Only two years left, he chided himself. Only two until he finished his commitment in the colonies and returned home to Yorkshire and Lizzy. He was over half-finished. Before he knew it, they would be married, and he’d be able to kiss her every day for the rest of his life.
Against his will, his gaze strayed to Pete, to the hand still pressed possessively against Arabella’s back and the other hand gently cupping her cheek. As Pete’s kisses dropped to Arabella’s jawline, Abe tore his attention away again and cleared his throat.
Pete broke away from his wife, looked at Abe, and chuckled. “That’s how it’s done, my friend. In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” Abe tried to keep his tone dry.
“Then you don’t know what you’re missing.” Pete stole another kiss from Arabella, this one quicker, but nonetheless passionate enough that Abe’s body betrayed him with urges he’d been trying to ignore. If only he’d never had that encounter with Wanda. . . . If only he’d never gone to her house. . . .
Abe lifted a silent prayer of repentance, as he did almost daily, and asked God to deliver him from temptation so he wouldn’t compromise his integrity any further. No, he and Lizzy weren’t officially engaged, but they’d been friends since childhood, and he’d always known she was the perfect woman for him.
When the Society of the Propagation of the Gospel had offered him the five-year position establishing churches in British Columbia, he’d asked Lizzy if she would wait for him, and of course she’d agreed. She’d understood his devastation at the riots and resulting deaths of the laborers in his Sheffield parish. She’d understood his need to take a break from the heartache and gain a new perspective. She’d always understood him better than anyone else had.
From her faithful correspondence, he knew she was keeping busy giving music lessons as well as doing charity work. Lately her letters were so full of all her activities he’d begun to wonder if she missed him. Whenever he doubted her affection, he reminded himself that his letters touted his activities too. With his work in Yale and among the mining camps, he’d had little time to pine away for her. Even though he replied to her regularly, he could admit that sometimes his letters were abysmally short and hurried.
Even so, Lizzy was the love of his life. She was refined, poised, elegant, and soft-spoken. When he sailed home and took another rector position, she would fit into his life seamlessly and would be the kind of helpmate he’d always dreamed of having. Their parents heartily approved of their relationship, and Lizzy’s mother had been planning their wedding for years.
Though he and Lizzy had always been close, he’d never kissed her except for the morning he left England—if the peck on her forehead could really be called a kiss. In hindsight, he wished he’d demonstrated more ardor. Maybe not the way Pete kissed Arabella. Or the way Wanda had kissed him. But surely he could have managed something a little more impassioned.
Abe’s gaze drifted to Arabella’s delicate face, the rosy color in her cheeks, and the delight radiating from her eyes as she peered up at Pete.
Would he and Lizzy look at each other that way, with such longing? Would he hold Lizzy and press her body against his? Would he kiss her senseless?
At such brazen thoughts, heat simmered up his torso and into his neck again again. He and Lizzy were too timid and refined for such displays, and he suspected their affection would one day be contained to kisses under covers in the dark. Even so, he couldn’t deny his urges were intensifying.
As though sensing the direction of Abe’s thoughts—or seeing the flush in his face—Pete arched a brow. “Get on down to the wharf and pick out a bride.”
Arabella had come on the Tynemouth, the bride ship that had arrived in September. Even though Pete had claimed her the first day he’d seen her, it had taken him weeks to win her heart. Now that he’d found marital bliss, he assumed everyone ought to have a woman from a bride ship.
The local newspaper, the British Colonist, had been full of reports of the latest bride ship that was arriving today, lauding the newest batch of women sent by Miss Rye and the Columbia Mission Society as exemplary in character.
Even so, Abe wasn’t interested. “I am doing just fine for now.”
“Someone wise once told me that God said it wasn’t good for man to live alone.”
Abe rued the day he’d spouted the verse to Pete. His friend never failed to remind him of it. “I’m not alone. God’s presence is with me wherever I go. Besides, I have Lizzy.”
Pete’s grin turned mischievous. “Then what are you waiting for? Tell Lizzy to get on the next ship and come marry you.”
Abe straightened to his full six feet, seven inches, his muscles tensing. He didn’t want to admit he’d already invited Lizzy, that he’d sent her a letter last autumn asking her to come and marry him. Then he’d have to explain his indiscretion with Wanda and the desperation that had led him to quickly pen the correspondence to Lizzy.
Once a fair amount of time had passed, he’d regretted his rash letter and wished he’d remained true to his resolution to wait for marriage. After all, he didn’t want Lizzy to experience the dangers of the long voyage. Didn’t want to expose her to the harshness of the mountain wilderness. Didn’t want her to face the deprivations of his humble existence.
But perhaps he’d been wrong to think they needed to wait until he finished his five years of service. If she desired him enough, wouldn’t she be willing to brave the discomforts to be with him? Although he couldn’t picture a woman like Lizzy ministering with him, what if she was willing nonetheless?
With thoughts of Lizzy racing through his head, he said good-bye to Pete and Arabella. Pulling his thick cloak tighter about him, he hunkered down against the winter chill as he slogged down the muddy street. Although he tried to avoid getting splattered with mud from the passing horses and wagons, by the time he reached the end of Humboldt Street, his freshly laundered trousers were hopelessly dirty.
How would Lizzy fare here? What would she think of the mud? It was worse in the mining camps up in the river valley. And what would she think of his tiny log cabin? Or of the rugged town of Yale that served as his home base?
Surely at the prospect of being together she’d overlook the negatives. Besides, in spite of the austere living conditions, the beauty was unlike anything else. He lifted his sights to the distant mountain peaks and began to whistle one of his favorite hymns, “God, Who Made the Earth and Heaven.”
As he turned a corner and the harbor spread out before him, his whistle faded, and he stopped short at the sight of the crowds lining the shore. Men stood on wharfs, waited in moored boats, and perched on fences.
“Lord have mercy.” Abe’s jaw slackened. There had to be at least a thousand men swarming the waterfront. Did every single one of them hope to find a bride? Or were some mere spectators?
As a cheer went up, his attention shifted to two tenders pulling up alongside a wharf that had been cordoned off by constables. A few minutes later, the women climbed out of the boats, and Abe watched with fascination, unable to tear himself away. He hadn’t been in Victoria when the Tynemouth had arrived and had only heard embellished secondhand stories—or at least he’d assumed the tales had been embellished.