Loving Liza Jane (20 page)

Neither Rufus nor Clement saw any humor in her comment.

Liza made a point to give them both a stern look.

At the close of the day, Liza packed up her schoolbag, which contained uncorrected essays, arithmetic problems written by the younger children, and algebraic equations by the older. On top of that stack of papers, she packed her class registry book, her grading book, and, last of all, her lesson book. By the time she pulled the strap over her shoulder, she heaved a sigh under its weight. It was still better than hauling a tall stack of slates, she told herself. Ever since the mass production of paper, the need for slates had greatly decreased, even though the children still enjoyed scribbling on them every chance they got.

Once outside, she closed the door behind her and locked it, pulling on the knob to assure herself she’d done the job. Then she headed for Sam’s livery to see about obtaining a rig for her ride out to the Brackett farm.

It was time she paid Mr. Brackett a visit.

The Brackett farm wasn’t much more than a square piece of land with the remains of dried cornstalks, a ramshackle barn, and a falling-down shack. A sagging porch with broken steps leading up to it seemed to say, “Go away,” rather than, “Welcome.” Chickens roamed freely throughout the yard, poking in the earth in search of scraps. Liza’s stomach knotted at the thought of Eloise Brackett living under such conditions.

When she called the team of horses to a halt, an unleashed goat came around the corner of the house to investigate her arrival. Instinctively, she wrinkled up her nose at the smell and the sight.

Climbing down from the rig, she threw the reins over a nearby post.

“Teacher!” Eloise stood just outside the door, a smile as wide as the Mississippi on her round little face. “Pa, it’s the teacher.”

The bulbous-nosed man appeared behind Eloise, the door slamming behind him, crooked on its hinges. Immediately he put a hand to his daughter’s shoulder. “What’s my Eloise done?”

The child tilted her face upward to see into her father’s eyes. A look of worry crossed her freckled expression. Liza smiled in order to put Eloise at ease. “She’s done nothing, Mr. Brackett. She is the perfect little student. Very smart, too.”

He seemed to relax. “What can I do fer ya then?”

“I’d like to speak with you privately, if I may,” she answered, coming to the bottom of the porch steps, praying he wouldn’t invite her inside. Outside would suit her just fine. “How about you scoot along, Eloise? I’ll talk to you later.” Eloise remained grounded in place, her large blue eyes pools of concern. “Don’t worry, honey. I simply want to speak to your father. Nothing more.”

“You heard her, El. Scoot.”

In spite of his rough appearance, deeply etched face, and lack of top teeth, there was gentleness in the manner in which he spoke to Eloise.

“Say yer piece,” Mr. Brackett said once Eloise disappeared inside the house, resuming his rough tone. Liza saw it as his only means of defense. How many people had made him feel incapable, if not worthless? She recalled Mrs. Winthrop’s accusatory words when she’d insisted she and her husband would make better parents for Eloise than Mr. Brackett himself, despite the fact he was the child’s own father. She wondered how Eloise would feel if she knew about the controversy surrounding her father’s ability to parent.

“There was an incident at the school today.”

“I thought you said Eloise was a good student.”

“Oh, she is. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what?” he asked, his impatience mounting as he rubbed at his scruffy, unkempt beard. Even from a distance she could smell his body odor. The urge to cover her nose was strong.

Out of her dress pocket she drew the note and handed it to him. “Someone passed this note to Eloise in class today.”

Mr. Brackett stared at the wrinkled piece of paper, then frowned. For just an instant, Liza worried that he couldn’t read, but then her doubts cleared. “Who would write such a mean thing to my little girl?” he asked, his face a picture of rage.

“I have my suspicions,” she said, “but no real proof. I’m afraid the important thing here is not so much who wrote it, but seeing that it never happens again.”

“Yer right about that, miss,” he said.

“And the only way to ensure that it doesn’t happen again, Mr. Brackett, is to see that Eloise comes to school in clean clothing every day—and thoroughly bathed.”

Surprisingly, the man said nothing for several moments, simply stared instead at his barren fields. Afternoon sun beat down on Liza’s shoulders while unmoving air seemed to steal away her breath, adding to the discomfort of the awkward moment. Overhead, a lone bird chirped a melodious string of notes.

