the truth. At least she thought she did.
Chapter 5
A few days before the box social, Abigail Craig carried a plateful of goodies covered with a clean tea towel to the smithy. Tom was at the drill press with his back to her. The donkey engine powering the overhead crankshaft, which in turn powered the drill, generated a deafening noise. Attempting to call him would be futile, so she sat on a stool in the back corner and waited.
Tom held up a two-foot length of iron and checked the hole he’d just drilled. Satisfied, he reached over and closed the regulator on the engine. Even after the racket ceased, his eardrums still vibrated. He turned and saw Abigail smiling at him. “Oh, hi. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s not surprising. I brought you some chocolate squares, if you’ve time to stop.” She lifted a corner of the tea towel.
Tom didn’t need to see the squares to know he wanted one. “I’ll make time.” He threw off his leather apron, gave his hands a quick rinse in a tub of water and then dragged over another stool. He leaned in for a better whiff. “Hmm, they smell good!” He popped a whole one in his mouth, chewed for a minute and then said, working his words around his mouthful, “Taste good too.” He reached for second one.
Abigail beamed. “I added peppermint oil.”
“That’s what I thought. Thanks.” He bent forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. There was no doubt she spoiled him. Whether he deserved it or not was debatable. Ever since the night that she’d introduced the idea of leaving — was that already more than a month ago? — Tom had been wrestling with his heart and conscience. His conscience said “marry her,” but his heart wouldn’t let him. And that troubled Tom tremendously. Abigail was a comely woman with a pleasant demeanor. She was an excellent cook, and a satisfying lover — everything a man could want. But after searching his heart, he knew he didn’t love her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her.
But how could he end the relationship without breaking her heart?
Their Friday evenings together were different now. He continued having suppers with her — what single man wouldn’t want a sumptuous supper once a week — but he deliberately found excuses to avoid intimacy with her. He said he was too tired after swinging a sledge all day, or he was sore from shoeing horses. These things had never stopped him before, so he made light of it saying he must be getting old, to which Abigail reminded him jokingly that thirty-five was hardly old. But there were occasions when he saw puzzlement or hurt in her eyes and he wondered if it wouldn’t be better, kinder, to end the relationship quickly and get the pain over with.
“You’re frowning, Tom. Is something the matter?”
He quickly shook his head and smiled. “I banged my leg earlier and it still throbs once in a while,” he lied.
“Would another square take your mind off it?”
“That it might.” He reached for one but Abby yanked the plate away.
“That’s too bad. The only way you can have another one is if you buy my lunch at the box social.”
“Oh, I see. That’s what this visit is all about.” Each fall, the ladies of Whistle Creek organized a box social with the proceeds used to buy candy and small gifts to be given out at the Christmas concert. “When is it?” he asked.
“This Saturday.”
“Gee, I’m busy that day.”
“Fibber,” she admonished. “You haven’t missed a box social yet. You like food too much.”
“Especially yours.”
“If you want, I could tell you how my lunch will be wrapped.”
“Abigail!” He pretended to be shocked. “That would be cheating. You wouldn’t want me to compromise your principles, would you?”
Her eyes shadowed slightly. “I think it’s a little too late to be worried about that.”
Damn. Guilt stabbed Tom’s gut. She was right. He’d been so unfair to her, their liaison subjecting her to gossip. He
Chapter 5
A few days before the box social, Abigail Craig carried a plateful of goodies covered with a clean tea towel to the smithy. Tom was at the drill press with his back to her. The donkey engine powering the overhead crankshaft, which in turn powered the drill, generated a deafening noise. Attempting to call him would be futile, so she sat on a stool in the back corner and waited.
Tom held up a two-foot length of iron and checked the hole he’d just drilled. Satisfied, he reached over and closed the regulator on the engine. Even after the racket ceased, his eardrums still vibrated. He turned and saw Abigail smiling at him. “Oh, hi. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s not surprising. I brought you some chocolate squares, if you’ve time to stop.” She lifted a corner of the tea towel.
Tom didn’t need to see the squares to know he wanted one. “I’ll make time.” He threw off his leather apron, gave his hands a quick rinse in a tub of water and then dragged over another stool. He leaned in for a better whiff. “Hmm, they smell good!” He popped a whole one in his mouth, chewed for a minute and then said, working his words around his mouthful, “Taste good too.” He reached for second one.
Abigail beamed. “I added peppermint oil.”
“That’s what I thought. Thanks.” He bent forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. There was no doubt she spoiled him. Whether he deserved it or not was debatable. Ever since the night that she’d introduced the idea of leaving — was that already more than a month ago? — Tom had been wrestling with his heart and conscience. His conscience said “marry her,” but his heart wouldn’t let him. And that troubled Tom tremendously. Abigail was a comely woman with a pleasant demeanor. She was an excellent cook, and a satisfying lover — everything a man could want. But after searching his heart, he knew he didn’t love her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her.
But how could he end the relationship without breaking her heart?
Their Friday evenings together were different now. He continued having suppers with her — what single man wouldn’t want a sumptuous supper once a week — but he deliberately found excuses to avoid intimacy with her. He said he was too tired after swinging a sledge all day, or he was sore from shoeing horses. These things had never stopped him before, so he made light of it saying he must be getting old, to which Abigail reminded him jokingly that thirty-five was hardly old. But there were occasions when he saw puzzlement or hurt in her eyes and he wondered if it wouldn’t be better, kinder, to end the relationship quickly and get the pain over with.
“You’re frowning, Tom. Is something the matter?”
He quickly shook his head and smiled. “I banged my leg earlier and it still throbs once in a while,” he lied.
“Would another square take your mind off it?”
“That it might.” He reached for one but Abby yanked the plate away.
“That’s too bad. The only way you can have another one is if you buy my lunch at the box social.”
“Oh, I see. That’s what this visit is all about.” Each fall, the ladies of Whistle Creek organized a box social with the proceeds used to buy candy and small gifts to be given out at the Christmas concert. “When is it?” he asked.
“This Saturday.”
“Gee, I’m busy that day.”
“Fibber,” she admonished. “You haven’t missed a box social yet. You like food too much.”
“Especially yours.”
“If you want, I could tell you how my lunch will be wrapped.”
“Abigail!” He pretended to be shocked. “That would be cheating. You wouldn’t want me to compromise your principles, would you?”
Her eyes shadowed slightly. “I think it’s a little too late to be worried about that.”
Damn. Guilt stabbed Tom’s gut. She was right. He’d been so unfair to her, their liaison subjecting her to gossip. He
Similar Books
