Loving Eliza

Loving

Eliza

Ruth Ann Nordin

Chapter One

June 1883

E
liza stepped
out of the stagecoach
.  She glanced at the wrinkled pie
ce of paper in her shaky hand
s
.  She was in the right place. 
The southern Dakota
territory
was so different from Omaha.  But this is what she wanted.  A new start.  And what better way to get that new start than t
o go to a small town?
  Some place
where no one knew h
er or what she had
done
.  She was safe here.  Safe to be what
she could never be in Omaha: a
lady.

The two women who had accompanied her on the long journe
y across the prairie land stood next to
her.  The
dirt road
felt wonderfully solid beneath Eliza’s feet after the endless swaying of the stagecoach.  It especially was welcome after the frequent vomiting of the pretty young blond who could not tolerate the ride.  Eliza was grateful her stomach maintained its strength, though she almost lost it twice from the foul odor.

“I’ve never been so glad to
be
anywhere in my entire life,” the blond exclaimed as she wiped her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.

Eliza watched Charity Grooms as her aunt, Bethany Grooms, disposed of the bag
of vomit
in a trash can by the small general store.  Several people lounged about along the main street of the dusty town and watched the new arrivals with interest.  She wondered if one of them was
Melissa Peters.

Ignoring them for a moment, Eliza pulled out a mint from her purse and handed it to the nineteen year old.  “This will make your breath fresher,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Eliza,” Charity replied, taking the mint and plopping it in
to
her mouth.  “
I’m sorry I was such a burdensome companion.”

“It was better than going through the wilderness alone.”

“Well, you are a dear friend in this unfamiliar place.” Charity reached out and placed a hand on her arm.  “You must come to my new home sometime.  My intended promised he’d let me entertain guests.  It’s the only part o
f being back east that I’d miss, and it’s
the
only reason I agreed to be a mail-order bride.
”

Eliza nodded, though she honestly didn’t think they had anything in common.  Charity was born and raised a lady.  She’d never put one foot in a
godforsaken place.

A man who was probably close to thirty approached the blond.

Eliza stepped back.  This must
be Ralph Custer who sent for Charity
.  Her eyes drifted to his badge.  So he was the marshal
in
town.

He took his hat off.  “Excuse me, ma’am.  Are you Miss Grooms?”

While Charity’s face glowed, Eliza turned her attention back to the paper in her hand.  It was good that Charity had a handsome, respectable man to wed.  Eliza was happy for her, and by the way Charity’s aunt gushed, she was obviously happy with the match too.

Eliza needed to find Melissa Pet
ers.  Preacher
Bill
Peters promised that Melissa would
be expecting her.  All Eliza had to do was go to the address written on the paper.  Aware of the way the onlookers watched her, she st
raightened her hat and picked up
her travel bag.  It wasn’t anything fancy.  Nothing like the large trunk Charity and her aunt brought with them.

Eliza shook her head.  She wouldn’t compare herself to them.  It did her n
o good to do so.  Just as Preacher
Peters said, she needed to find out who she was and to be content with that.  God had forgiven her.  That was enough.  So why did she feel a pit of despair well up in her chest?  And why di
d she feel more alone than she
ever had i
n her
entire life?
  She wasn’t fourteen
when her par
ents died.  She was twenty-seven
.  Well past her prime.

Charity’s laughter drifted along the breeze.  Eliza shouldn’t begrudge the young woman.  Charity was nineteen
.  She was at a good age, and she was such a nice person.  Eli
za turned and
headed down the street.  She was used to people staring at her.  It came with
being a prostitute for twelve
years.  But she wasn’t one anymore.  She’d been redeemed.  She came here for a new start.

The past remained in Omaha.
No one would ever find out
about her background
.  E
ver.

Repeating the words in her mind, she passed by the bank when someone stepped in front of her.  She gasped and stumbled back.

A strong hand caught her by the arm
and steadied her so she didn’t end up on
the ground.

She quickly regained her composure and
looked into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.  She blinked
in surprise, for they were beautiful.  The man in front of her
stood
a foot taller than
her
and had
dark brown
hair
with bangs
that fell neatly over his forehead.  The man had dressed in a clean blue shirt and black slacks.  He even wore a tie and a nice black vest.

Considering that he was better dressed than the other men she’d seen in town, she found him to be a strange curiosity.  “You look pretty fancy.  Are you getting hitched?” As soon as she said the words, she wished she hadn’t.  She needed to learn to bite her tongue.
  “Sorry, Mister.  I meant no disrespect.”

She tried to move around him but he blocked her.  She frowned and
gave him a good look.  She’d had her share of difficult men in her time.  She placed a hand on her hip.  She didn’t care if he was built like a tower.  He wouldn’t intimidate her.

“What do you want with me?” she demanded.

He motioned to the letter in his hand.

She rolled her eyes.  Great.  The strong silent type.  “Look, I don’t have time for this, Mister.  I came to find Melissa Peters.”

When she took another step to the side, he moved with her.

She took a deep breath.  “You are annoying me.”

He winced.

Her face softened.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to be harsh.  What is it you want me to do?  Read that letter?”

He nodded and handed it to her.

