Abigail glanced up from the etching, and for the first time ever, there wasn’t loathing in her eyes.
Swallowing a hiccup, Hannah handed Abigail the final piece of paper out of the basket. “Here’s the corresponding drawing.” It was much larger than the etching.
Abigail placed a hand over her mouth as she took the paper with her other hand and stared at it.
Not sure what to do next, Hannah lifted the pie out of the basket. “I brought this, too,” she said to Teddy. “You left before having any dessert on Thanksgiving.”
* * *
Teddy had never seen such a genuine act of kindness in his life, and may never witness one that would compare to this if he lived to be a hundred and one. He wanted to force Abigail to respond, to say something positive, but had accepted Abigail was her own person and needed to accept her own responsibilities.
So did he. “Thank you,” he said. “I was sorry to have missed tasting your pumpkin pie. I believe I’ll have a piece even before I start pulling type.”
“No.”
Teddy balled his hands into fists at Abigail’s voice, and at Hannah’s dejected look. To her credit, she never faltered in putting the cloth back into the basket.
“I’ll pull type, Teddy,” Abigail said. “While you escort Hannah home before Brett and Fiona start to worry about her.”
“That’s not necessary,” Hannah said.
As Abigail stacked the letters from the children into a pile, she said, “It’s the least we can do.”
Teddy was surprised, but agreed. “It is the least we can do.”
“These,” Abigail said, while picking up both etchings, “are amazing, and we will print them in this edition. Thank you for making them. And thank you for bringing them over this morning.”
Relief washed over Teddy, especially as Hannah’s face took on a glow as she placed a hand on her stomach.
“You’re very welcome,” Hannah said. “The children were so excited about the prospect.”
“We’ll print extra copies,” Teddy said, “so they each get their very own copy.”
“They’ll like that,” Hannah answered.
“Teddy,” Abigail said, “shouldn’t you get your coat so you can walk Hannah home?”
“Really, that’s not—”
“Yes, it is,” Teddy said, almost afraid to leave the two women alone. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He hurried around the counter and then through a doorway into the back of the building to grab his coat. Rushing back toward the office, he heard Abigail speak again.
“This was very thoughtful of you,” she said. “Very thoughtful.”
He entered the room as Hannah lifted the basket off the counter.
“I—I sincerely appreciate you providing me with the opportunity to make etchings for the newspaper,” she said. “It’s helped me and my situation considerably. More than you know.”
“It has helped us considerably,” Teddy said. He wasn’t totally sure if Abigail was being sincere, or just acting. It was hard to tell at times, but either way, he was glad she’d behaved. Shrugging into his coat, he rounded the counter and told her, “I won’t be gone long.”
“Take your time,” Abigail said. “I’ll just be pulling type.”
“I can do that when I get back.”
“No,” she replied, looking at the picture of herself. “I can do it. I want to make some changes to the story, too.”
The likeness was very good. It reminded him of her when she was younger.
“I’m sorry to have caused more work for both of you,” Hannah said as he took the basket from her.
“It’s no problem,” he said. “We’re used to last-minute changes. It’s part of the publishing businesses. Isn’t it, Abigail?”
“Yes.” Abigail held up one of the children’s drawings. “And the Gazette is the best newspaper in all of Kansas.”
That was exactly what the piece of paper she held said, with a couple of misspelled words and backward letters. Teddy had to take a second look at his sister. He hadn’t seen her smile so big in a long time. The giggle beside him had him shifting his gaze.
The shine in Hannah’s eyes was the brightest he’d ever seen, and was enough to make his heart hammer harder than his printing press when cranking out newspapers.
“That was one of my favorites,” she said.
“I look forward to reading them all,” he said, opening the door and gesturing for her to cross the threshold first.
“You’ll enjoy them,” she said.
“I’m sure I will. Thank you for delivering them. And thank you for the etchings. They are remarkable, Hannah.”
“Thank you, Teddy.”
It sounded as if she’d said his name as a test, or an afterthought, which was how he’d said her name. A sort of test to see if she’d protest.
“I enjoyed making them, and the children were thrilled with the idea of being in the newspaper. The thank-you notes were Miss Burnett’s idea.”
The wind tugged at her bonnet as they walked and he took her elbow to direct her closer to the buildings for a bit of protection. “I’m sorry for the way I left the other day.”
“That’s why I brought you some pie. I knew you’d been looking forward to it.”
“Thank you for that as well, and I will eat it as soon as I get home, but I meant for how I left you. You were upset. I should have—”
“No, you shouldn’t have, Teddy. I needed to be alone.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have said what I did about Jules Carmichael and Jess Radar. They are good men and once married, I’m sure they would secure different living quarters.”
“Probably, and I’m sure they are good men. Don Carlson, too.” She glanced up at him.
“Yes,” he admitted, with a hint of chagrin. “Don, too. The others on your list are as well, and—”
“I burned it.”
Taken aback by her interruption, he asked, “Burned what?”
“The list. Right after you gave it back to me.” She wasn’t looking at him, but straight ahead, toward the corner they would soon turn down and head east toward Brett’s house.
“Hannah, I—”
“It wasn’t because of anything you said or did. It was me.” She glanced his way. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Were you in love with the woman who didn’t marry you?”
He paused before answering. “I thought I was at the time.” He wasn’t so sure now. Becky had been young and alone, not so different from Hannah, except that Hannah had Brett and Fiona. Becky hadn’t had anyone and that had worried him.
“You thought?”
Becky had been in his thoughts lately, as well as what his life might have been like if she had married him, and he questioned the absence of any ache, of any sense of loss. “I was worried about her and wanted to help her.”