“I am. I was just looking at the picture of Robert and Julia and feeling sad, especially since we will soon start the future they were denied.”
He stepped up behind her and kissed the top of her head as he massaged her shoulders. “It is sad, but ye have given that to her son.”
“We have,” she said. “This needs to be posted. And now I need to see if the others need me.” She shook her head. “I am not sure why they are doing so much work.”
“They want to.” He took the envelope from her. “I will post this and get out of everyone’s way.”
“Coward.”
“Thoroughly and nay afraid to admit it.”
Abigail laughed as he strode away then went to the kitchen where the women were busy making food for the ceremony tomorrow. “That is a lot of food. Are you sure we need so much?”
“We do,” said Mrs. O’Neal. “We will have all this crowd, the Joneses, the preacher’s family, and a few people who stayed in town, plus what few we have whom we can call neighbors.”
“Why?”
“There has been little to celebrate round here, dear. It has become almost custom to invite everyone to any kind of celebration. This one? A marriage? It is something that speaks to a lot of people, of happiness, love, and a future.” She shrugged. “It will be good for them. A happy time amidst all this killing.”
“I suppose. What can I do to help?”
“You finished that letter to the Collinses?” asked Emily.
“Yes. I forced myself not to pull it out of the envelope and try yet again. I had already tried writing it more times than I care to count and told myself that was enough. Jeremiah would be headed to school before I finished it if I didn’t stop.” She smiled faintly when David Jones’s wife, Sarah, laughed.
“Well? What shall I do?” Abbie asked again.
“Nothing. You are the guest of honor and need to rest.”
“But . . .”
“No.”
“There are a lot of nos for a guest of honor. No cooking, no laying out the tables . . .”
“No Matthew,” said Emily, and all the women laughed when Abigail scowled.
“That makes the least sense of all.”
“Makes the most sense,” said Mrs. O’Neal. “Makes the night special.”
“Or desperate,” muttered Abigail and grinned when Emily and Sarah laughed.
“Go on with you.”
She walked out, disappointed she would not be working with the others. There would be other times, she told herself. There were still four brothers left to get wives, plus her brother. There were also birthdays to celebrate and future christenings or births. The more she thought on it the better she felt. She saw Boyd talking with her brother and smiled. The MacEnroys welcomed people and Boyd was looking stronger. She prayed he would soon use that arm.
It was annoying that, only a day after she and Matthew had announced they were getting married, he had been forced out of her room. She hoped he was suffering as much as she was. Considering how they had behaved before then, she was not completely sure it was necessary, even to make the wedding night special, but Mrs. O’Neal had insisted and Abigail had quickly seen that the woman had become the matriarch of the family.
At least she had been able to make her gown, Abigail thought as she walked into the bedroom that would soon be hers and Matthew’s. She took her wedding gown out of the armoire and laid it on the bed. It was too early to go to bed so she thought she would look at it, see if there was some way to make it a little bit fancier, a touch more personal. Pulling out her sewing box, she sat down and looked through her threads. She picked out a deep red, dark blue, and some dark green before staring thoughtfully at her gown. Smiling slowly, she threaded her needle and began to make her gown just a bit more her own.
*
Matthew tugged at the collar of his shirt and Iain smacked his hand off it. “You are wrinkling it.”
“Where is she?”
“She is upstairs getting dressed.”
“Why is it taking so long? It is just a dress.”
“Matthew,” Iain said and shook his head. “I sometimes wonder how ye convinced that lass to marry ye. It is never just a dress.” Iain cocked his head to the side and murmured, “Ah, I hear the women. Come on, we will wait for them out back with the preacher and the others.”
Following his brother out to the back porch, Matthew looked at all the well-dressed people milling around when an arm was suddenly wrapped around his neck and he was pulled up against a tall, muscular body. Twisting his head around as much as he could, he looked into Reid’s face. The man had not come around much since he and Abbie had told him they were getting married. Seeing the hard look in Reid’s eyes, Matthew rather wished he had stayed away.
“If ye objected to the marriage, ye should have said something before now,” Matthew said.
“It is what she wants and I aren’ here to object,” he said. “Just warn.”
“I’m marrying a woman who can shoot better than I can. What need is there to warn me?”
A smiled twitched into view on Reid’s mouth, but he steadied it and scowled down at Matthew. “Don’t hurt her, don’t lie to her, and don’t break her heart.”
“Have no intention of doing so.”
Reid let go of him. “Good.”
Watching his soon-to-be brother-in-law walk away, Matthew rubbed at his throat, and shook his head. “If he thinks I would treat her badly, why did he nay protest the marriage?”
Iain shrugged. “Thinking on it. I expect the same thing to happen to me when Nuala gets of an age.”
Matthew laughed. “Whatever lad goes for her will have to be a damn brave one, since she has one father and six uncles, and a growing assortment of honorary uncles, who will all be watching him.”
Iain laughed and looked at Ned who was walking up to Noah. “And three cousins. So far. The bride will be walking in soon.” Iain watched his wife signal the preacher.
*
Matthew watched and then Reid led his sister in. Abigail had her hair down; long waves of silken brown hair fell down her back and rippled over the front of her simple white gown. His eyes narrowed as he spotted signs of color on the gown that had not been there before when he had snuck a peek at it in the armoire. Until he got closer to her he could not know what she had done so he studied her face.
She was a little pale, he decided. The way her fingers twisted on the stems of the flowers she held, it was clear she was a bit nervous as well. Flanking her were Mrs. O’Neal and her daughter Maeve. Behind her walked Emily. Little Nuala walked in front, or skipped, he thought. Her little hand kept up a steady rhythm of picking flower petals out of the basket and scattering them across the floor under Abbie’s feet.
Abbie finally reached the steps to the porch and Matthew stepped down to take her hand in his. He brushed a kiss over her knuckles. Around the wrist of the sleeves were bees, embroidered with the same precision she sewed the stitches into people’s skin. On each she had done one bee that looked as if it was crawling out of her sleeve to follow his brethren. Around the modest neckline of the gown was a collection of butterflies. He smiled at her.