The slamming of cupboard doors said Abigail was as angry this morning as she’d been when she went to bed last night. Teddy continued setting type. She had plenty to be mad about—in her mind. He’d forced her to leave the hotel and confronted her on how she’d spoken to Hannah. Her response had been to inform him they would be doing their own etchings again.
He’d disagreed, and would stand his ground on that, as well as on a few other things.
“Did you not make any coffee this morning?”
“If you want some, make some,” he answered.
“You didn’t even build a fire.”
“If you want one, build one.”
“I don’t have time. I have articles to write today, and—”
“And several to rewrite,” he interrupted, pointing to the two articles he’d already edited this morning.
She flew across the room and grabbed the sheets of paper off the desk. “There is nothing wrong with these.”
He walked up behind her and pointed to one particular section he’d circled.
Oak Grove Community members will be excited to learn that every store in town will be hosting special sales for the upcoming Christmas Season. Except for Blackwell’s Blacksmithing and Feed and Seed. Evidently, Mr. Blackwell doesn’t believe in the Christmas Spirit.
“What’s wrong with that? I’m being honest,” she said, jutting out her chin. “That’s the first thing a reporter must be. Honest. Brett hasn’t purchased an advertisement about any Christmas specials, so he must not be having any.”
“That’s not being honest, that’s being rude.” He took the papers from her. “Articles like this are the reason we’ve moved so many times. I was serious when I said no more, Abigail. And I still am.”
“That’s not why we left Missouri,” she snapped. “And that’s what won’t happen again.” She spun about and marched over to her desk in the corner. “I won’t let it.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a newspaper he didn’t recognize. “Hannah Olsen will give birth to a bastard. She. Was. Never. Married.”
The chill that raced over him was colder than water pulled from the well in January. “What have you done?”
* * *
Hannah held her breath against an onslaught of sensations that made her shake. She couldn’t help but glance across the street, toward the front office of the Gazette. Someone was on the other side of the glass and she quickly glanced away. Even on the other side of the street she could feel the glower that Abigail was sending her way.
“Rhett, slow down,” Wyatt said. “Hannah can’t walk that fast.”
Pulling her attention back to the two boys walking with her, she said, “I will one day soon,” she said. “I think I’ll challenge you both to a footrace after this baby is born.”
Rhett, who had listened to his older brother and slowed down, laughed. “Mothers don’t have footraces.”
“They don’t?”
“No.”
“We’ll have to see about that.” Winking at Wyatt, she added, “Right after I beat you in one.”
While Rhett laughed again, Wyatt changed the subject. “Are you really going to draw a picture of all of us?” he asked.
“If it’s all right with Miss Burnett,” she answered. The idea had come to her last night. If Abigail wanted an etching of all the children, that’s what she would receive. Despite how the other woman might feel toward her, Hannah was not going to promote hatred in any way. She’d left Wisconsin to get away from it. Forever.
She’d thought about that late into the night, and while unable to sleep had remembered something Brett’s mother had said to her. Whenever hatred is allowed to thrive, bad things follow. But where there is love, there’s goodness and grace.
At the time, she’d taken that as a simple statement of truth, but last night, she’d begun to look upon it as a piece of advice, as well as Fiona’s idea of looking at things from a different perspective. It might prove hard, but her first thought had been that Abigail was Teddy’s sister, and Teddy was very easy to like. He was also at the core of her thinking. She couldn’t help but wonder how or why the woman he’d been engaged to had married someone else.
“Hannah came to school with us!”
Rhett’s shout pulled her attention back to the task at hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Olsen,” Miss Burnett said as they arrived at the school building. “I hope you enjoyed the recital yesterday.”
“Oh, I did. Very much,” Hannah answered. “So much I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What is that?”
“I’m hoping to spend some time in the classroom today. I didn’t think to bring a piece of paper with me yesterday, and I’d like to draw a picture of the children during their performance.”
“Whatever for?”
“The newspaper,” Hannah answered. “I promise it won’t take long. But I will need everyone to stand at the front of the room like they were yesterday. Just long enough for me to get an outline, then I’ll sit in the back, drawing some of their features.” For the etching, she only needed a prominent feature for each child, so they’d be somewhat recognizable, mainly to their families.
“The newspaper? The children would love that,” Miss Burnett said. “Of course, come in.”
* * *
“Is this everything?” Teddy asked, holding the newspapers in one hand and Abigail’s arm in the other. The newspapers had come from Wisconsin and Minnesota. He hadn’t read them, but believed Abigail’s claim that they held articles of Eric’s accident.
“Yes,” she growled.
She was furious. So was he, and he wouldn’t allow Hannah to be hurt, not in the harmful, hateful way Abigail had been plotting. He ripped the newspapers in half, then again.
“She’s going to destroy you, just like Becky did.” Abigail stomped a foot. “I don’t care what Brett says, that woman came here to find a husband. To find a father for her baby.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“She’ll never love you, no more than Becky did.”
“I’m not marrying Hannah.” As he said the words, his heart lurched and he glanced toward the window Hannah had walked past a short time ago.
“Does she know that?”
“Yes,” he said. “She wouldn’t marry me if I asked, and do you want to know why? Because of you.”
“Me!”
Releasing her arm, he tossed the torn papers into the box beneath the desk. “When I do decide to get married, you will have no say in it because I don’t care what you think. But, in the meantime, if you do anything to Hannah, you will answer to me, and I won’t be as kind as I have been in the past.”
“She’s lying. I haven’t done—”
“You wield that pencil behind your ear like a sword, and though it makes me sick to admit it, I’ve let the fact our parents died when you were young be your shield.” Grabbing his jacket, he shook his head. “I’m done doing that.”
“You’ll be sorry,” she shouted.
Opening the door, he said, “No more