A Is for Abigail by Victoria Twead Page A

Stan to himself as a branch whipped back and struck his face.
    Once in the field, Sam swung his head left and right, until he picked up the scent again, clear and strong.
    “Looks like we’re going for a trek across the field!” Stan panted.
    Aiden felt a little more positive now they had a definite purpose, but he was tortured by the thought of Abigail stumbling across the field in the dead of night, clutching a newborn baby. They must find her. And quickly.
    aaaaa
    Abigail stared hungrily at the plate of food that Emily placed in front of her.
    “There you are, my love. Two fresh, lightly boiled eggs, some buttered toast and as many cuppas as you can drink. Everything always looks better after a decent breakfast, you mark my words.”
    Abigail looked from Emily to the plate in front of her. She still hadn’t said a word since she’d been discovered.
    “Pass me that little angel,” said Emily, “and I’ll feed her while you tuck in. Oh my, Archie, were our kids ever this small?”
    Silently, Abigail released her hold on Tiffany and watched as the baby sucked furiously on the bottle the farmer’s wife offered her. Only then did she nibble on the corner of a slice of toast.
    It tasted good. No, it tasted delicious. Abigail polished off both eggs, all the toast and a big mug of tea. For the first time in hours she felt warm, inside and out. Her throat was no longer sore and her headache had departed.
    “You look better already,” remarked Archie. “You’ve got some colour back in your cheeks.”
    “Thank you,” said Abigail softly. “I’ll never forget your kindness.”
    She looked round the comfortable, shabby kitchen and thought of her own chic one, knowing she infinitely preferred the Drapers’.
    None of the chairs matched, neither did the worn, handmade cushions. In Abigail’s kitchen, every chair matched, and the cushion fabric repeated the pattern on the curtains. Crockery occupied every space on the Drapers’ dresser, along with a basket of eggs, and some jam jars. At home, crockery was arranged artistically on Abigail’s dresser, and rarely used. Here, Tyson lay on a threadbare rug near the cooking range, compared with Sam’s elegant rarely-used dog bed at home.
    The kitchen table was huge, but dented and scratched, the wood pale from decades of scrubbing. An enormous teapot dressed in a knitted tea-cosy sat in the centre.
    “Another cup of tea?” asked Archie, watching her.
    “Thank you, yes, I’d love one. And I owe you both an explanation.”
    “When you’re ready, my love, no rush,” said Emily.
    Nobody noticed Tyson’s ears prick up. Nobody saw him jump to his feet, alert, listening.
    “I’m ready now,” said Abigail, and took a deep breath. “You must be wondering why…”
    But she never finished her sentence, because somebody knocked on the kitchen door at the same time as Tyson began barking.
    Abigail leapt up, nearly knocking over her chair, and snatched Tiffany from Emily’s arms.
    “Don’t let them take her!” she hissed, terror in her eyes.
    “Nobody is going to take your baby from you,” said Emily, putting her arm round her frightened guest. “Archie, open that door!”
    “Stand back,” he said, grabbing the poker.
    He opened the door decisively, then gaped.
    “Morning, Mr Draper,” said Stan. “Sorry to disturb you so early. May I come in for a chat?”
    Sam was already in the kitchen, renewing his acquaintance with his old friend Tyson, and greeting Abigail with delight.
    “Of course,” said Archie and stood back to allow the policeman entry.
    “I don’t think you’ll be needing that!” said Stan, pointing at the poker in Archie’s hand.
    The intense atmosphere lightened immediately as everyone but Abigail smiled and Archie replaced the poker.
    “Is Aiden with you?” she asked, white-faced.
    “Yes, he’s outside. I wanted to see you first.”
    “How did you know where I was?”
    “Ah, Sam helped us there. Excellent retriever he is! Led us a