The Gardener (25 page)

“And yet that is where I’m heading.”

Sarah's green eyes welled with tears. “I hoped we would grow old together, see each other's children grow up. Why throw everything away?”

“I am not throwing anything away. For the first time in my life, I am about to
live
! You know that I have always longed for adventure.”

Something in Abigail’s tone made Sarah dry her eyes. “Are you sure, then?”

Abigail nodded vigorously. “I know what I am giving up, and I choose to do so, Sarah, of my own free will. I accept the consequences, whatever they are.”

Sarah studied her for several moments, tears trembling on her long eyelashes. Finally she nodded. “I cannot agree with your choice, but I pray God that you will be happy.”

At that moment that Abigail fully realized how much their friendship meant to her and that she was leaving it behind, along with every other relationship else she had ever known. With a shiver, she realized that from now on she would be utterly alone in the world except for a man she hardly knew, a man who had never professed to care for her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and threw her arms around Sarah. For several long moments the friends hugged tightly, reluctant to let go.

*     *     *

To Abigail's relief, Tom did not steal away in the middle of the night before the ceremony. The wedding was simple, with few guests, for Tom hadn't wanted an elaborate service, and neither did she. She did not want to subject her new husband to whispers and sideways looks from disapproving relatives and acquaintances. Abigail imagined their comments:

“She must have been
desperate
!”

“Twenty-four, and a spinster....”

“They say she chased him shamelessly.”

“No one knows the first thing about him.”

“A fugitive, I hear!”

However, when Abigail saw Tom standing straight and tall in the clothes her father had bought as a wedding present, she thought with pride that her new husband had the presence of the duke or viscount she had once mistaken him for.

And so the deed was done, while her father, wearing his best vest and coat with polished brass buttons and new white stockings, looked on with approval. Even Sarah managed to slip away from husband and twins long enough to attend the ceremony. She left as soon as it was over, kissing Abigail's cheek while tucking a small packet into her hand and darting a dark glance at the groom. “Save it for your journey home,” she whispered into Abigail’s ear. “Just in case.”

Before Abigail could return the packet of money Sarah disappeared through the small crowd. Tom had already slipped away from the gathering and was looking over the wagon, pride evident in the set of his shoulders, running his hands carefully over the buckets, barrels, and tools to make sure they were securely fastened to its sides. Her own small trunk was fitted between chests and boxes holding supplies. Tom must have planned the cost of the necessary supplies down to the last square-headed nail, she thought, gazing with admiration from the church steps. Two placid cows tied to the back, and attached crates of chickens, rabbits and geese made the wagon seem like a modern-day Noah’s ark.

Although Tom had packed only necessities, earlier that day she had noticed in one of the trunks the horticulture book, which bore the marks of travel and having been read frequently. When he wasn’t looking, she squeezed in a few books of her own, wrapped in oilcloth. Surely a few more volumes would not hurt, she thought. There would be no lending libraries where they were going. She was carrying out a last bundle, resembling a small mass of sticks, when Tom confronted her. Although she froze with guilt, expecting him to object, a strange look crossed his face and he said nothing.

“A house isn't a home without roses,” she explained defensively, clutching the sticks to her front.

He nodded and turned away to tighten the ropes. “Put them in the back. With the seed corn.”

Abigail did so.

Standing on the church steps later, she thought that she would never have dreamed that she would ride in such humble conveyance as that which now confronted her! Yet she couldn’t wait to climb in and start off her new life, a life into which she was prepared to throw herself whole heartedly. It was a far greater adventure since that trip to England so long ago!

Then she frowned as she noticed two strangers walking down the road toward the church¸ hats pulled low over their faces. Something about them aroused her suspicions, although Abigail could not have said exactly why, and she remembered her conversation with her father, the advertisement for the escaped indentured servant spread across his desk. Quickly, she looked for Tom, who had disappeared behind the wagon. Had someone betrayed him? If so, they must leave immediately, before he was caught. By now the two men had slowed and appeared to be looking in their direction.

“Tom ….”

“What is it?” Frowning in concentration, he moved to her side of the wagon, adjusting the arrangement of wooden boxes and tightened the rope. Too late. The two men were approaching now, and there was no way she and Tom could avoid being seen. Not with the big, lumbering wagon, the animals, and the remnants of the wedding guests spilling into the street.

“Those men …” she whispered.

As she spoke the two men sauntered past without giving them more than a disinterested glance, and she slumped with relief.

“What men?” Tom straightened, suddenly alert, and she wondered if her father had shown him the advertisement as well. Had her husband been on edge since the day he had arrived in Cambridge, wondering when this moment would come? It was no wonder that he’d been impatient to depart.

“Nothing,” she said, forcing her hands to relax on the little packet of money Sarah had given her, tucked under her bodice. Abigail's heart was pounding, and she was as anxious to leave as he was. Once they were away from the populated areas, heading into the backwoods, no one would follow them. No reward would be worth it.

Once again, she privately vowed not to let Tom regret taking her along. No matter what happened, she would live up to her agreement to be of use to him. Abigail had long ago jettisoned the childish fantasy that this would be a love match. No, she would accompany him into the wilderness on his own terms.

Cromwell had been tied to a sapling outside the church during the brief ceremony, where he had lain with his muzzle on his forepaws, napping. Someone had unloosed him afterward, and now he loped up and bounced around her skirt, lashing it with his tail and emitting deep joyful barks.

Tom looked down at him doubtfully. “As for the dog,” he began.

“Cromwell comes with us.”