“You could just tell me what’s in it.”

He shook his head and pointed to his throat.

“Oh.  You’re sick. 
I see
.” Not that she believed him.  He didn’t look ill.
  “It’s a good thing
I know how to read.”

He smiled.

She hesitantly returned his smile before she read the letter.  As she did, it became clear to her that he thought
she
was the woman who had agreed to come out west to marry him.  No wonder he wouldn’t let her go around him.  He assumed that she was his mail-order bride.  Well, now that was easy enough.  She’d set him straight.  “I hate to break this to you, Mister, but I’m not Daphne O’Conner.  My name is Eliza.” She paused.  She couldn’t recall her last name.  It’d been so long ago since she used it.  “I’m not your bride.”

He frowned as she handed the paper back to him.

“I’m sorry.  I realize she was due to come in on the same stagecoach that I did, but my only traveling companions are over there.” She motioned to a very happy looking Charity and her aunt.  The marshal looked just as pleased.  As well they should, she rec
koned.  They all seemed nice enough.  Turning back to him, she shrugged.  “I’m sorry.  Maybe she’ll come in on the next ride.”

He folded the paper in slow, methodical motions.

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so she took a step around him and headed for t
he houses lining the next road.  Wilkins Pike
was the name of it, and
that was the name of the road
she needed.

To her surprise, he tapped her on the shoulder.

She stopped and stared at him, wondering what in the world he could possibly want now.

He motioned to her and then him
self
and pointed to the small white building.

She nearly dropped her luggage when she realized the building was a church.  She shook her head.  “I am not Daphne.  I’m Eliza.  You do understand that, don’t you?”

He nodded.

Now she was more confused than ever.  “Then what do you want with me?”

He pointed to the church again.

It was official.  The poor man was delusional if he thought she could be anyone’s wife.  “Mister, you’d do much better waiting for that fine young lady who wrote that letter to come off the stagecoach.”

He shook his head and tore the letter.

Gasping, she set down her bag and grabbed his hands to stop him.  “Now look here.  There’s no sense in assuming the worst.  Something probably delayed her.
  You just need to be patient.”

He touched his throat and shook his head.

She had no idea what he was trying to tell her
.  “Can’t you write down what you want to say?” She picked up her purse and searched through it.  “I thought I brought a pencil.”

His hand rested on top of hers.  When she looked up at him, he shook his head again.

“You can’t write?”

He nodded.

She should have been prepared for that.  After all, not everyone had formal schooling.  She didn’t either, but she’d been lucky enough to have a male customer who taught her to read and write in exchange for her services.  She sighed, pushing back the instant shame that heated her face.  Did it matter how she learned to read and write?  The point was she learned it.  And she couldn’t change the past.  Certainly, no one ever had to know about it.

The man’s gentle touch on her arm broke her out of her thoughts.  He motioned again to the church.

If he knew...If he only knew her past, then he wouldn’t even suggest this.  “Mister, I can’t.  You seem like a really nice man, a good man.  At least you let a woma
n get a word in edgewise
.  But I’m not meant to be a wife.” She smooth
ed out the piece of paper Preacher
Peters had given her.  “I am h
ere to find
Melissa Peters.  She’s supposed to live down that way.”

He nodded and motioned to a little white house that looked comfortably settled between a green house and a brown one.

Well, this was good information.  “
Yes.  I’m here to do housework in exchange for room and board.  It’s all been arranged.
  So you see, I already have something I need to do here.
”

He shook his head at her.

She set her hands on her hips.  “I don’t care if you like it or not.  She’s expecting me.”
Ignoring the fact that he waved his arms and shook his head again, she picked up her bag.  “I don’t care what you think.  You’re not telling me what to do.”

She pushed past
him and stormed down the road.  He had a lot of nerve!
  She’d been nice to him, but she could only handle so much.  If he didn’t want to wait for Daphne,
then
that was his problem—n
ot hers.  She never agreed to come out here to marry anyone.  And the unexpected wave of guilt that rose from her gut shocked her.  She had no reason to feel guilty.
  It
must have been because she spent all
of
her life trying to please others and doing what they wanted.  Still, his sad eyes...No.  She wouldn’t give it another thought.  He’d be very happy when Daphne finally came.  Daphne, she was sure, was a lady, the kind of woman a man could take home to meet his mother, the kind of woman who could give him a house full of children to carry on his name.
  She couldn’t be either woman for him.  Yes, he was much better off without the likes of her.

To her dismay, he followed her.  She gave him credit for persistence.  Oh well.  Let him follow.  When she arrived at Melissa’s house, Melissa could explain the situation to him.  Maybe then he’d pay attention.

As soon as she
made it to Melissa’s house
, she banged on the door.  She didn’t mean to be so hard on the poor door, but th
e man was getting on her nerves with his insistent gesturing.

When the door opened, Eliza cleared her throat and quickly adjusted he
r hat.  But as soon as her gaze passed the forty-year-old
woman with swollen red eyes to the stack of boxes scattered throughout the parlor, her heart sank.  This wasn’t going to be good news.

“Hello, John,” the
woman said before she wiped her nose with a dishtowel.  “Is this a friend of yours?”