Liza watched him carefully, wondering what he would say and when.

Finally, his words came out, shaky at first so that he had to start again.

“I—I know I’m not the best pa for my Eloise.”

“No one can love her more than you do. It is not my intention to try to convince anyone otherwise.”

His watery, murky eyes seemed to peer inside her soul, shaming her for no apparent reason.

“I’m glad you see it that way,” he said, his shoulders slumping momentarily before he gave them a prideful, determined lift. “I’ll see she takes a bath tonight.”

“No need to make an issue of the matter,” Liza assured. “But I don’t want to see Eloise hurt again. If you could have seen the pained look on her face today, you would know exactly what I mean.”

“I reckon I do. I’m not so good at keepin’ house, either, as ya can see.” He eyeballed his surroundings.

“I’m sure things have not always been easy, but I should think you could get Eloise to help you with the household chores.”

“She does lend a hand whenever I ask. She’s a good girl.” Liza studied the rise of his proud shoulders.

“She certainly is, Mr. Brackett.” She took a step back. “I would think one or two baths a week should suffice—using soap of course.” She might have suggested he do the same but thought better of it. Lifting the reins from the knotty post, she heard Mr. Brackett clear his throat.

“Ain’t no other teacher ever come out here.” She read gratitude in the simple statement. “I’ll do my best with cleanin’ my girl up, but I can’t do her hair so good.”

Just as Liza was about to take the first step up to the rig’s high seat, an idea planted itself in her head. “How about you drop Eloise off a few minutes early every morning so I can comb her hair and put it in a braid?”

A light seemed to travel across Mr. Brackett’s otherwise dark expression. “I figure my Eloise would like that plenty—that is, if yer sure it’s no trouble.”

Liza felt a smile explode on her own face. “I would consider it a pleasure, Mr. Brackett. All you have to do is see to it that her hair is washed at least once a week.”

He looked thoughtful. “I ’spect that’s the least I can do.”

She took the first step up, then turned. “You’re doing the best you can, Mr. Brackett. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank ya, ma’am,” he said in a raspy voice.

Ma’am? She’d come a long way with Mr. Brackett since their first encounter, and the notion rather pleased her. Letting out a breath, she climbed the rest of the way up and seated herself high atop the rig. Then, taking up the reins, she gave them a gentle flick to turn the horses.

“Good day, Mr. Brackett.”

He gave a simple nod, then reached over the porch railing and pulled a long blade of grass out of the ground. Popping it into his mouth, he began to gum the blade, and Liza noted how his whiskery upper lip kept hitting the underside of his nose. The sight made her giggle aloud as she rolled on down the slight incline toward town.

***

Ben patted the scented envelope in his pocket to assure himself that it was still there. He wanted to read the missive privately, and that meant escaping the postmaster’s curious eyes. It had been well over three weeks since he’d sent money to the bridal agency requesting passage for a mail-order bride. He’d been ready to accept the fact that he’d been duped when the letter arrived in this morning’s delivery. Now he wondered if he’d find a refund enclosed in the envelope. Perhaps Miss Sarah Woodward had already accepted another offer for marriage. Was it wrong of him to hope?

“Howdy, Ben!” Ben turned his horse around at the sound of his name and was pleased to discover Rocky Callahan just leaving Johansson’s Mercantile, his arms loaded down with what looked like a new saw, a hammer, and perhaps a bag of nails or screws.

“Rocky, good to see you.” He directed Tanner to the side of the street in order to allow approaching wagons a clear enough passage. “Looks like you have a project underway.”

Rocky took off his hat and beat it once against his bulky thigh, then plopped it back atop his head of thick, dark, wavy hair. By the look of him his square jaw hadn’t seen a razor in several days. “Mending some fences on my back forty. Lost a couple head of steers last week. Wandered off my property.”

“Did you get them back?”

“I did. With the help of our old buddy Jon Atkins.”

“Ah, Jon. He does get around.”

Rocky grinned. It was the first time Ben had seen his friend truly smile in a long while. Then again, if anyone could bring a smile to a forlorn face it was Jonathan Atkins.

“You can say that again. You seen much of him?”

“Here and there,” Ben answered. “I have a hunch Reverend Miller will ask him to fill in at the pulpit. Jon gave a rousing sermon Sunday after the storm.”

