The Unexpected Wife

Quinn shook his head. “No, sir.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping a fraction. “It’s been over a year and you were only three at the time. I suppose it’s natural.” He closed the book gently. “She didn’t look a thing like Abby. She was shorter and had blue eyes.”

Abby was shocked to feel a pang of envy for Elise. The dead woman had borne two wonderful sons and had forever captured Mr. Barrington’s heart. She hoped if she worked hard enough she could somehow make up for Elise’s loss but as she looked into Quinn’s young curious eyes, she knew he needed his memories of his mother. “Mr. Barrington, do you have a picture of Elise?”

His brows furrowed, he drew in a steadying breath before he glanced at the boys. They looked up at him with questioning expressions. “I do.”

Abby sat a little straighter at the prospect of seeing the face of the woman whose memory had shadowed her since her arrival.

Mr. Barrington rose and walked to a chest that sat at the edge of his bed. Abby had dusted the chest with the initials EB carved on it a dozen times. She’d been sorely tempted to open it but hadn’t.

Nervous anticipation sizzled in her veins as he lifted a worn Bible out. From the yellowed pages he pulled out two tintypes.

In the soft lantern light, Abby could see Mr. Barrington’s face harden with sadness. Deliberately, he closed the chest and rose.

He sat back down at the table, his callous-tipped fingers closed over the tintype.

Abby’s body itched with curiosity but she restrained herself. Folding her hands on her lap, she watched as the boys rose from their seats and stood beside their father.

Mr. Barrington unfurled his fingers and held the image close to the lamp. “This is your ma.”

Quinn lay his small hand on Mr. Barrington’s shoulder as he leaned closer. “How come she’s not smiling?”

“Most people don’t smile in pictures,” Mr. Barrington said patiently. And then before the inevitable “why” came, he added, “You have to sit real still until a big flash goes off. It’s easier not to smile.”

“Why’s she wearing a white dress?” Quinn said. “Didn’t she worry about it getting dirty?”

Whereas Tommy preferred tree climbing and playing to his studies, his older brother was a thoughtful child, who lapped up every bit of learning tossed his way. He missed few details.

Mr. Barrington smiled. “It was her wedding dress. Actually, it had been her ma’s dress. When women get married they often wear white.”

“She’s pretty,” Quinn said.

“She was very beautiful,” Mr. Barrington replied.

Feeling the interloper, Abby shoved aside her own interest and walked to the stove. She pulled a cup down from the shelf and poured a cup of lukewarm coffee for herself. Cradling the cup in her hands she listened as the boys asked questions about their mother.

“What’s the other picture?” Tommy asked.

Mr. Barrington set the first picture on the table. “It’s a picture of Quinn and your ma right after he was born.”

“Where am I?” Tommy said.

Mr. Barrington smiled. “You weren’t born yet.”

“But I am now,” he said.

“By the time you came along, we didn’t have time to sit for pictures. There was so much going on. I promised your ma we’d have another family portrait done in the fall, but then she got sick.”

“She’s pretty,” Tommy said.

Abby sat back at the table. She set her cup down and as casually as she could manage, she picked up the first tintype. Her throat tightened as she looked into the beautiful face. Elise Barrington had smooth, clear skin and pale blue eyes. Ringlets the color of gold framed her oval face. The white silk dress trimmed with lace molded to her delicate shoulders and slender neck. Elise’s pale eyes sparkled, as if she knew a secret no one else did. Abby had never learned to flirt. Joanne had been a master, but she’d found she was simply too straightforward to manage it.

As she looked at the picture, she felt clumsy and too tall. “She’s lovely,” she said.

When she looked up, she realized Mr. Barrington had been staring intently at her. In the lantern light his blue eyes looked sharper, more alert as if he were trying to read her mind.

Managing a faltering smile, she sipped her coffee. “May I see the other picture?”

Quinn handed it to her proudly. “That’s me and my ma.”

