A Family Arrangement. Gabrielle Meyer

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СКАЧАТЬ all his teeth. The other had thick red hair and a freckled complexion.

      The one without teeth stood and then the other followed, their eyes a bit round.

      “Milt and Harry, this is Miss Charlotte Lee.” Abram set the coffeepot down on the table.

      The men nodded a greeting as she found her seat.

      Caleb and Josiah immediately began to tease her and try to draw her out, while Abram sat at the head of the table, his attention on his meal. His hair was in need of a cut and his beard should either be trimmed or shaved completely. She could hardly remember what he looked like without all that mangy hair. She did recall that he was handsome, and she clearly remembered the first time she’d seen him at a ball in Iowa City.

      He had walked into the hotel with an air of confidence few men his age possessed, and he had immediately caught her eye. It had been a year since Thomas had left, and she had been wary of romance, but when he had asked her to dance, she had accepted. The moment he spoke of his dream to prospect a town, she knew right away that he was like Thomas and her father, and couldn’t be trusted. After the dance she had tried to forget him, but it was impossible to ignore him when he came to call on Susanne.

      Yes, he was handsome, but that was the only thing she had understood about Susanne’s infatuation, though it wouldn’t have been enough for Charlotte to make her heart vulnerable.

      The meal finished and Abram rose. For the first time since she’d entered the room, he offered her his full attention. “I’d like a word with you outside.”

      “Are we going to the boys?”

      He put on his hat and coat and then stepped toward the back door. “I’d like you to see something.”

      She didn’t bother with her own hat or coat, which were in her room, but followed him out the door and into a barren yard. The bright morning sunshine almost blinded her with its brilliance—yet the air was much colder than she had thought. She wrapped her arms about her waist and allowed her eyes to adjust.

      Goats grazed nearby, munching on brown grass, while chickens waddled around and a pig snorted from a pen closer to the barn.

      Abram walked with a steady purpose up a gentle hill toward the east, away from the river and sawmill. A small grove of leafless birch trees stood off a ways with a white picket fence nearby.

      As soon as Charlotte realized his destination, her feet slowed. “Are you taking me to Susanne’s grave?”

      He continued to walk. “Yes.”

      Part of her wanted to see her sister’s final resting place—but the other part wanted to run in the opposite direction.

      Abram entered the small graveyard and stopped beside Susanne’s headstone. A clump of wildflowers, wilted, yet not completely dry, lay on the grave. Had he brought them recently?

      Charlotte slowly walked through the gate and stopped just inside the fence.

      “It isn’t much.” He swallowed, putting his hand on the dark granite. “I had to send away for the stone, but I was pleased when it arrived.” It had Susanne’s name, birth and death recorded in simple letters. Nothing more. But it must have been expensive.

      A lump gathered in Charlotte’s throat and she put her hands to her lips, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.

      Abram turned to her, his shoulders slumped. “I know what you’ve always thought of me, but despite my shortcomings, Susanne somehow found a man to love.” He looked back at the headstone. “I never deserved her, and I told her that often. But she treated me like a king and made me very happy.” He put his hands in the pockets of his tattered work coat. “Maybe Susanne didn’t dream of settling a town before she met me, but she wanted it as much as I did when we came here.”

      Her sister had been just as optimistic as Abram—even if misguided and unrealistic. If Susanne hadn’t been in love, maybe she would have understood the dangers of life with a man like Abram.

      “As her husband, you should have taken better care of her.” Charlotte’s voice caught as she looked at the lone grave. “When she became sick, you should have brought her somewhere with a competent doctor, instead of leaving her here to die.” Father had done the same thing and they had lost Mama.

      “The military doctor came from Fort Ripley and he said there was nothing left to do.”

      “A military doctor? What does he know of female complaints?”

      “I did the best I could—”

      “I didn’t get to say goodbye.” A sob escaped her throat and she turned her face away from Abram, clutching the picket fence for support. “Not when she left Iowa and not when she died.” Her body trembled from the cold and grief.

      He was quiet for several moments and then his coat enveloped her shoulders. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

      Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed as the weight of his compassion weakened her knees. She longed to share her grief—yet years of heartache and disappointment forced her to bear it alone.

      She wiped her tears with her handkerchief and slipped his coat off her shoulders, handing it back. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

      He took the coat and draped it over his arm but didn’t put it on. “Susanne and I wanted to build this town for our sons,” he said softly. “She wanted them here—”

      “But don’t you realize things have changed—”

      He held up his hand to stop her. “I know it seems impossible, but I believe this place will one day be a great city. It’s a legacy Susanne and I wanted for our sons.”

      “You don’t really think you’ll succeed—”

      “I do.”

      She closed her eyes, tired of the unabashed optimism in his gaze—so like the look her father and Thomas used to have.

      He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you stay here to help raise them?”

      She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Here? But I have a business and a home in Iowa City.” She had made a living as a seamstress for eight years, since her father had died.

      “You could be a seamstress here.”

      “I have friends there.” Though not many since she devoted so much time to her work and had resigned herself to being an old maid.

      “You could make new ones here.”

      “There isn’t even a town here.”

      “I’ll have one built soon.”

      “How soon? A year, five years, ten? By then the boys will be grown, if they survive this place.”

      “A year,” he said. “This place will be a real town in one year’s time.”

      She shook her head. “A year?” There was nothing but trees, and hills, and tall, dead grass. “How will you build a town in one year?”

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