Abigail's mind lingered on the man for a while, wondering his purpose and creating a makeshift backround from the few words they exchanged, the expressions of his face, and the way he dressed. She wished she had asked of his name, even if she would never see him again than maybe one day Abigail could find out who he was.
Mystery and action was sparse in the quiet town of Rockhollow, gossip spread like a wildfire when heard. Love and marriage were usually the topic of choice of the chattering women, and whenever a sign of romance was sparked, all of Rockhollow had heard of it. Abigail was well aware that the town's women wondered what was wrong with her as she hadn't wed yet, if there was some secret that drove any suitor away.
She sighed as she looked over the man she put together in her head, his past, his tastes, his habits. Abigail had heard of and read of many romances started by a such a coincidence. Did not divine destiny have any meaning by that gesture?
I am being foolish. I sound like the ridiculous towngirls. Abigail brushed aside her thoughts. She had not the time to be fretting over young men, working on her father's farm and teaching many of the young people of Rockhollow. Neither did she find much interest in many of the bachelors here--their future lives were here, and Abigail desired to see the world someday, even though that not be a wife's, or a woman's, place, even if she did marry to someone adventurous as she was. Feverishly she pulled a thick weed from the garden, tossing it into the pile behind her. Certainly, love and romance would be and has been the least of her troubles and the last of her worries.
"Abigail!" Mrs. Whitney called from her front step. "Ride into town with me; I am to pick up flour from Mr. Halden."