quivered in her stomach. No more. She was done with that man.
“With all the eager contenders for the position, why isn’t he courting anyone? Do you suppose he feels too good for us?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Too bad.” Rachel sighed. “Wade’s handsome and rich and—”
“A Cummings,” Abigail said, hoping to put an end to where the conversation led.
Abigail’s hand sought the slender chain around her neck that held the tiny gold ring Pa had bought the day she was born. He’d called her his baby girl…until everything changed. Pa most of all.
Rachel rose on her tiptoes and searched the park. “Is Leon at the bank?”
“He’ll be here before the bidding starts.”
“Guaranteeing your lunch will be snapped up,” Rachel moaned. “I’ve got to find Papa before he humiliates me.” She gave Abigail a hug then scurried off in search of her father.
Mr. Fisher adored his daughter. Rachel didn’t appreciate what she had. But then, Abigail hadn’t either until she’d lost it.
Oscar Moore motioned her over to the gazebo. “What triggered that scrap between the Roger and Collier boys?”
“Betty Jo Weaver.”
“Should’a known.” His face crinkled in a grin. “You gotta be grateful school’s out and you’re free as a bird.”
In reality, Abigail had eight mouths to feed. The fire made her search for a job difficult, as those who’d lost everything scrambled for additional income, all vying for the few available openings. “This bird is looking for a summer cage. If you hear of a job, let me know.”
“Reckon something’ll turn up iffen you pray about it.”
She’d prayed about it, but wouldn’t sit idly by when God had given her a good brain and the education to help herself.
“Well, time to get this here show on the road.” Oscar lumbered up the gazebo steps, slipped two fingers in his mouth, releasing a shrill whistle that quieted the crowd. “Reckon you all know why we’re here,” he called out. “Let’s plan on going home with full bellies and empty wallets. Show those folks, who lost everything, that we not only care, we share.” He pumped a pudgy fist. “Are you ready?”
A cheer rose from the throng. A huge grin spread across Oscar’s plump face, swallowing up his eyes.
The community had pitched in to help, exactly as Abigail would expect. Single women put up their box lunches to the highest bidder while married ladies handled the bake sale, offering pies, cakes and cookies, along with iced tea and lemonade, at tables already lined with buyers.
After explaining the rules, the auction began. Oscar accepted a bid made by the blushing box owner’s beaming suitor who opened his wallet and withdrew bills. “The best money I ever spent,” he said, handing the cash to Oscar.
At his side, his young love giggled. “I’m a terrible cook.”
“When I can feast my eyes on you, Lora Lee, I don’t care what I eat,” he vowed, taking the box and offering his arm.
“You’ll change your mind about that, sonny, when your belly meets your backbone,” someone quipped.
Those within hearing distance chuckled. The suitor merely gave a goofy grin. Abigail couldn’t remember seeing such adoration in anyone’s eyes. Not that she wanted what they appeared to have. Her teaching contract forbade her to marry. Fine with her—especially now. She desperately needed that job.
As Oscar held up another offering, this one wrapped in toile and covered with tiny silk flowers, Abigail’s gaze traveled down the block to where six empty lots left a cavernous gap on the tree-lined street, as unsightly as missing incisors in a mouth full of teeth.
Her sister Lois’s family had crowded into the apartment over the bank with Abigail and her mother. Cozy hardly described four adults, four active boys and a newborn baby crammed into four tiny rooms.
Laid up with a broken leg and arm, injuries Joe sustained falling down the stairs while escaping the fire, her brother-in-law could barely get around, much less work.
Oscar raised a beribboned package to his nose. “A whiff of this lunch suggests roast beef with horseradish. Who’ll give five dollars?” A hand shot up. “Yip! I’ve got five. Who’ll give six?”
A nod.
“Yip!” Oscar turned back to the first bidder. “Do I hear seven?”
If this spirited bidding continued, the auction would raise enough money to purchase the building supplies. Every able-bodied man in town had volunteered their labor. They’d cleared the debris. But with none of the modest houses insured, the burned-out homeowners needed assistance.
One man could handle the loss with a mere nod of his head, but George Cummings did nothing unless he benefited. What else could she expect from the ruthless banker who’d brought about her father’s death?
A nudge of conscience reminded her that the senior Cummings had burned his hands fighting the fire and no doubt suffered. But then, hadn’t he brought suffering to others often enough?
Leon Fitch stepped to Abigail’s side. Tall and thin, a thatch of russet hair parted in the middle, Leon rested gentle hazel eyes on hers. Not like the intense, unsettling eyes of that rogue across the way.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said slightly out of breath. “Right before closing time folks lined up to withdraw money for the auction. I haven’t missed your lunch, have I?”
Abigail assured him he hadn’t.
For several months, Leon had escorted her to an occasional dance and church social. Not that she’d call their outings courting. Leon was far too deliberate to take such a momentous step in haste. Their companionable relationship suited her. She wasn’t looking for love.
As they watched, two more boxes sold, one for eight dollars, the other for ten. Rachel’s lunch came next.
Across the way, Abigail’s friend stood beside her father, her hand rested on his arm as if to ensure he wouldn’t bid. Rachel needn’t have worried. Two men vied for the privilege of sharing her lunch. Jeremy Owens, the owner of the livery, and Harrison Carder, the new lawyer in town, a Harvard friend of Wade Cummings.
One glance at Wade and her heart lost its rhythm. A sudden longing rose up inside of her. Refusing to ponder the absurd reaction, she forced her attention back to the bidding.
The attorney won the bid at nine dollars. Rachel beamed while her father looked bewildered, as if he couldn’t fathom his little girl stirring the interest of a man.
Oscar held aloft a box she recognized as hers by the blue-and-white checked cloth and red bow. She’d packed a hearty lunch for two of crispy fried chicken, golden biscuits, bread-and-butter pickles, potato salad, deviled eggs and slabs of blackberry cobbler, all Leon’s favorites.
And not a single bite of strawberry pie.
