Walter Carter kept his promise.
It wasn't over.
Three days after he came to Willow Creek, a rumor began spreading through the county.
By the end of the week, the rumor had become a story.
Nathaniel Brooks had supposedly taken advantage of a desperate young woman.
Some said he had bought Abigail as unpaid labor.
Others claimed he intended to marry her against her will.
One woman announced that Nathaniel was hiding Abigail because "something unnatural" was happening at Willow Creek.
The irony would have been laughable if it hadn't been so cruel.
Walter had accepted money for his daughter.
Now he was pretending to rescue her.
Abigail heard the first version at the general store.
Two women stopped talking when she entered.
The shopkeeper, Mr. Harris, gave her an uncomfortable smile.
"Morning, Miss Carter."
"Morning."
Abigail bought flour, sugar, and lamp oil.
As she turned to leave, Mrs. Harlan approached.
"Abigail, dear."
Abigail already disliked the tone.
"Yes?"
"If you ever feel... unsafe... there are people willing to help."
Abigail stared at her.
"Unsafe?"
"With Mr. Brooks."
Something hot moved through Abigail's chest.
"Nathaniel has never harmed me."
Mrs. Harlan lowered her voice.
"Your father says differently."
"My father sold me to him."
The store went silent.
Mrs. Harlan blinked.
Abigail continued.
"He accepted money, pushed me out the door, and told Mr. Brooks there would be no returns."
Nobody moved.
"My father didn't come looking for me because he missed me. He came because he learned I'm being paid."
Mrs. Harlan opened her mouth.
Abigail stepped closer.
"Nathaniel Brooks is the reason I'm free."
Then she walked out.
Her hands shook all the way home.
That evening she told Nathaniel.
He leaned against the kitchen counter listening.
When she finished, he said, "You shouldn't have had to defend me."
"I wasn't defending you."
One eyebrow lifted.
"I was defending myself."
A faint smile appeared.
"Fair enough."
The rumors worsened anyway.
Walter had gone to Reverend Collins.
Then to a county official.
Then to anyone willing to listen.
Nathaniel's lawyer, Charles Fletcher, advised patience.
"They can't legally force Abigail anywhere."
Nathaniel sat across from him in Asheville.
"That's not what I'm worried about."
"What are you worried about?"
"The children hearing it."
Fletcher sighed.
"Then we put the truth in writing."
Nathaniel looked toward the window.
"And drag Abigail through more humiliation?"
"She may prefer humiliation to allowing Walter to control the story."
Nathaniel knew that decision wasn't his to make.
So he asked her.
Abigail listened to Fletcher's proposal at the kitchen table.
A signed statement explaining that she was an adult employee at Willow Creek, free to leave whenever she wished.
She surprised both men.
"No."
Fletcher frowned.
"Miss Carter—"
"I don't want a newspaper announcing that Nathaniel doesn't own me."
She looked at Nathaniel.
"People who need that explained aren't going to understand the explanation."
Fletcher almost smiled.
Nathaniel did.
"What do you want?"
Abigail thought.
"I want to keep living."
So they did.
They harvested apples.
They canned peaches.
They prepared for winter.
Nathaniel repaired the roof before the November rains.
Abigail helped Ruth sew a dress for the Christmas social.
Samuel learned to bake Grace's cinnamon cake without burning it.
Daniel finished his first full book.
Clara lost a tooth.
Emily placed it beneath her pillow and woke furious because the "tooth fairy" had left only a nickel.
"Pa says inflation," Samuel informed her.
Nathaniel nearly dropped his coffee.
Abigail laughed until she cried.
The ordinary days became their defense.
But Walter had one weapon Abigail couldn't ignore.
He began approaching the children.
Samuel came home from school one afternoon with a bruised cheek.
Nathaniel's face darkened.
"What happened?"
Samuel shrugged.
"Nothing."
"Samuel."
"A boy said Miss Abigail's a bad woman."
Abigail froze.
Nathaniel crouched.
"And?"
"I hit him."
Nathaniel closed his eyes.
"Samuel—"
"He said she can't have babies because God punished her."
Abigail's breath left her.
Samuel looked at her.
"I told him he's stupid."
Abigail knelt.
"You shouldn't hit people for me."
"He deserved it."
"Maybe."
Nathaniel opened his mouth.
Abigail looked at him.
He wisely remained silent.
"But you can't solve everything with your fists."
Samuel's eyes filled.
"He said you're not our mother."
That sentence hurt more than the insult.
Abigail touched his face.
"I'm not trying to replace your mother."
"I know."
"You had a mother who loved you."
Samuel nodded.
"Nobody can take that from you."
"What are you, then?"
Abigail couldn't answer.
Samuel did.
"You're Abigail."
He threw his arms around her.
