Chapter 4 Abigail #2
She released the last curtain from its hooks and dropped it to the floor before turning her attention to the embroidered sign. Clearly, Roan’s grandmother had been an incredibly talented seamstress to create such fine work.
The tear was small, but it was toward the top where the tapestry hung, which meant the weight of the fabric was pulling on it and would inevitably cause it to rip more.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Taking it down to fix it was the best option, and no one would even notice the tear once she put it back up.
Abigail reached over to begin unfastening the tapestry, letting go of the top rung of the ladder to use both hands.
“Abigail!” Roan’s voice barked.
Her concentration slipped, and so did she.
She wobbled at the top of the ladder for a moment, the ladder itself bobbling back and forth. Fear shot through her heart as she realized how far she was from the ground. She scrambled to grab the ladder again, but her hands met nothing but air, and she fell, trying desperately to reach it.
A strong pair of arms caught her just before she hit the floor, and she stared up at Roan, her eyes wide, her arms wrapping around his neck involuntarily.
She could hardly breathe.
She clutched him tighter as the gravity of what had happened flooded through her. She could have seriously injured herself, and with the two of them trapped here, there would have been no help.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“What were you doing?” he asked, setting her down so abruptly it nearly felt like he threw her. “What makes you think you’re allowed to touch my grandmother’s tapestry?”
“I was going to mend it for you,” Abigail said, finding herself growing flustered.
He was upset. Why was he upset with her?
“Don’t touch my grandparents’ things,” he said, the words harsh as he turned and stalked away. “And I’m not paying you to help while the tavern isn’t open.”
“Did I ask you to?” she called after him.
Roan paused, turning on his heel to stare at her.
Why had she said anything? She didn’t like to confront people…but there was no one to witness this, and perhaps saying something now would be better than living with just him and his attitude for however long it took to break this curse.
“I haven’t said a word about wanting to be paid,” she said, taking a step closer to him.
“And I’m only trying to help you fix the things that have been put off for too long, as you said you were doing.
Perhaps you would rather I sit and do nothing while we’re trapped in a curse, but I, for one, would prefer to be busy, and I wish we could get along with each other while we’re here. ”
She took a deep breath and nodded firmly at him before turning back to pick up the pile of curtains.
He waited a moment before he left again, his footsteps quieter than normal on the floor.
Something had been different this time. He was usually gruff, but this outburst felt more personal. Maybe there was a reason the tapestry was hanging so high up on the wall, if he didn’t want anyone touching it. Had somebody else torn the tapestry, and he hadn’t known how to fix it?
It didn’t matter. Even without mending the tapestry, she had plenty to do without trying to make sense of Roan’s behavior.
Cleaning the curtains took most of the day, and it was growing dark when she finished with the last one. She hadn’t washed them, since that task was better suited to two people with how large they were, but beating them out in the garden had taken out huge quantities of dust.
Putting them back up would have to wait—if she put them back up at all. The sunshine that flooded through the side windows as the sun set was the prettiest thing she’d seen in this building since she’d set foot in it.
She set the curtains to the side; they might make a cozier nest than curling up on the floor of the kitchen as she had the night before.
Her gaze flickered to the attic entrance in the ceiling. A blanket would be cozier than the curtains. Were the rumors true? Were there things up there from Roan’s grandparents?
And more importantly, was there a blanket?
She reached for the ladder, which still leaned against the wall. She hadn’t put it back in the storage room, not wanting to walk over the sleeping men again.
It was eerie walking amongst the men she knew from their loudest, most vivacious moments, now lying on the floor in a space of stillness.
She leaned the ladder against the wall beneath the opening to the attic. Gathering her skirts in one hand so she wouldn’t trip on them, she began to climb up.
There would be no falling this time.
When she reached the top, she eased the panel up and over the lip and poked her head through the hole, glancing around.
The rumors had been correct. She grinned as she looked around—there was a spinning wheel in the far corner, and a few wooden crates were scattered around on the heavy beams that supported the ceiling.
What was in them, though?
Abigail climbed through the hole in the ceiling and stood halfway. It wasn’t tall enough for her to stand fully, but fortunately she could walk without being entirely bent over. She stepped carefully, making sure to stay on the beams so she didn’t fall through to the floor below.
No more falling.
“Now where did you go?” she heard Roan exclaiming from beneath her, and then the sound of him climbing the ladder. Beastie whined from the floor.
“What are you doing in the attic?” he asked. But this time, the words weren’t harsh.
“I’m hoping there will be an extra blanket, so I don’t have to try to force you to take yours back,” she said pointedly. His face colored lightly, which was interesting. She hadn’t thought that pointing out the way he had given her the blanket would embarrass him.
“I didn’t need it,” he said quickly.
“But I’m sure you wouldn’t complain if we were to find another one up here,” Abigail added with a teasing smile.
“I wouldn’t,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry.”
Abigail smiled at him, and the air around them felt warmer. This was a start. “I forgive you,” she said quietly.
“I’m still not paying you while the tavern’s not open, though.” There was a different tone to his words, and she decided to ignore it for now. She could try to parse it out later.
“I know,” Abigail said, smiling sweetly at him. “I’m helping anyway. We’re stuck here, so I might as well.”
She set her lantern down, but he picked it up and handed it back to her, taking over the task of lifting the lid off the crate.
“It’s clothing,” she said, frowning at the dress sitting on top. That was unexpected.
