Abby and Ben were in the parlor later, having their evening devotional, when Caleb came into the room. Abby looked up from the verse she was reading and found his gaze on Ben. She held her breath, hoping against hope that he would not fly off the handle.
“Ben.”
“Sir?”
Abby heard the quaver in his voice.
“That chess set was a gift to me from Doc Stone,” Caleb said in an even voice that somehow managed to fall just short of angry. “It isn’t a toy, son, and it isn’t to be played with unless you’re playing an actual game of chess. If you want to learn—”
“Don’t call me son!” Ben shouted, lifting his belligerent blue gaze to Caleb’s.
“Benjamin!” Abby cried, leaping to her feet. She was stunned by Ben’s sudden outburst, when Caleb had been trying to discuss the matter in a conciliatory tone. “You will apologize to Mr. Gentry at once.”
“I won’t!” he yelled, scrambling off the sofa and running to the bedroom. “I’m not his son!” The door slammed with a jarring thud.
Abby lifted her horrified gaze to Caleb’s, wondering if he would tell her to start packing “I—I’m so sorry,” she said in a near whisper. “I don’t know what got into him.”
His silvery eyes held a weary sorrow. “I do. I understand exactly why he’s upset. I’ve been where he is, remember?”
Abby recalled that he’d lost his mother when he was young. “You’re being very decent about this.”
“You told me yourself to expect that kind of outburst, and even though I may be short-tempered and stubborn, I like to think I am a decent man.”
“I never meant to imply—”
A fleeting sorrowful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I know.”
Abby regarded him thoughtfully and set out to try to make him understand. “Ben had no idea how expensive that chess set is, but that’s neither here nor there. He knows better than to bother other people’s things. I’m not trying to make excuses, but he just wanted something to haul in his train cars. He—”
“Leave it, Abby,” Caleb said, but the weariness of his smile took the sting from the command. “I was going to offer to teach him how to play chess in the evenings, but I don’t think he’d be very receptive to that just now.”
Without another word, he crossed the room and began moving the chess pieces, presumably where they had been before Ben confiscated them. Caleb had made no mention of sending them packing, and she wasn’t going to bring it up. She gave a rueful shake of her head, not fully understanding why he had not flown off the handle, but grateful that he had not. It was progress. Of sorts.
* * *
Bright and early the following morning, while dew still sparkled on the browning grass, Abby found herself seated in the wagon beside Caleb. Mary had arrived shortly after daybreak to take care of the children. She’d brought along a newfangled bottle from the mercantile so that she could give Betsy a little sugar water if she grew fussy before Abby returned. Frank, the older of Caleb’s two hired hands, followed the wagon on a bay gelding.
Caleb leaned forward, his elbows resting on his denim-clad knees, his tanned, callused hands holding the reins in a loose grasp. Completely and easily in control. Again, she thought that even though he was not what one might call handsome, there was something striking about him. It was no wonder that he’d once been the catch of Pike County, or little doubt that once a decent time of mourning had passed, he would be again.
It was only when it came to expressing the more tender emotions that Caleb Gentry seemed to be wanting. That and the lack of a relationship with God. She wondered why he had left no place in his life for a God who had been so generous to him, but she was far too cautious to ask. In truth, she spoke to him as little as possible, since she had the impression that he did not want anyone getting too close to him and seemed disinclined to get close to anyone, which was rather sad, even though it made her life easier.
She glanced again at his hands. They were strong hands, hands whose callused palms and scarred fingers spoke of hard work. She’d seen those hands move in unerring swiftness to soothe a nervous horse and calmly remove an adventurous kitten from the branches of an oak tree, proving he was capable of tenderness. Yet for some reason that kindheartedness was not extended to people—at least not that she had seen.
Well, that was not exactly true. Even in the few days she had been at the farm, she’d seen his softening toward Laura, who made a habit of pulling up to his legs and demanding that he hold her, something he did without hesitation or complaint. He even allowed her to explore his face, poking her tiny fingers into his ears and eyes, and once offering him a wet, openmouthed kiss. When he’d swiped a palm down his cheek and made a soft growling sound of disgust, Laura had laughed in delight, which only made his scowl grow fiercer. It was all Abby could do to keep from laughing herself, but she managed to stifle the urge, knowing it would not do at all.
She saw him growing more confident with Betsy, too, as he made time for her after the evening meal and before going to his study to work on his account ledgers. Abby wondered if he saw Emily’s face when he looked down at their daughter’s delicate features. Once, he ran a strong finger over the curve of Betsy’s cheek, and remembering the little shock that had run through her when their hands touched, Abby experienced a brief, sudden stab of longing. It seemed like aeons since she had felt the tenderness of a man’s touch. Would she ever again bask in the certainty that she was so cherished?
“Are you all right?”
The sound of his voice brought her wandering thoughts back to the present. Her gaze flew to his, which held a curious gleam. “Y-yes. Why do you ask?”
“You made a strange sound, and I thought something might be bothering you.”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
She slid him a sideways glance and said the first thing that came to mind. “No offense, Mr. Gentry, but you don’t pay me enough to be privy to my thoughts.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could call them back. They were something she might have said to William. Almost...flirty, somehow. And totally inappropriate.
He regarded her for a moment, and then something bearing close kinship to a smile lifted one corner of his mouth for a heartbeat. “No offense taken, Mrs. Carter, and you’re right. It’s just that it’s seldom you’re so quiet. You’re always talking to the children about something—even Laura and Betsy, who have no idea what you’re saying.”
“I was just respecting your privacy. You don’t seem like the kind of man who indulges in idle chitchat.”
“You’re right,” he said with a slow nod. “I have little use for chitchat and gossip, but I enjoy an intelligent discussion now and again.”
Abby wasn’t surprised that he valued intelligence. Chess was not a game for dummies, and no man who handled the myriad business responsibilities he did could be lacking in intelligence. If his impressive book collection was any indication, he was well read. The shelves on either side of the parlor fireplace were filled with titles that ranged from F. H. Bradley’s The Principles of Logic to treatises on successful farming. There were many poetry and art-related books, no doubt Emily’s. Abby tried to envision the creative Emily sharing her views on art and literature with her husband.
“I suppose you miss those discussions with Emily,” Abby said, partly to keep the conversation going and partly because she was curious about his relationship with his dead wife.
“Emily and I had few common interests,” he told her in a tone that said that line of conversation had ended.
“So,” she asked after a few uncomfortable moments, “what shall we talk about?”
“You.”