"That's enough."
Across the room Nathaniel turned toward the window.
Abigail saw him wipe his eye.
Winter came early.
In December, a storm rolled down from the mountains.
Snow fell heavily, unusual enough to excite the children.
Nathaniel warned them to stay near the house.
By afternoon, the wind strengthened.
Then Daniel disappeared.
At first everyone assumed he was in the barn.
He wasn't.
Samuel checked the woodshed.
Nothing.
Ruth searched upstairs.
No Daniel.
Nathaniel's expression changed.
"When did anyone last see him?"
Clara began crying.
Abigail remembered something.
That morning Daniel had talked about checking a rabbit trap near the creek.
Nathaniel went pale.
"The creek bank."
He grabbed his coat.
"I'm coming," Abigail said.
"No."
"He's out there."
"You stay with the others."
Abigail stepped closer.
"Nathaniel."
He looked at her.
"I'm coming."
They entered the storm together.
Snow covered tracks quickly.
They shouted Daniel's name.
No answer.
The creek lay nearly half a mile away.
By the time they reached it, Abigail's feet were numb.
Nathaniel found the broken branch first.
Then a small boot print.
"Daniel!"
A faint cry came from below.
They ran.
Daniel had slipped down the embankment and wedged between two rocks. His ankle was twisted badly.
Nathaniel climbed down.
The bank crumbled beneath him.
Abigail grabbed a tree root and reached.
Together they got Daniel up.
Nathaniel carried him.
The snow became nearly blinding.
Halfway home, Nathaniel stumbled.
Abigail caught Daniel before he fell.
"Give him to me."
"You can't carry him."
"Watch me."
She took the seven-year-old.
Daniel wrapped his arms around her neck.
Nathaniel led them through the storm.
By the time they reached the house, Abigail was shaking violently.
Ruth opened the door.
Everyone cried at once.
Dr. Wallace arrived hours later after the storm eased.
Daniel's ankle was badly sprained but not broken.
The doctor examined Abigail next.
"You're lucky."
She smiled weakly.
"So is Daniel."
Dr. Wallace shook his head.
"I wasn't talking about him."
Nathaniel stood nearby.
The doctor's comment unsettled him.
That night Abigail developed a fever.
Not serious.
But enough to frighten Nathaniel.
He sat beside her bed.
She woke near midnight.
"You can go to sleep."
"I'm fine."
"You look terrible."
"So do you."
She smiled faintly.
He didn't.
"You could've gotten hurt."
"So could Daniel."
"That's different."
"Why?"
Nathaniel couldn't answer.
Abigail studied him.
"Why is it different?"
His face tightened.
"Because I couldn't lose you too."
Silence filled the room.
Nathaniel seemed startled by his own words.
Abigail's heart began pounding.
He stood abruptly.
"Get some rest."
"Nathaniel."
He stopped at the door.
Neither knew what to say.
He left.
The next morning Abigail pretended she remembered nothing.
Nathaniel pretended the same.
But something had changed.
Ruth noticed.
Of course she did.
Several days later, while Abigail brushed her hair, Ruth appeared in the doorway.
"Do you love Pa?"
Abigail dropped the brush.
"What?"
Ruth leaned against the frame.
"I asked if you love him."
"Ruth Brooks!"
"That's not an answer."
Abigail's cheeks burned.
"Your father and I are—"
"Adults are terrible at answering questions."
Abigail stared.
Ruth grinned and disappeared.
Christmas approached.
For the first time since Grace's death, Nathaniel allowed a tree in the parlor.
The children decorated it with popcorn strings.
Abigail placed candles carefully among the branches.
On Christmas Eve, Nathaniel handed her a small wrapped box.
"You didn't have to."
"I know."
Inside was a silver hair comb.
Not expensive.
But beautiful.
Abigail stared.
"My aunt had one like this."
Nathaniel looked concerned.
"You don't like it?"
"I love it."
Tears filled her eyes.
He shifted awkwardly.
"Please don't cry every time I do something nice."
She laughed through the tears.
"I'll try."
She gave him a knitted scarf.
He wore it immediately, though the house was warm.
The children exchanged glances.
Then someone knocked.
Nathaniel opened the door.
Walter Carter stood outside.
Beside him was Margaret.
And behind them waited Sheriff Thomas Reed.
Walter smiled.
"Evening."
Abigail stepped into the parlor.
Her blood ran cold.
The sheriff removed his hat.
"Miss Carter, I'm sorry to interrupt Christmas."
Nathaniel's voice hardened.
"Why are you here?"
The sheriff looked uncomfortable.
"There's been an accusation."
Walter pointed toward Nathaniel.
"That man bought my daughter."
Nathaniel stepped forward.
Walter smiled.
"And I intend to prove it."
---