The Widow's Peak

Part Four

 For once, Abigail was relieved Rebecca didn't live with her. She hated to think this, and her stomach clenched with guilt every time she did, but she knew the young lady would have been unbearable in her house.

It wasn't that Abigail couldn't stand up for herself; she had, on occasion, taken a switch to little Becky whenever she talked back or slept in. But to drag her out of bed after the worst night of her life and take her to the doctor! She couldn't think of anything worse-- except maybe those disgusting sermons.

God created Eve, didn't he? Abigail thought, pouring a cup of tea, Rebecca is going to regret this waste of a doctor's visit...as am I. Oh, if I could still use that switch...!

Her niece glided through the kitchen. She wore a loose, dark-blue gown that hid most of her figure. Her belly protruded a bit, but the girl was healthy, rounded, soon to be plump. Then again, Abigail thought, The girl has been dressing more modestly lately.... Damn that Reverend! Shielding a girl's God-given body from the world!

"You know, dear, as a seamstress, I ought to do favors for my family," she said, "If that dress is too big, I can alter it."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary, Auntie."

"Pardon me?!"

Rebecca set a small plate in front of her— porridge topped with sliced apples.

"Eat up, Aunt Abigail. We're going to be late."

Abigail frowned as she shoved a spoonful of the warm mush into her mouth. Rebecca certainly had it in for her, all right— with all those ridiculous things she was saying. Accusing her of killing Levi, of being a terrible aunt, and to curse her— simply for making money! Pah!

"I wish you showed more gratitude to the woman who wiped your bottom and kissed you good night," snapped Abigail.

"I do. I loved my mother!"

Abigail's heart raced. The nerve of this girl...!

"Rebecca Brasher, you end this nonsense and you end it now." She jumped to her feet, aiming a finger at her niece. "Ever since that damn church sermon, all you've done is curse me and treat me like a prisoner. Well! You don't even live with me anymore! You're under no obligation to care for this old hag!"

"But once I left to live with my brother, you stopped speaking to me." Rebecca folded her arms. "Somehow I felt guilty enough to take you to church!"

"I believe you have it the other way around," Abigail snapped, raising an eyebrow, "I much preferred it when you avoided me. At least I was free to do as I pleased."

"Finish your breakfast, Aunt Abigail. Dr. Giddings doesn't have all day."

"Why aren't you eating?"

"I don't feel well."

"Hmph! Sounds like you need the doctor!"

"Aunt Abigail."

Abigail sighed and sat down, overruled by her hunger. Rebecca grabbed her satchel and rummaged through it. She stuck her tongue out between twisted lips, fingers digging around for something in particular.

"Looking for something?"

Rebecca frowned as she yanked out a small piece of paper.

"It's a sketch from that butcher, Isaac Deering. He's quite an artist, you know."

"A man of many talents." Abigail's voice was low and sultry.

Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, don't remind me! You'll heed Dr. Giddings' advice. Or at least look like it."