Loving Eliza (23 page)

“Care for a quick bite to eat before the main dish?” Daphne asked.

Like she needed to ask!  Eliza nodded and forced herself to stop after she picked up a couple of cheese cubes.  Fruits weren’t as filling, and right now she wanted to satisfy her hunger instead of sample the fruits, even if she didn’t often get a chance to eat strawberries.

Willy laughed as he took one of each item.  “I must say that this is sure fancy.”

Daphne smiled.  “Yes, it is. 
I confess that I’ve
never seen
a dinner this extravagant before.  Part of me feels out of place, but it’s all in good fun.”

“That it is.”

Eliza didn’t get much of a chance to taste the cheese since she swallowed her cubes as soon as they were in her mouth.  She wanted to savor
them, but her stomach kept pestering her.  Since the men were focused on Daphne, she snagged in a couple more pieces of cheese.

“My name is William but people call me Willy,” he told Daphne.

“Oh, you’re Willy!” Daphne squealed in a delight
ed tone
that surprised Eliza.  “I heard that you were painting Charity’s portrait for Ralph.”

Eliza coughed on the cheese she had just swallowed.  A portrait?  Out here in the southern Dakota territory?  She cleared her throat and pressed a hand to her chest.  “Excuse me.”

“Are you alright?” Troy asked, looking worried.

She suspected he feigned concern but gave the matter no more thought.  This dinner was not
going to be a common occurrence
with Troy, so she didn’
t need to examine his motives
.  “I’m fine.  Go on,” she told Willy.  “The marshal asked you to paint a picture of Charity?”

“He did.  In fact, after dinner, I’m supposed to go back home and grab it.  Then I can present it to her.  I believe he asked a couple
of
others to make her things too.”

“He sure is excited to be ma
rried to her,” Eliza commented.

As she plopped another piece of cheese in her mouth, she wondered
why
some husbands fussed over their wives like they did, but then she reminded herself that not all men ran off to visit a whore
when their wives thought they were out working or gambling
. 
She shouldn’t begrudge Charity such a devoted husband.  She should be happy for the young woman.  Her fairytale came true.  How nice that must be. 
No.  I won’t go there.  There’s no changing the past.

As Daphne rattled off the guest list, Eliza snuck
in
more appetizers when no one was looking at her.

“Now I feel underdressed,” Willy said, examining his attire.

“How do you think I feel?” Daphne motioned to her simple dress.  “Just between you and me, and you and you,” she added, smiling at Troy and Eliza, “this isn’t something I would do.  But Ralph and Charity are happy together, so it’s only right that we celebrate with them.”

Eliza was still ravenous.  Those cheese bits weren’t doing anything but teasing her.  She could celebrate much easier on a full stomach.  “We should go in.  Supper is ready, isn’t it?”
Please say yes!

“After the entertainment,” Daphne replied.

“Entertainment?” Troy asked before Eliza could.

“I’m not supposed to spoil the surprise.  Charity’s been practicing for nearly a month.” Daphne glanced at her empty tray and frowned.  “Oh, that’s odd.  I thought I brought out a full tray.”

Eliza quickly swallowed the last strawberry she’d broken down and snagged.

Fortunately, Bethany called out for everyone to gather into the parlor, so Daphne forgot the tray and led them in.  As Eliza joined Troy in sitting in the room which had been cleared for a small piano and a group of thirty chairs, she inwardly groaned.  When were they going to eat?  She clutched her stomach and closed her eyes to settle her nerves.  She could smell freshly baked breads and pies and meats.  It wasn’t fair that Charity allowed her guests to suffer like this.  But then, out of everyone in the house, she was the only one who hadn’t eaten a
full meal in the past two
days.

Ralph
entered the parlor and clapped his hands together.  “I want to thank everyone for coming.  As you know, Charity wanted to wait until she got settled
in
before
we had an official event to celebrate our wedding.  She is now going to play a few melodies that she learned during her childhood.  Her aunt Bethany will be singing the lyrics.”

Eliza reluctantly clapped along with the other people as she glanced at the kitchen.  She bit her tongue and forced her attention to the two women who bowed.  Charity sat at the piano and Bethany stood beside it.  Eliza glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle.  6:20.  Troy said the meal would start at 6:30.  She prayed that was accurate.

Charity started up the music, so Eliza concentrated on the uplifting tune.  This wasn’t so bad.  She settled into her chair and tried not to think about food.  Instead, she pictured flowers.  Yellow flowers.  Lots of flowers.  It was an image she had saved from childhood.  As a child, she used to run through the field while her parents lounged by the lake and watched her.  A faint smile graced her lips at the memory.  It was an innocent time in her life.  A time of happiness.  A time of hope.  A time of love.

Then Bethany sang the first line of the song and Eliza blinked, immediately pulled out of the past and into a not-so-pleasant present.  Though Charity could play the piano, Bethany could not hold a tune.  Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Eliza scanned the room and saw that though people put on their polite smiles, they also found the singing horrendous.  There really was no other word for it.  She’d only heard the term used once in her life, and she never had a need to use that word until this moment.

The song finally
...
mercifully
...
came to an end. 
She breathed a sigh of relief.  Then Charity started in on another song, this one a sad one, and Bethany inhaled, obviously getting ready for another round of her bellowing.  Eliza felt her stomach flip over.  She couldn’t handle this.  At least, she couldn’t handle it on an empty stomach.

She leaned toward Troy and whispered, “I have to use the privy.” Sure, it wasn’t the most graceful thing to say to a man, but she was desperate to get out without anyone finding a reason to stop her.  And who would stop a woman from answering nature’s call?