“So I heard from several folks. Kind of wish I’d have heard him myself. Imagine Atkins a preacher,” Rocky said, kicking a stone clear across Main Street. “Don’t seem possible. Wasn’t it just yesterday we were breakin’ into old man Sumpter’s barn in search of some of that illegal brew, Atkins leading the way?”

Ben couldn’t hold back a spurt of raucous laughter. “We were thirteen at the most back then—bratty kids. It was pure luck that we didn’t get blistered for pulling such shenanigans.”

Rocky nodded and smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. It was good to see his friend looking halfway human again. “Bratty kids, you say? Little devils might better describe us,” he muttered, lightheartedness lining his voice.

Tanner shifted his long legs and stomped an impatient hind foot. Ben reined him in and spoke his name to gentle him. “I might still be going down the wrong road if it hadn’t been for Miranda’s Christian witness. That woman calmed me down.”

Rocky sobered. “I guess I would have to say the same about my Hester. ’Course it didn’t hurt none that Ma stayed on her knees most nights when I was growing up.”

Both men shared a short-lived laugh, their minds taking them back to sweeter times.

“Speaking of women, you think Jon’s got an eye out for that new teacher?” Rocky asked, squinting into the sun.

Ben’s stomach knotted without warning. “Might be. Why do you ask?”

Rocky chortled. “Just listen to the guy talk about her. I’ve yet to meet the woman, but when I do, I get the feeling she’ll be wearing a halo.”

Ben forced a smile, but decided not to comment.

Jon wasn’t alone in his admiration of Liza. Apparently, the whole town was warming to the teacher. She’d been making the rounds, visiting the families of each of her students, and making a fine impression. He saw no harm in it, he supposed, but he didn’t like the idea of her traveling out to the Baxter or Bartel farms, and he meant to tell her so the next time he saw her. Both farms were male dominated and unsuitable for a woman’s visit.

“Well, I best get back out to the house. Got fields waiting on me,” Ben said, turning Tanner around and giving Rocky a smile and a nod of the head.

Halfway between Little Hickman and his farm, he reined in Tanner and retrieved the letter from his pocket.

Sweaty fingers perused the fancy handwriting on the outside of the envelope.

Miss Sarah Woodward. The finely crafted letters that made up her name and her Massachusetts address made his nerves rattle.

The envelope was too thin to have held a refund of his money. If anything it contained only one piece of fine parchment stationery.

Broad shoulders slumped in premature defeat.

His thundering chest told him if he didn’t open the envelope he could remain clueless as to its contents. On the other hand, he’d started something from which he couldn’t very well back away. If he had any scruples at all he would follow through on his commitment to wed this unknown woman.

What if Mr. Atkins marries Miss Merriwether before you get the chance? Why did Lili’s words of warning keep drumming in his head?

Sure enough, one sliver-thin paper fell from the envelope. Unfolding it with shaky hands, he held it up to read the beautifully penned words.

My Dear Mr. Broughton:

It is with gratitude and pleasure that I write to inform you of my deep yearning to come to Kentucky.

Ben’s heart seemed to plummet like a rock to the earth, and he let the letter slip from his fingers. He swallowed down a bitter taste and uttered a hasty prayer toward heaven. “Oh, Lord, what have I done?” Forcing himself to follow the letter to its conclusion, he picked it back up and continued.

Believe it or not, I have always wanted to visit Kentucky, and now I have been offered the chance to reside there. I cannot tell you how pleased this makes me. I feel certain that God has His hand in this entire transaction.

She made it sound like some sort of business deal, Ben thought, as he mopped a hand across his sweat-covered brow, then over his entire face. Of course, he was the one who had sent the money. If that wasn’t a business deal, he didn’t know what was.

It has become necessary for me to leave the state of Massachusetts, so your offer to move me to Kentucky will be a welcome respite. I understand that the greenery and glorious hillsides are indeed picturesque.

I do have a slight hitch to our arrangement, and so I hope this will not pose too large a problem for you and your family. My mother has taken seriously ill, and so I am required to see to her needs. Therefore, I must beg off coming to Kentucky immediately. I shall be along as quickly as possible, and that is all I can say for now. I hope that you will be patient with me concerning this most pressing matter.