Loving Liza Jane (3 page)

Liza squirmed where she stood, uncomfortable witnessing their private squabble.

“Oh, for goodness sakes, Mr. Brackett, you are about as restrained as a cornered rooster.”

“And you are a toffee-nosed, highfalutin’ hen.”

“What?” The question came out in a squawking fashion. “Well, I never! You have the manners of a—a contemptible varmint.”

“Please,” Liza cut in, feeling the fool. “Mrs. Winthrop, would you please pay the man—if that was indeed the arrangement?”

Mrs. Winthrop and Mr. Brackett glared at one another until Mrs. Winthrop finally reached into her small beaded bag and withdrew a folded envelope. Handing it over, she scolded. “I should think you’d have considered carting Miss Merriwether from Lexington an honor, Mr. Brackett. She is, after all, Hickman’s new schoolteacher.”

“Oh, it was an honor all right, but that don’t mean I don’t need money for puttin’ food on the table for my little Eloise,” he said, tucking the envelope into his shirt pocket.

“Humph,” the woman said. “You shouldn’t be raising that poor child without a mother. Clyde and I would gladly have…”

“I know what’s best for my Eloise, and you best remember that.”

Turning his back to both women, he climbed into the rear of the wagon. Emerging moments later with Liza’s huge trunk, he let it drop to the hard earth. Liza watched as a puff of dirt and dust rose on all sides and winced at the thought of her precious china teapot shattering into a million little pieces.

To that, he bounded off the back of the wagon, tipped his hat at Liza, spat on the ground at Mrs. Winthrop’s feet, and sauntered away. “Say hello to poor ole Clyde,” he called as an afterthought.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she retorted under her breath, brushing her skirts with her gloved hand, as if to sweep away the germs that remained from the unpleasant encounter. “What an uncouth man he is. I do apologize for his terrible behavior.” Eliza noticed that she didn’t mention her part in the fight. “I would imagine your journey with him was most unpleasant, but I couldn’t seem to find another man that wasn’t caught up with his harvesting and whatnot. Of course, there was Benjamin Broughton; I might have called on his services, but no, that would not have been appropriate. Besides, I’m told he has his hands full out at his place. No, I’m afraid Mr. Brackett was my only option. My poor sister, God rest her soul, never should have married that frothy, ill-mannered man.”

“Is Mr. Brackett your brother-in-law?” Liza asked, mystified.

“Unfortunately, yes, and now that uncivilized man is trying to raise my sister’s daughter. Imagine! Since Clyde and I have no children, we would serve as fine guardians to that forlorn child.”

“But I’m sure Mr. Brackett loves his daughter dearly.”

“In these parts, love isn’t enough. Besides, we have the wherewithal to see to her future needs what with Clyde’s bountiful inheritance.”

“You can still offer financial help, can’t you?”

The woman threw her a look that said Liza had overstepped her boundary.

“Sour puss won’t accept any support from us,” she said in a huff, moving toward the back of the wagon where Liza’s trunk lay on one side. Liza found herself picking up her skirts and hurrying after the woman.

Staring down at the oversized crate that carried all of Liza’s belongings, Mrs. Winthrop heaved a sigh. “Well, I suppose we best try to…”

“You get off my porch, you scalawag!” The shrill-sounding order came from across the street.

Curious, both women turned their gazes in the direction of the commotion.

The same scruffy man Liza had observed just moments ago emptying the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk was having words with a tall, slender woman holding a long-handled broom in one hand and a frying pan in the other.

“You despicable, tobacco chewin’, boot-lickin’ loon! O’course you can’t have a room in my hotel. I am trying my best to run a respectable business here. You go hang yer fiddle back up at Miz Guttersnipe’s place. You fit in right well over there!”

“But M-Miz Guttersnipe ain’t near the c-cook that you are,” the man stammered, his glazed-over eyes revealing his confusion.

“Get!” the woman insisted, pounding him on the head with the iron pan and forcing him off her porch with the broom.

“I’m gittin’, I’m gittin’,” he cried, covering his head with his arms as if that would protect him from the beating he was taking. Losing his footing, he stumbled, then fell, on his way down the steps.

“Get up, you ole fool,” she hollered, battering his head with the straw end of the broom.

Staggering to his feet, he wobbled away, cursing as he went, his bloodshot eyes looking dazed and uncertain.