Elise sat in an upholstered chair and held a swaddled baby Quinn in her arms. Behind them stood Mr. Barrington, wearing a black suit, his hand on Elise’s shoulder. Mr. Barrington looked proud and stared directly into the camera.

What struck Abby most about the picture was how much Elise had changed in the year and a half. Her eyes no longer possessed the coy spark. The ringlets had been traded for a tight chignon. Yet, despite the changes Elise was still a lovely woman.

“Quinn, you are a handsome baby,” she said. “Why, you don’t look bigger than a sack of sugar.”

“He was a small baby,” Mr. Barrington said. “But he had a cry that would shake the rafters.”

Quinn looked closely at the picture. “I’m still pretty loud.”

“You are indeed, son,” Mr. Barrington said, laughing.

“Was I a small baby?” Tommy said.

Mr. Barrington ruffled his hair. “You were a big baby. Well over ten pounds. And you could cry just as loud as your brother.”

Tommy looked at Quinn and grinned. He was clearly proud of his capacity to make noise.

Abby felt a twist in her heart. “I hope my babies are as handsome as you two boys.”

Mr. Barrington’s smile vanished instantly. He rose, lifting the boys under either arm. “It’s time for bed, young bucks.”

She knew she’d said something to make him angry. Already, she’d learned to gauge his moods.

He carried the boys to their large double bed. Earlier she’d washed their faces and hands and wiped their teeth with tooth powder. He tucked both under the covers, whispered something to them that made them smile, then kissed them good-night.

The nighttime ritual had fallen into a predictable pattern. As soon as Mr. Barrington had finished his good-nights she moved in behind him. She and the boys said a simple prayer her mother had taught her and then she kissed the children.

Tonight though, the air was charged with energy. The pictures and her mention of children had left them both unsettled.

Mr. Barrington rose and walked outside to the front porch.

Abby followed him outside, quietly closing the door behind her. The air was crisp, but the sky was clear. Countless stars twinkled.

He turned around. Pale moonlight glowed on a fierce expression that took her breath away.

She leaned her shoulder against the rail post. “If that look is meant to frighten me, it doesn’t. You might as well save it for the renegades and rustlers.”

Respect flickered in his eyes before he turned. “I don’t understand why you are here.”

She struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I like it.”

“How could you like such a life? The work is backbreaking, the hours long.”

“This place breathes life into me. I’ve never felt more alive in my life.”

He tightened his hands over the railing. “Don’t set your heart on this place or me. You’ll end up hurt or worse.”

She sighed impatiently. “You are a frustrating man, Mr. Barrington. I am in Montana because I want to be. I’m not chasing your dream, but my own.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

He studied her. “I don’t understand you. Why come out here? Why didn’t you marry in San Francisco? You are good wife material.”

She laughed. “You make me sound like a plow or a chair.”

Unrepentant, he shrugged. “It was meant as a compliment.”

At first she wasn’t sure if she’d answer him. San Francisco was far away now, and a part of her pa

st forever. But Mr. Barrington had been nothing but honest with her and she owed him as much. “I was trapped between two worlds. My bloodlines put me above the servants yet I didn’t have the social graces that elevated me to my aunt and uncle’s station, either.”

“So you carved out a place for yourself in the kitchens.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you make it sound. I was always so busy. My aunt and uncle had many parties and loved to show off my baking talents. Often I cooked for other families as a favor to my aunt and uncle. For a time I considered opening a bakery.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted a family. I would have had little life outside of work if I owned a bakery.”

“And there was never anyone for you to love in a big city like San Francisco?” She imagined a hint of jealousy underlined his words.

Crimson rose in her cheeks. “There was, once.”

He leaned his head back against the porch post, studying her. “What happened?”

She’d not spoken of Douglas to anyone in years. Her shame had run too deep. This conversation should have been awkward considering that they were strangers in so many ways. But talking to him was as natural as breathing. “His name was Douglas. He was a distant relative of my aunt’s visiting for the summer holiday. Immediately, he seemed to take a fancy to me. He was quite charming.”