that most of them were watching her. Mrs. Beaton had not bothered introducing her; she just told her to go sit down and walked away. Unsure of what to do next, she nodded at any woman who met her eyes for a moment. Finally, one woman stood up and walked over to her. She looked to be about Abigail’s age and had lovely blond hair hanging loose and curly around her shoulders. There was a cautious look in her brown eyes as she took the seat nearest to Abigail’s.

  “Hello. I am Julia Hawkins,” the woman said.

  “Abigail Jenson.” She stuck out her hand and the other woman looked a little startled but shook it.

  “Are you staying with us now?”

  “I assume so. This is where Lieutenant MacEnroy brought me.”

  “How did that happen?”

  As quickly as she could, Abigail explained. She could not completely stem her tears when she spoke of the fate of her parents, but quickly wiped away the few that escaped. She was going to have to find the time and the privacy to give way to her grief. When she finished her tale, the other woman looked close to weeping herself.

  “There is so much of that. All the women here are widows or daughters left behind. More widows than the others. There are a few children here as well. We were in another place in town for a while but it became too small to hold us so they moved us here. This used to be the headquarters of the major but, despite what I assume was annoyance”—Julia briefly grinned—“he moved. Mrs. Beaton was at first pleased to get her house back.”

  “How do I, well, settle in?”

  “Mrs. Beaton did not say?”

  “No, she just told me to come in here and sit down. The men took my chests up the stairs.”

  “Ah, well, you can share my room as the woman who used to has moved on. She got news that her husband was not dead as reported, just badly wounded, and she has gone to him.” She leaned closer to Abigail and spoke softly. “He lost a leg and demanded that he be listed as dead.
It was a friend of his who finally came looking for his wife. He thought it was foolish of his friend to try and turn away the one who might well be the best help for him, so she left with the man. She sent back a short letter when she found her husband and said they were headed back to Ohio.”

  “I hope all goes well for her and her husband.”

  “As do I, but it has left a bed free in my room.”

  “Thank you. Matthew told me little when he left me here. He just mumbled something about this being the Woman’s House and walked away.” Abigail decided Julia had a nice laugh, clear and sweet, almost childlike.

  “Come, I will introduce you to everyone and show you where you will sleep.”

  Abigail followed her as Julia led her over to each woman in the room and politely introduced her. Most of the women were friendly, but one could almost feel their sadness. It was the same with the children that they met once they made their way up the stairs. There was a fear clinging to each one.

  “The children looked so lost,” Abigail said as Julia finally showed her into the room they would share.

  The room was larger than Abigail had expected and easily held the two small beds with a table between them. A thick carpet covered the floor and a big fireplace sat on the wall opposite the bed. There were two small chairs flanking a fancy round table in front of the windows at the side of the room. One look at this room was enough to tell Abigail Mrs. Beaton was, or had been, a very wealthy woman. It would be the richest room she had ever slept in. Then Julia spoke and drew her mind back to the children.

  “Sad, I know,” Julia said. “We have no orphanages in town for them. The town was small enough that any child orphaned was easily taken in by a local family or relatives but these children are not from around here and the people still here have enough to fret about without taking in another mouth to feed. This is the best we have. There are only four of them so I think the major is hoping we’ll deal with them. We do, but not as it probably should be. Most of the women are still too caught up in their own losses to deal with a child.”