Once the lady was sure he was gone, she laid the frying pan on a nearby rocker and took to sweeping off the porch, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Who is that?” Liza asked with awed wonder.

“That, my dear, is Miss Emma Browning. She runs the town’s only boardinghouse. Miss Guttersnipe, on the other hand, runs a—well, a hotel of ill repute, if you will. It’s over yonder. ”

“And who was…?” Liza pointed at the swaying figure heading up the street.

“That despicable man was her father, Ezra Browning, the town drunk. Or, might I say, one of them.”

“Her—father?”

“That’s correct. Now, shall we see what we can do about moving this trunk?”

Confounded, Liza bent to grip the trunk on one end by its handle while Mrs. Winthrop took the other.

“You ladies needin’ some help there?” asked a kindly voice from behind.

“Oh, Mr. Collins, how very nice of you.”

Although the scrawny man didn’t look much stronger than the two of them put together, Liza welcomed his offer of assistance.

“Where to?” he asked.

Mrs. Winthrop turned and pointed a finger at the hotel. “Miss Browning’s establishment.”

“Oh, but I thought I was to have a place of my own,” Liza hastily put in, bending to share the handle with Mrs. Winthrop while Mr. Collins took the other end. “The contract clearly stated…”

“I’m afraid the old Broughton place is not quite ready yet. You’ll have to stay at Miss Browning’s in the interim.”

“I see.”

Sighing, Liza did her best to lift her end of the trunk and move in the direction of the boardinghouse. Her spirits suddenly fallen, she fought down tears of frustration.

Lord, whatever have I gotten myself into?

Papa, I found two eggs!” Seven-year-old Lili Broughton rushed through the door all smiles, her little hands each carefully holding out a warm egg.

Early rays of sunlight stretched their spindly fingers through the dusty windowpane and came to rest on the red and white checkered tablecloth. August warmth penetrated the walls of the sturdy cabin, making standing by a heated cook stove all the more laborious.

“Now that’s a good girl,” Benjamin Broughton said, bending to take the eggs from his daughter and giving her a loving smile. “Did the old girl give them up willingly?”

“Soon’s I walked in the coop she moved aside for me, Papa, as if she was pure delighted to be rid of those uncomfortable lumps beneath her belly.”

Ben Broughton gave a hearty laugh before pointing at the open door. Adept at reading her father’s silent commands, Lili ran to the door and shut it with a none-too-quiet approach. She twisted her lip guiltily at his reproachful gaze. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“We need to keep our voices down, sugar. Molly is still sleeping, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“She sure cried a lot last night.”

“She’s growing more teeth.”

“Again? Ain’t she always doin’ that?”

“You know better than to say ain’t. It is not a part of our everyday language, Lili. And, no, Molly is not always growing teeth. It just seems that way.”

“When’s she gonna quit?”

“I don’t know. I imagine once she gets a mouthful.”

“Well, she can’t keep growing teeth forever. I didn’t.”

“Lili…”

Ben stretched taut muscles where he stood and mindlessly massaged the back of his neck with one hand while cracking an egg with the other. Lack of sleep had taken its toll on his body, never mind the fact that he was only twenty-nine years old and should be able to handle it. Raising two youngsters, one in diapers, and the other a rambunctious, precocious seven year old, was no easy task, particularly when he had a farm to operate.

Dropping a hunk of grease on the hot fry pan, he watched it sizzle. “You only found two then?”

“Two?”

“Eggs.”

“I din’t look for more, Papa. You said you needed two more eggs to add to the rest, so that’s all I got.”

He grinned into the pan. “We’ll go out after breakfast and fetch the rest, pumpkin, providing Molly continues sleeping.”

Few moments passed before Lili started up again. “Freddie Hogsworth says it all the time.”

“What?”

“Ain’t. Among other things, of course.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you going around repeating anything Freddie Hogsworth says,” he told her, hiding a grin beneath his yet unshaven face. “I don’t think I’d trust that boy as far as I could pitch him.”

“You could pitch him far, Papa. You got muscles that are bigger than any man I know.”

Ben laughed again. “And you have a tongue that loves to waggle, young lady.”

Lili giggled and turned three circles on the planked floor. Ben heard the grit beneath her high-topped shoes and winced at the idea of having to sweep it yet again. The cabin had always shone like a whistle when Miranda was alive. Something twisted in his gut with the simple reminder of sweeter days. Best not to dwell too long in that dark place, he told himself.

