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Shivering just a little as they stepped onto Gabriel’s darkened front porch, Hannah dragged the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. By late afternoon, deep into November, with the sun rapidly disappearing toward the horizon, the temperature of the air had gone a number of degrees south from chilly to almost frigid, and both women were feeling the effects. No brightness of illumination shone from inside, and no sounds emanated forth. It mattered not. At this point, they were just anxious to get indoors, where they might warm up.
Hannah raised her gloved hand to knock at the door. Silence. Then another knock, slightly firmer and more emphatic.
“Gabriel Havers,” she called against the glass. “Are you in there?”
A response at last, typically surly. A muffled curse. Then, “Go away.”
“No. I want to enter. Kindly undo this lock immediately.”
Another moment of silence, then a crash of something that sounded like glass breaking, from somewhere a room or two away. “Whoever you are, take off. I ain’t in no mood to see anyone.”
Frustrated and furious, Hannah, who refused to take no for an answer, pounded again on the door. “You know perfectly well who I am, Gabriel. Now open this door and let me in, or, I swear to goodness, I will find myself an axe in your woodshed and chop my way through.”
At this, Abigail, torn between astonishment and admiration, stared at her companion. “My, my. I retract whatever I said earlier, my dear. You make a formidable foe when you’re challenged.”
Hannah paused for only one brief sharp look sideways before returning to the fray. “Gabriel! Do you hear me?”
Heavy footsteps approached, and the door was pulled suddenly open. “I hear you, goldarn it. The whole world hears you. Whatddya want?”
“We are kind-hearted Christian women, doing our duty, here to bring you some of the feast you missed,” said Abigail, peering up against the dim light that cast him as an enormous shadow. “Are you all right, Gabriel?”
“Huh. Even a place locked and bolted can’t keep some people out. All right; you’re here. May’s well come in, then.” Turning abruptly and rudely away, he shambled off like a grizzly retreating into its cave, leaving them no choice but to follow.
Back in the kitchen, to the rear of the house, the sweep of his arm indicated table and chairs where, apparently, they could be seated or not; their choice. While the two women silently put down the heavy basket of covered dishes and removed their outerwear, Gabriel set a match to several lamps conveniently placed and stirred up a slumbering fire in the cook stove. Slowly dawning light and warmth helped ease the air of melancholy, of depression, that seemed to permeate every corner.
“Some hot tea would be nice,” Abigail, still standing, with her gorgeous skirts shifted out of the way, hinted gently.
The jerk of his head, as he sank down heavily onto a bench, indicated the cupboard and available supplies. “Help yourself.”
“I shall, thank you.” Capably, she filled a kettle at the sink to set on a burner.
Meanwhile, Hannah had executed a brief search and managed to find what she needed. Sliding plates, utensils, and some rather wrinkled napkins upon the table, almost under Gabe’s nose, she gave him another keen glance. He looked away. He had green eyes that could mesmerize any woman. He was a well-dressed, handsome man and would make some woman very happy one day. Many women were taken with his good looks, and she always heard him talking about finding a wife. He was lonely and wanted love. Just needed to find the right woman who would steal his heart.
I guess none had yet, so he waited.
“We have fried chicken,” she pointed out, retrieving containers of leftovers brought just for the doctor’s consumption. “Some mashed potatoes, and gravy. Your choice of several breads, and some ham. Even lemon cake and peach pie. We missed you at the dinner.”
“Huh.”
“Gabriel, dear.”
At the word, and the tone, of her co-conspirator, who had turned from the stove with kettle in hand, ready to pour hot water into a waiting teapot, Hannah raised both brows in surprise. What was this? Had she just detected something unusual in Abigail’s attitude?
“You look terrible. What has happened?”
Drawing in a great sigh that expanded his chest, only to collapse it again upon exhalation, Gabriel scrubbed at his bewhiskered cheeks. “Too late,” he said bleakly, as if to himself. “They sent for me too late.”
“Too late? For what?” With a swoop of her elegant skirts, Abigail brought tea and cups to the table. “Here, drink some of this. Yes, drink it. Have you eaten anything today?”
He paused. As if parts of him had been inexplicably scattered far and wide to the four winds, he now made a visible effort to gather forces together and concentrate on the task before him. Mainly
that of conversing with two unwelcome visitors. “Uh. Food. Dunno. Don’t think so.”
Hannah might have served as an invisible presence in the room; Abigail was presiding over the table with a warm, maternal demeanor that surely must be soothing for a man clearly kerflummoxed by some traumatic event. She poured the tea, added a generous spoonful of sugar, dipped up portions of the Thanksgiving meal onto a plate, spread one of the folded cloths across his lap in quite a chummy manner, even pushed a knife and fork into his hands.
Had she been so concerned, so doting, so watchful when her own husband lay dying of snakebite in a forgotten forest such a short time ago?
“Food first,” the older woman quietly advised. “Then talk.”
