“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 best 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.