“These were my grandmother’s things,” he said. “When my grandmother passed away, my father didn’t want to get rid of them, and my mother didn’t want them, so he put them up here.”
“He decided to put them in an attic instead of sharing them with someone who might be able to use them?” Abigail asked. The more stories she heard about Roan’s father, the less inclined she was to think much of the man.
“When you put it that way,” Roan said, “it does sound rather odd.”
“Can’t imagine putting such things where they can’t serve any purpose,” Abigail said as she fingered the rich fabric of the dress lying on top. It was a beautiful pink, probably very expensive. “I would have died of happiness to have a dress like this when I was younger.”
“Well, you can have it now,” Roan said, glancing around the attic. “It’s not doing any good up here. Let’s bring it down.”
Abigail could hardly find words to speak. “You’re sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” he said, glancing up and down her frame critically. “You’ll have to take it in. My grandmother was a hardy woman.”
“As opposed to my frail frame?” Abigail teased. She was not a heavyset woman, though she was no waif. Not anymore, at least.
“Any women’s clothes in there are yours to do with as you like,” Roan said.
“You don’t think your wife might want them someday?” she asked, the words slipping out before she realized.
She glanced up at Roan, and it was her turn to blush red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“You make a good point,” he said before she could try to explain herself.
“But I think it unlikely that the future Mrs. Alder would even know these were here in the first place, and we could use them now. And if all you want to do is turn them into blankets for orphans, I don’t care.
Nat has just as much right to them as I do, I suppose, and I’m sure someone at his orphanage could use them. They always have need.”
He stared down at the crate pensively, and Abigail cocked her head. “Do you want me to dig and see if there are any of your grandfather’s clothes here, too?”
“I doubt there are,” he said with a shrug. “My father had no issues taking what he wanted from my grandfather.” He put the lid back on the crate and moved on to the next one, as if to say that the topic was closed, too.
Inside were a set of teacups and a teapot, a beautiful collection with pink roses decorating them.
“Your grandmother must have loved roses,” she said, taking a cup out of its straw nest and looking it over. There was a small chip in this one, and the sight made her smile. They were clearly well-loved.
“We used to have tea parties with them,” Roan said, the words falling out like he couldn’t contain them. “Before my father found out.”
Abigail looked up at him in surprise, the bitterness of the words a strong contrast to the fondness of the sentence before it.
Had he had a difficult relationship with his father, too?
“Bring it all down,” Roan said, waving his hand. “It does no one any good up here, and bringing it down makes far more sense. It’s one more thing we can go through while we’re stuck here.”
“Did you give up on fixing things in the front today?” Abigail asked. “I’ve hardly seen you at all.”
“I was going over the books,” he said, dragging his hands down his face. “Not that I made much progress. It seems all they do is frustrate me.”
“I could help,” Abigail offered.
Roan glanced at her and frowned. “I’m not paying you to help with the books,” he said.
He was clearly hung up on the payment issue.
“You don’t have to pay me,” Abigail said. “I’ll help anyway.”
Roan eyed her curiously, then shook his head. “Let’s just get these out of here,” he said.
They dragged all the crates to the edge of the hole in the ceiling, and Roan made Abigail go down first for modesty, before climbing down onto a rung near the top himself.
Beastie whined and Abigail reached for her and patted her head. “Don’t worry,” she murmured to the dog, even as she worried herself.
He stood at the top of the ladder, reaching up into the hole to grab a crate, passing them down to Abigail.
“Be careful,” she said as the ladder began to wobble on the fourth crate.
“I’m fine,” Roan muttered. “Stop worrying about me.”
Worrying about him was most of her job, but perhaps it was best not to point that out. She took the fifth and final crate from his hands, and he disappeared into the hole one more time before returning with the lantern.
They gathered near the first crate, which only held his grandmother’s clothes. Beastie wormed her way between them, sniffing each item as they took it out and inspected it.
The second crate held the tea set and a few other fine dishes—far too fine for the tavern. The men would break them instantly. “We should give these to your brother, if he can use them,” Abigail announced as she put the tea set back.
The third crate held some books, which Roan announced could be given to the town’s new library, and the fourth crate held tools and kitchenware.
“Last chance,” Roan said as he pried off the lid of the final crate.
Abigail squealed in delight as a large patchwork quilt and what could only be a down-filled quilt appeared.
What a luxury! She dove into the crate and pulled them both to her chest, taking a deep breath. “And somehow they don’t smell terrible,” she announced, as if it was the most important fact in the world. She took another breath and their smell improved yet again.
Roan shook his head as if annoyed by her antics as usual, but the motion didn’t carry the exasperation it usually did.
“I’ll take my blankets back,” he said. “You can have these ones. They’re much too fine for an oaf like me.”
What?
Abigail turned to him. “What do you mean, an oaf like me?” she demanded. “You are not an oaf. On the contrary, you are, and have always been, a gentleman. And I’ll thank you to not disparage the man who has treated me with such kindness.”
Perhaps he was rough around the edges, and he didn’t have a way with words, but he had a heart underneath that beat true, and that was something she didn’t take for granted.
Surprise lined Roan’s face as he stared at her. Then he nodded.
“I’ll take your warning to heart,” he said. “Thank you for your kindness.”
He turned and walked away, and Abigail stared after him. It was her turn to be surprised. Where had that come from? And why had he acquiesced so easily? That was unlike him.
But she didn’t have time to think about it.
She had food to make for the two of them, and a nest to make for herself.
Tonight was going to be a much better night.