He nodded.

She slipped out of her seat and tried to be inconspicuous as she crept out of the room.  Now that she was free from the squeaking sounds that Bethany called singing, she could relax.  She
didn’t know what to
do.  She hated this.  Hated knowing there was food and not being able to eat it.  Hated the insistent hunger that lingered on and on
, day after day
.  The only time she got
any relief was when
she was asleep
.

Tears stung her eyes.  No.  It was much more than hunger and sleep.  It wasn’t even the bad singing that bothered her so much that she had to flee from the room.  It was flowers.  Yellow flowers.  She loved them...except when she was miserable.  Like now.  Placing her face in her hands, she willed away the urge to break down and sob.  She missed John.  She’d been happy when she was with him at his happy place with his insane insistence that
she marry him
.  Even through the unwanted tears, she laughed.  The man never gave up.  He even planted yellow flowers by his house for her.  She knew why he planted them there instead of in front of her little home.  He hoped to lead her in his direction.  And that’s where the yellow flowers directed her all along.  To him.  Until she rejected them...rejected him.

No.  Don’t think of that.
  She wiped her hands on her dress and forced her mind on the present. 
Don’t think of what could’ve been.  Just move forward.
  She stepped toward the kitchen. 
God, I’m so hungry.  I can’t bear this hunger anymore.
  Another round of applause drifted from the parlor before Charity began another song.  At this rate, Eliza would starve to death.  She glanced around.  No one was in the hallway.  She tiptoed to the kitchen and slowly opened the door.  No one was there.  She glanced back again.  No one had followed.  She was safe.  Just a few bites of food and she could return to the parlor.  Her eyes scanned the wide assortment of food on the tables in front of her.  Tables.  Tables of food!

Her body shook
in anticipation and all
calm left her as she ran forward and grabbed a drumstick.  There were more of them.  One wouldn’t be missed.  She hadn’t had chicken since she left Omaha.  She bit into it, too hungry to let the wonderful flavor sink into her tongue.  She devoured the whole thing in less thirty seconds
and quickly discarded the bone
into the trash.  She turned and snatched a slice of pie, knowing it was disgusting to eat it without a fork but not wishing to dirty a utensil lest she give away the fact that she had snuck in some food before it was time to eat.

She closed her eyes and moaned.  Peaches never tasted so good!  The crust melted in her mouth.  She passed the rolls and went straight for the
small steak.  Who cared about rolls?
Rolls were bland and she had
enough of those at the restaurant.  She picked up the steak and chewed off a big piece of it.  The juice slid down her chin so she wiped it off with her
sleeve.  This was good steak—t
he kind that those rich men ate.  She never imagined that eating could be such an
intoxicating
experience
.  She finished the steak and reached for the
piece of cake.  Just as she bit into it, the kitchen door opened.

Her eyes grew wide and she jerked.  The cake fell out of her hand and onto the floor.

John stood there
in the doorway,
holding a box.  He
stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Which he probably couldn’t.  She didn’t know what to do, and for a moment, she just stood there and stared back at him.  Then something in her snapped and she bolted past him and ran out the door.
  She ran as fast as she could through the backyard and across the next lawn that marked Wilkin’s property.  Tears descended by the time she made it down the dusty road heading to the outskirts of town.

The shame!  She didn’t know which was worse, falling into the sin of gluttony or being caught. 
Oh, of course she knew. 
Being caught
was worse
.  And by John of all people!  It had to be him.  Why did it have to be him?

She choked on a sob as she pressed forward, aware that he was gaining on her.  It had to be him.  She could hear someon
e running after her and who
else but John would pursue her?
  Still pursuing her.  Ever since she stepped foot into this town, he’d been after her.  Always asking her to marry him like a man who didn’t know what was good for him.

And even as she ran into the vacant field that lined a stream, she prayed he’d catch up to her and stop her f
r
om making the biggest mistake of
her life
.  She passed a tree and tripped on the root.  She fell face first into the tall grass.  Gasping for air, she struggled to stand up but fell again, this time landing on her hands and knees.

Then a pair of strong arms wrapped her into an all-too-familiar hug and she collapsed against John’s chest, sobbing like the little gi
rl who’d once lost her parents.

“I didn’t want to be a prostitute,” she wept.

He cupped her face in his hands and lifted her head.  His touch was so gentle and warm that she cried even harder.

“My parents died when I turned fourteen, and my mother’s sister took me in.  Her husband, my uncle, came to my bed...” She had to stop to take a breath and to steady her voice.  No one knew.  She’d kept it to herself all these years.  And now she was about to let
the one man who’d shown her
real love
know
the details of her tainted past.  She grabbed the sleeves of his shirt, afraid he’d run off as soon as she told him, but need
ing to tell him—to finally clear the air between them
.  “I didn’t want him there.  I told him no.  But I was fourteen and scared and I didn’t know how to stop him.”

She dared to look into his eyes, fearing the rejection she’d find there.  Instead she saw sorrow and compassion. 
Tears welled in his own eyes. 
H
e loved her.
  He didn’t have to say the words for her to know this.

Gathering courage, she continued, “I
was too afraid to tell my aunt
, and when I got with child, she assumed it was one of the boys down the road that did it.  She told my uncle to get rid of me.  He sold me to
the owner of the saloon in town who had a whorehouse.  That’s how I became a prostitute.”

When she realized he wasn’t going to leave, she released her hold on him and removed the picture she had tucked under her shirt and next to her heart.  She showed it to him in the moonlight.