“What we gonna do today, Papa?”

“You and Molly are going to Mrs. Granger’s house later so I can work the fields till dusk.”

Without looking, Ben knew his daughter’s shoulders slumped where she stood. “Why can’t I never come with you?”

“Ever—why can’t you ever?” he corrected, sprinkling salt, pepper, and a bit of milk into the egg mixture, then using a long wooden spoon to combine the ingredients. “And we’ve been over this before. The fields are no place for a little girl. I’d be worried the entire time.” Turning briefly to study his daughter’s sullen expression, he added, “And that would slow me up.”

“But Papa, Mrs. Granger don’t have no little girls.”

“Any…She doesn’t have any little girls,” he corrected again. “But she has Charles.”

“He’s a boy. ’Sides, he’s too old to play with. All her other kids is long gone.”

“Well, true. She has all those barn cats and that poor excuse of a dog, though. You like them, don’t you?”

“Yes, but they ain’t kids.” He fixed her with a scowl.

“Aren’t,” she corrected.

“Well, before you know it school will be starting. Then you’ll have lots of friends to play with.”

“Is she here yet?” Lili asked.

“Who?”

“The new teacher.”

Keeping up with Lili’s chatter was always a chore. “I wouldn’t know. I imagine she’ll be arriving any day now.”

“Is she still gonna stay in Grandpa Broughton’s old place?”

“If I ever find time to fix the roof, mend the porch steps, and buy new windows, yes.” The list of things to do to the tumbledown place to make it livable seemed endless. A body would have to be desperate to want to live in it. Still, his was the only farm near town that included a vacant cabin, and so he’d felt obligated to offer it since his daughter attended the school and required an education. Unfortunately, his offer included volunteering to make it fit for human habitation. The place hadn’t been lived in for nearly ten years, unless you counted all the critters and varmints that had willingly taken it over.

The other teachers had always lived with families, but much to Mrs. Winthrop’s dismay, this particular teacher, Miss Merriwether, had insisted on her independence. Of course, Mrs. Winthrop had thought it highly inappropriate that a lady live alone, particularly the schoolteacher, and even Ben had inwardly scoffed at the notion. The wilderness was no place for a self-governing female. He’d already decided that the lady was undoubtedly some fastidious, uppity spinster from the city used to having her way. Probably stubborn to boot.

As it turned out, it mattered little what Mrs. Winthrop, or anyone, thought about her living arrangement. Hickman needed a schoolteacher, and since no one else had applied for the job, the school board had voted to invite Miss Merriwether.

“Is she gonna live with us until you finish it?” Lili asked, sliding onto a nearby stool.

“Good grief, Lili, what would ever make you ask such a question?”

“Ain’t she ar ’sponsibility?”

“Don’t say ain’t, Lili, and no, she certainly is not our responsibility. I simply offered your grandfather’s old place if and when I find the time to fix it up. Until then she’ll stay at Emma Browning’s boardinghouse.”

“Will she be mean and grumpy?”

“Who?” He was still thinking about old Mrs. Winthrop.

“The new teacher.”

“I shouldn’t think anyone would be mean and grumpy to you,” he offered, giving her a slow grin and turning the eggs over in the pan. “Now hop down and set the table, would you?”

“Mr. Lofthouse was mean and grumpy to everyone,” Lili said as she walked to the cupboard to take down a couple of plates.

“Well, that was Mr. Lofthouse.”

“And the teacher before him, Mr. Abbott, was only a tad better. But he had that ugly black mark on his face. Did you know that hair grew out of that thing?”

“Hair? Sweetheart, a person can do nothing about a birthmark.”

“I know, but it was hard to look at that man, ’specially when he got up close. I wonder if the new teacher will have a birthmark,” she said, hugging the clean plates to her shirt.

“I doubt it.”

“I wonder if she will be pretty,” she said.

Ben smiled at the little chatterbox. “God made everyone different, Lili. It’d be good if you kept that in mind. Looks are not everything, honey. In fact, they’re not even important.”

“Mr. Lofthouse wasn’t too bad to look at, but he couldn’t make no one behave,” she charged, seeming to ignore his strategy for teaching a timely, godly lesson on love and acceptance.