Gabrielle Meyer - A Family Arrangement

He turned to grab the doorknob but she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Please, Abram. Let me take them back to Iowa.”

He stopped and glanced down at her gloved hand. It looked pristine next to his dingy work shirt. “The children are staying at the mission. I will take you to see them before you leave.” His eyes were filled with a warning. “But I will not let them go to Iowa.”

Charlotte’s chest rose and fell with her disappointment, but she wasn’t surprised by his declaration. Somehow she would convince him that sending the boys to Iowa was the best thing for all of them.

Somehow.

* * *

Abram pushed open the door to his home, cringing at what his sister-in-law would think of the dirty interior. It had been three and a half months since Susanne had died and she’d been sick for several months before that. The house was in need of a good cleaning—especially since five men now occupied the premise.

“I’ll haul this up and put it in the room you’ll use.” He stepped over the threshold and couldn’t help but look to see her reaction.

Charlotte’s brown eyes trailed over the main room and she lifted the hem of her fancy green traveling gown, as if she didn’t want it to get soiled.

He didn’t blame her. It was filthy—but when Susanne was alive, his home had made him proud. A large fireplace dominated one wall and modest furniture was spread around it. Four glass windows, a rare treat in Minnesota Territory, looked out at the river. Susanne had kept them shining, just for him—yet now they were dull with grime, just as his soul felt dull with grief. A shelf with Susanne’s books was near the desk in the corner and several muddy rugs were tossed about the room in no particular order.

A chicken ambled in from the kitchen and he winced. Caleb must have left the back door open again. It cackled at them and Charlotte squealed.

Abram balanced the trunk on his shoulder as he pushed the chicken toward the door with his boot.

“I was under the impression that this was the house.” She glanced around the room once again, a wrinkle wedging between her eyes. “Have we mistakenly entered the barn?”

He couldn’t help but goad her. “Hopefully only the chicken wandered in. We’ve been known to attract a few skunks and weasels, too.”

Her eyes grew wide and he tried not to smile. Instead he cleared his throat. “As soon as I get your trunk to your room, I’ll rustle up some supper.”

“Aren’t we going to see the boys?”

“It’s getting too late tonight.” Abram started up the stairs.

“Why did you wait?”

He paused and turned. The agony on her face twisted his heart. “Wait for what?”

“To tell me Susanne had died.”

He frowned. “I wrote to you immediately.”

She pulled a letter out of the pile she still held in her hands. “This didn’t arrive until three weeks ago—almost three months after she died.”

He readjusted her trunk on his shoulder. “Look at the date at the top of the letter. You’ll see it says July sixteenth, the day after her death.”

She glanced at the piece of paper and shook her head. “There is no date.”

He hadn’t put a date on the letter? She couldn’t blame him for the oversight. Right after his wife had died, he’d barely been able to put two thoughts together. “It must have been lost in the mail.”

“Didn’t you wonder why I hadn’t come until now?”

“Frankly, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Charlotte—and neither did Susanne. Not after the way you treated us when we said we wanted to marry.”

Anguish passed over her brown eyes yet he couldn’t help but say what he had wanted to say for the past six years. “You broke Susanne’s heart when you didn’t give us your blessing and when you never once inquired about our marriage in your letters. Until her death—” He choked on the word and didn’t have the heart to tell her that Susanne had wept on her deathbed over their broken relationship. “She carried the pain with her until the end.”

Tears fell down Charlotte’s cheeks but Abram didn’t wait for her response. Instead he continued up the stairs.

He stopped at the top and took several deep breaths. He had always hoped to convey to Charlotte how much she had hurt Susanne, but it didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he felt worse.

With a sigh, he opened the door to his left and stepped into his modest-size bedroom. It had a large bed, a bureau, a rocking chair, the boys’ cradle and a washbasin. He had packed up all of Susanne’s things, except her Bible, and put them in a trunk, which sat at the foot of the bed. It had been too painful to have the memories surrounding him.

Abram set down Charlotte’s trunk and then rubbed his whiskers as he surveyed the dust in the corners and the bedding that hadn’t been washed for weeks. Dirty clothes hung from the back of the rocker and the foot of the bed.

The room needed some fresh air. He went to the single window looking toward the river and opened it, thankful for the mild November weather.

With another sigh, he gathered up his clothing and piled it near the door and then threw the bedcovers over the sheets, hoping Charlotte wouldn’t come into the room until after dark.

He stood for a moment, rolled his shoulders and looked toward the ceiling. “Lord?” It was more of a question than a statement. “Why did you let Charlotte come? Don’t I have enough trouble to deal with already?”

He snatched up his clothing and strode out of the room and downstairs.

Charlotte stood with her back to the stairs, a handkerchief hovering near her face.

He moved past her and went through the kitchen and into the lean-to, where Susanne had kept her washtubs. He dumped his clothes in the corner, planning to get to them later. After Susanne’s death, Abram had devoted almost every waking moment to his business. It had been the only way to deal with his pain, but the housework had slipped.

Charlotte entered the kitchen as he came back in. She was out of place with her extravagant dress and perfectly styled hair. She looked nothing like Susanne, who had been short and blonde. Charlotte had dark brown curls and she was tall and slender—almost too thin for his tastes. Her face would be pretty if it wasn’t scrunched up in disapproval all the time.

He went to the cupboard and pulled out the coffee beans and grinder. “Feel free to take off your hat and gloves. We’re not going anywhere soon.”

She didn’t move but her eyes roamed this room, as well.

Abram assessed it as he ground the coffee beans, trying to see what she would see. The kitchen was a generous room with a long table, a cookstove and a large cupboard. Susanne had spent hours in this room preparing meals for him and the children. She hadn’t been a very good cook, but she had tried—he’d give her that. When he was able to hire his first laborer, she had taken on the extra responsibility without complaint. She had often told him she’d learned her work ethic from her sister, who had been forced to provide for them after their parents had died.

He continued to turn the grinder, uncomfortable with Charlotte’s perusal. “Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee boiling and then fry up some bacon.”

She took a handkerchief from her handbag and wiped the bench.

He tried to ignore her as he fried the bacon and tended to the coffee—but it was almost impossible. Her presence filled the room, just as it had years ago when he’d first met her and Susanne at the Fireman’s Ball in Iowa City. He had actually noticed Charlotte first, with her tall, dark looks—but as soon as he had met the sparkling Susanne, his attention had been stolen.

Neither one spoke as he prepared the simple meal. When it was ready, he went to the front door and clanged the large triangle dinner bell.