day.”
Had he read her mind? Knew she dared not risk being in his presence? Or was he as uneasy in her company as she in his? With every fiber of her being she resisted his entreaty. He was asking too much of her.
And yet…
Deep down she knew no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much she should, she couldn’t refuse. Not that she trusted Wade, but his loyalty to his father—the same loyalty she felt toward her father, bridged the chasm of their past.
“Please,” he said.
What choice did she have? They needed the money and she couldn’t refuse to help an injured man. The parable of the Good Samaritan made God’s position clear. She was to love her neighbor. Even if that neighbor was an adversary.
“Not seeing you at every turn would make my job easier. I’ll stay.”
His eyes warmed with gratitude. “Thank you.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “For what it’s worth, I suggest you take a long hard look at yourself. At the first sign of conflict with your father, you run. Running doesn’t solve a thing.”
“I may run from trouble. But isn’t it possible you see trouble where none exists?”
With that he left the kitchen.
The front door opened and closed.
Wade had gone.
Was he right? Was her anger over Seth not about his welfare? Her stomach clenched. Her temper defeated her good sense and God’s teachings.
Lord God, I’m sorry. What have I become?
As soon as she could, she’d apologize to Wade.
She hoped her hostile attitude wouldn’t get her fired.
Chapter Eight
A s Wade trudged toward town, the morning sun beat down on him. He removed his suit coat and slung it over his shoulder, then gave his tie a yank, loosening the stranglehold on his neck.
Down the way, Martha Baggett hustled one of her three daughters along the walk…maybe Theresa, hard to tell from here. He suspected the family had selected him for a suitor and didn’t care which daughter he favored. Once Mrs. Baggett caught his ear, she’d delay his arrival at the bank.
He trotted across the street, weaving between passing buggies and wagons. Out of the Baggetts’ reach, he slowed his pace.
No one interested him except Abby. Perhaps he liked playing with fire. For underneath that proper exterior resided a wounded woman ready to erupt, to spew red-hot anger.
He was to blame. Why not admit it? Abby wanted nothing to do with him. She took care of his father for the pay, nothing else drew her. Not him. Not anything but money. His stomach twisted. Wasn’t that the usual reason to interact with a Cummings?
Outside the bank Wade shrugged on his jacket and tightened his tie, a vise-like grip that intensified every day he spent behind that desk. In the lobby he greeted the staff, including Leon Fitch. The man was capable enough, but lacked the initiative to advance beyond the position of teller.
What did Abby see in Fitch?
He frowned. Perhaps a man she could manage.
Outside his father’s office he stopped at the secretary’s desk. Reed thin and erect, Miss Detmer handed him the mail, opened and sorted.
“Nothing urgent.” She gave a polite smile.
He thanked her, and then turned the knob on the door with President etched on the frosted glass. A title he didn’t want, at least not here. Others did. Their cashier, Gene Bishop, was capable of handling the job. As was Regina’s husband, but tired of his father-in-law’s watchful scrutiny, Lawrence had accepted an offer in Waterloo. Perhaps he could be convinced to return, once Wade’s father understood he had no alternative.
A glance at his calendar confirmed he had no appointments until three o’clock. Dropping into his chair, he flipped through the correspondence then tossed it aside.
Leaning back in his chair, he plowed a hand through his hair. Would Abby leave? Cora had quit. His sister refused to step foot in the house.
No one stayed.
Not his sister. Not his mother.
Why had he?
He could open his cabinetmaking shop anywhere. Why did he plan to
Had he read her mind? Knew she dared not risk being in his presence? Or was he as uneasy in her company as she in his? With every fiber of her being she resisted his entreaty. He was asking too much of her.
And yet…
Deep down she knew no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much she should, she couldn’t refuse. Not that she trusted Wade, but his loyalty to his father—the same loyalty she felt toward her father, bridged the chasm of their past.
“Please,” he said.
What choice did she have? They needed the money and she couldn’t refuse to help an injured man. The parable of the Good Samaritan made God’s position clear. She was to love her neighbor. Even if that neighbor was an adversary.
“Not seeing you at every turn would make my job easier. I’ll stay.”
His eyes warmed with gratitude. “Thank you.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “For what it’s worth, I suggest you take a long hard look at yourself. At the first sign of conflict with your father, you run. Running doesn’t solve a thing.”
“I may run from trouble. But isn’t it possible you see trouble where none exists?”
With that he left the kitchen.
The front door opened and closed.
Wade had gone.
Was he right? Was her anger over Seth not about his welfare? Her stomach clenched. Her temper defeated her good sense and God’s teachings.
Lord God, I’m sorry. What have I become?
As soon as she could, she’d apologize to Wade.
She hoped her hostile attitude wouldn’t get her fired.
Chapter Eight
A s Wade trudged toward town, the morning sun beat down on him. He removed his suit coat and slung it over his shoulder, then gave his tie a yank, loosening the stranglehold on his neck.
Down the way, Martha Baggett hustled one of her three daughters along the walk…maybe Theresa, hard to tell from here. He suspected the family had selected him for a suitor and didn’t care which daughter he favored. Once Mrs. Baggett caught his ear, she’d delay his arrival at the bank.
He trotted across the street, weaving between passing buggies and wagons. Out of the Baggetts’ reach, he slowed his pace.
No one interested him except Abby. Perhaps he liked playing with fire. For underneath that proper exterior resided a wounded woman ready to erupt, to spew red-hot anger.
He was to blame. Why not admit it? Abby wanted nothing to do with him. She took care of his father for the pay, nothing else drew her. Not him. Not anything but money. His stomach twisted. Wasn’t that the usual reason to interact with a Cummings?
Outside the bank Wade shrugged on his jacket and tightened his tie, a vise-like grip that intensified every day he spent behind that desk. In the lobby he greeted the staff, including Leon Fitch. The man was capable enough, but lacked the initiative to advance beyond the position of teller.
What did Abby see in Fitch?
He frowned. Perhaps a man she could manage.
Outside his father’s office he stopped at the secretary’s desk. Reed thin and erect, Miss Detmer handed him the mail, opened and sorted.
“Nothing urgent.” She gave a polite smile.
He thanked her, and then turned the knob on the door with President etched on the frosted glass. A title he didn’t want, at least not here. Others did. Their cashier, Gene Bishop, was capable of handling the job. As was Regina’s husband, but tired of his father-in-law’s watchful scrutiny, Lawrence had accepted an offer in Waterloo. Perhaps he could be convinced to return, once Wade’s father understood he had no alternative.
A glance at his calendar confirmed he had no appointments until three o’clock. Dropping into his chair, he flipped through the correspondence then tossed it aside.
Leaning back in his chair, he plowed a hand through his hair. Would Abby leave? Cora had quit. His sister refused to step foot in the house.
No one stayed.
Not his sister. Not his mother.
Why had he?
He could open his cabinetmaking shop anywhere. Why did he plan to
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