A Hopeful Heart by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

Abel.” Ethan tipped his chair back on two feet, allowing Aunt Hattie to ladle a hearty portion of stew into his bowl. “Aunt Hattie brung us lunch.” He licked his lips. “Looks mighty good, don’t it?”
    Aunt Hattie pointed to the empty chair at the table. “Sit down, Abel, afore this stew gets cold an’ the biscuits dry out. Few things worse’n cold stew an’ dry biscuits.”
    Abel moved to his chair on stiff legs and seated himself. She ladled stew into his bowl, the steam rising and filling his nostrils. His belly twisted with desire. “Aunt Hattie, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you bringin’ us lunch, but . . . what’s the occasion?”
    She looked at him with one brow arched high. “Well now, Abel, let’s just say I learnt a thing or two durin’ my years o’ marriage to Jed, an’ one o’ the most important is that men can take bad news easier on a full stomach.”

10
    Hattie’s heart panged as Abel’s expression turned uneasy, but she wouldn’t mislead him. She hadn’t come for a social call, and it was best he knew the truth straightaway.
    He pushed away from the table. “Maybe we should go outside an’ talk.”
    “Don’tcha wanna eat first?” She hoped he would. He might not be hungry after she’d spoke her piece.
    But he shook his head. “Nah. Rather find out what you need.” He turned on the worn heel of his boot and headed for the front of the house.
    Hattie flashed a smile at the three hired hands seated around the table. “Don’t you fret now, just enjoy that stew an’ those biscuits. Lots of fresh-churned butter in them biscuits, so you won’t even need jam to flavor ’em.” She waited long enough to see the three men reach for biscuits before trotting after Abel.
    He was pacing on the front porch, his hands in his pockets. When she closed the door behind her, he whirled on her. “All right, Aunt Hattie, what’s wrong?”
    Hattie folded her arms over her chest and raised her chin. “What’s wrong is I got two upset pupils at my house, one sayin’ one thing an’ one sayin’ another. I come to get your side o’ the story so’s maybe I can set things to right.”
    Releasing a groan, Abel sank down on the rough-hewn bench that stretched across one end of the narrow porch. “It’s not what it looked like, Aunt Hattie. Miss Tressa an’ me weren’t doin’ anything indecent.”
    Hattie sat beside Abel and smoothed her rumpled apron over her knees. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” She resolved to ask questions only if she needed something clarified. Both Luella’s and Tressa’s claims hung heavy in her mind. Abel would confirm one story as truth if she just let him talk.
    “Miss Tressa cut her arm on some barbed wire from the back of my wagon when she was taking out the box of gloves Hank sent from the Feed an’ Seed.” He grimaced. “I should’ve took the box out myself, but I was in a hurry, so I let her do it. An’ she got cut. I felt real bad about it, so I doctored her arm.” Abel shifted in the seat and faced Hattie. “Her sleeve got stuck above the bandage, so I helped her roll it down. I was just tryin’ to hook that little button on the cuff of her sleeve when the other girls come in an’ saw us. That’s all that happened.”
    Hattie nodded, heaving a sigh of relief. Abel’s story matched Tressa’s, which was what she’d expected. Still, it lifted her spirits to hear it from his lips. “I believe you, Abel. I know you was raised to be an honest man. I just needed to hear it from you so I could sort things out.”
    “Well then, I’m glad that’s settled.” He started to rise.
    Hattie caught his sleeve. “Hold up there, Abel. Somethin’ else I need to say.”
    He plunked his hindquarters hard on the bench, wariness in his eyes. “What?”
    “Miss Luella . . . she’s a strong-willed girl. An’ she’s taken a dislike to Miss Tressa. No sound reason for it that I can see—seems some people just need somebody to bully or