“But surely your father—”

She lifted her chin. “Papa says every farming family needs a good dog.” It had never occurred to her that Tom might want to leave Cromwell behind. Everything had happened so quickly these past few days, there were many things she and Tom had not had time to talk about.

They stared each other down. Finally Tom shrugged. He bent and scratched Cromwell behind the ears before turning away to handle the horses. Abigail stroked the dog’s sleek muscles, pleased with the small victory. She suspected Tom was not impervious to Cromwell’s infatuation. Besides, with the dog’s company she wouldn't be entirely alone. And who knew? Maybe lazy, pampered Cromwell would prove useful after all. He might not be much good catching rabbits, but his bulk might scare away potential attackers. She shivered with delicious excitement at the prospect of facing and overcoming danger.

After they left Cambridge behind, Tom turned to her again. “You do know what you are facing, do you not? Indian attacks, storms, drought, illness. Backbreaking work. Loneliness. No doctors, no shops, no civilization. None of the comforts of the home you are used to. Are you sure you do not want to turn back? It is not too late.”

First her friend Sarah, now her new husband Tom, both trying to talk her out of her decision! Through her bodice, Abigail patted the packet of money, the money that would pay for her trip home should she choose to return. Tom had already tried to change her mind several times these past few days. Why was he bringing it up again? Did he really think she would change her mind now?

Abigail's hand dropped to her mother’s ring, and she fingered it while meeting his blue stare. “Turn back? Why? Do you want to?”

Their eyes locked.

*     *     *

After a few moments, Tom's hands gripped the reins tighter, and he turned his head away, his gaze fastening on the horizon to the west while angry thoughts churned inside him. How had this woman attached herself to his dream? he wondered again. There was no getting rid of her, no matter how hard he tried! He had been so close to leaving without encumbrances, as planned. He bought the cart, livestock and tools, made his plans, pored over maps.... even moved up his day of departure after Mr. Woodbury showed him the advertisement Radstone had placed for Tom's capture.

Then
she
had cornered him that day in the garden with her hopeful grey eyes and he had found himself agreeing to her cockeyed plan. Tom still wasn't sure why he had given in. Somehow Abigail had made the foolish plan sound reasonable. For a moment—just a moment—he had seen a flash of a barren, solitary future, out in the wilds and a wave of almost unbearable loneliness had swept over him. The words of capitulation had spilled out of his mouth almost without his realizing it.

Even after, when Tom could have escaped in the night and left her being, for some reason he had remained in Cambridge for the wedding and seen the act through.
Why?
He couldn't understand it. For the past months, solitude was a prospect that he had yearned for, labored for,
fought
for. But for that one fatal moment he had recoiled from it, and from that moment’s weakness, he had acquired a wife.

“So you refuse to go back?" Tom asked Abigail coolly. "Very well then. But do not say I did not warn you.” He whistled to the team and the horses started.

From the corner of his eyes he glanced at Abigail. She was peering around at the trees lining the road, at the distant hills ahead, with a smile on her lips, sunlight glinting blindingly off her reddish hair. As he had the first time he’d laid eyes on the young woman, Tom regarded her with puzzlement. Although he was grateful to her for having rescued him—
twice
, humiliating as that was to admit—he had never really tried to know her. She was a woman, which meant she was, by definition, a mystery.

If he were to be truthful with himself, in some ways he found her vitality, intelligence, and disregard for convention admirable. Physically, he couldn’t help being attracted to her, but that was natural. Her waist was as trim as Jenny’s, and when he forgot himself, he had imagined running his hands through her luxuriant red-gold hair.

That was why it had seemed safest to ignore her. And Tom had succeeded, as much as it was in his power to do so. But that had not been enough; just when he thought he had achieved freedom, she had somehow managed to latch onto him.

So, this fine, beautiful morning, when he should have been as close to happiness as it was possible to be, Tom seethed in anger. Too late, he remembered what Isaac had warned him: women would always be a danger to him. Bitterly, he thought it was ironic such words of truth came from a pinchpurse and a robber.

Deep inside, however, something told him his anger was not directed at Abigail as much as toward himself.
He
was the one who had given in, so easily, in fact, that it took his breath away. Maybe, Tom thought uncomfortably, his attempts at indifference had not been as successful as he had thought.

He pushed the thought away.

Although Tom had agreed to take Abigail with him, he determined nothing else would change between them.  During the few days leading up to their hurried wedding, he hardly spoke to her until, for the second time in his life and just as reluctantly, he found himself in front of a minister uttering vows he had no wish to make.

Now, with Abigail's warm body pressing next to him on the narrow wagon seat, he made another vow: that he would keep her at her word. She would be nothing but another pair of hands, would make herself useful, like the big gray dog that loped alongside the wagon or the two spotted cows and the bull that followed. That was all. He'd never touch her, never speak to her with more than distant courtesy. After all, wasn't that what she had agreed to?

Tom held firm to his promise as the wagon navigated its way through the increasingly sparse farms and small towns. It was clear that they were entering a young, growing land. Small farms were springing up everywhere, and the air was filled with the sound of axes chopping down trees. It seemed every able-bodied man in America had the same dream in 1796 and was hard at work fulfilling it.

His spirits rose, and momentarily he forgot his anger at the cheerful young woman who sat beside him with sunlight sparking off her reddish hair like live embers in a dying fire. She was looking around at the unfamiliar sights and sounds with the unbridled enthusiasm of a child taken for a walk in a new neighborhood. For a moment he watched her face, enjoying her pleasure tolerantly, before his thoughts returned to the future and his heart beat faster. Somewhere, far away in Ohio, his farm awaited him.