Loving Liza Jane (37 page)

“It would have been nice, but I’m afraid our building isn’t big enough to host a play. Besides, it isn’t as if we’ve had much time to prepare. Why, you don’t even have your lines memorized.”

“Besides, our props stink,” said Rufus.

The barn had been drawn with crooked lines and smeared with bits of charcoal to give it a rugged appearance, then fastened to the front of the room. It was less than perfect, but the children had given it their all. Then there was the manger, crafted from crates that Mr. Johansson had donated when Freddie Hogsworth had inquired about obtaining extras. Under the makeshift manger was the straw that Sam Livingston had contributed to the cause.

“I think your props are quite fine,” Liza encouraged, to which Rufus visibly relaxed. The poor boy needed constant reassurance. “Now, let us quickly finish our assignments.”

Outside, the sounds of approaching hoofbeats and the squeaky turn of wheels rumbled up Main Street, coming to a stop across the road from the schoolhouse and smack in front of Johansson’s Mercantile.

Rufus, being tall enough to see, poked his head up high to peer out the window. “It’s the stagecoach,” he announced.

A gasp rose up all around. “Can we look, Teacher?” came the small voice of Erlene Barrington. It wasn’t every day the stage rolled into town.

“Of course. In fact, I’m just as curious as you,” she stated.

In a flash, they dashed to the window overlooking town and watched the exit of several passengers, the first an elderly fellow Liza recognized as Mr. Morgan, who’d visited his daughter’s family for Thanksgiving. Then there were Mr. and Mrs. Jameson, who’d taken a trip south and were now returning. After them was a middle-aged man that Liza failed to recognize, followed by two school-aged children.

“Who are they?” whispered Rosie.

“I don’t know, but they look like they’ll be comin’ to school,” replied Thomas Bergen.

“Do we got room for them, Miss Merriwether?” asked Lili.

“Of course, we have room for them, honey. There’s always room for one more.”

“You mean two more,” corrected Gus.

“Well, we don’t know that they’ll be coming to school. Perchance they’re only visiting relatives,” Liza said, studying their sagging shoulders and dour expressions.

A vaguely familiar man approached them then, his own dour expression matching that of the children. “That’s Mr. Callahan,” said Andrew Warner. “He’s my neighbor.”

Mr. Callahan. The name came back to her now. He was the widowed friend of Ben. But why would he be shaking the hand of the young lad and nodding nervously to the tiny girl?

“Look at her,” said Lili in hushed whispers, watching as a finely-put-together woman stepped down from the coach, her every movement poised to perfection, her long neck straight, her manner trained to demonstrate self-confidence and dignity. She reminded Liza of the fancy women of Boston’s upper region, those who came from the Imperial district and reeked of wealth and finery. Wrapped in a cashmere coat trimmed with mink collar and wearing a matching hat over glistening red curls, Liza could only dream of such extravagance.

“Who is it?” asked a choking Freddie Hogsworth.

“I wouldn’t know,” answered Liza, equally interested.

“Maybe she’s the kids’ mama,” said an ever practical Sarah Jenkins.

“Naw,” said Andrew Warner, his nose pasted to the windowpane, emitting steam and fogging the glass. “She don’t look like no ma to me. ’Sides, she ain’t hoverin’ over them.”

While the lot of them watched in open curiosity, Liza more fascinated with the forlorn children now than with the woman, Lili let out a shriek. “What’s my papa doing talking to that—that woman?”

Liza’s eyes trailed a path to the source of Lili’s bewilderment and discovered Ben conversing with the beautiful lady.

A fierce ball of fire rolled around inside her stomach, as if she had license to concern herself with whom Ben chose to talk. Nevertheless, the bitter taste of resentment simmered.

It seemed impossible, even highly unlikely, Liza reasoned. She leaned into the glass as if to get a better view. Could it be? No, Ben had told her himself that he’d changed his mind about the notion of marrying Sarah—what was her name?—Woodward. Still, it would explain his untold lack of friendliness and his apathy toward kissing her. Oh, to think she’d encouraged that kiss!

Another hurried look across the road found him taking the woman by the elbow and leading her off the street, bending now to speak into her ear.

“What is he doing?” Lili shrieked again.

Fresh anger boiled to the surface, burning Liza’s lungs and throat.

“I—I don’t know, Lili,” she answered, jealous ire mixed with blinding disappointment. “I suppose you’ll have to ask him when you get home.”

She definitely wasn’t happy with him. That much was clear. Ben sat across the table from Sarah Woodward in Emma’s kitchen, Emma having taken Molly and scooted out the door to allow the two their privacy, but not before supplying them both with hot cups of tea and a plate of warm cookies.

“I’m deeply sorry for the inconvenience I’ve caused you,” Ben told Sarah. “I know that your journey couldn’t have been easy, particularly in this cold weather and then following on the heels of your loss.”

The woman twisted a flaming red curl around her index finger, her rosy cheeks, once blushing with delight at having finally met Ben face-to-face, now flushed with something altogether different—outright anger? “You might have let me know.”

“Believe me, I tried. When I failed to hear back from the agency and received no further letters from you, I assumed you’d gotten the message. It’s been months.”

“Well, as I told you, the agency folded some time ago.” She fingered a cookie with her finely manicured hands, then went for her cup of tea instead.

“Yes, you told me that in your recent letter. Until then, however, I had no way of knowing.”

She pursed her lips and blew air through her nostrils, putting Ben in mind of a fierce tiger. Blazing red hair curled around her cheeks, and when she huffed again, a lock shot straight out like a red-hot flame.

She looked too much for him to handle anyway, he decided. Of course, he’d thought the same when first meeting Eliza Jane Merriwether.

“What changed your mind, if I might ask?” Sarah inquired, leaning forward, now hugging the cup of hot tea between both her hands.

There was no denying the woman’s beauty. High cheekbones etched to perfection and framed by the lovely red curls drew attention to her larger-than-life hazel eyes, blue in the light of the sun, but now green in the light of Emma’s kitchen.

And her elegant garments. Although clothing never defined the person, the way Sarah Woodward dressed hinted at her lineage. Wouldn’t Iris Winthrop have a fit once she realized she’d met her match in Hickman’s skimpy world of fashion?

Why would a lady of this caliber apply at such a place as the Marriage Made in Heaven Agency when, by all intents and purposes, she could have any man her heart desired?

Ben pondered her question. “I was hasty in sending for you. In truth, I didn’t truly pray about my decision as I should have.”

“Well, I did, and I still believe I’ve made the proper choice in coming here.”

Ben struggled in his heart and mind, on the one hand feeling sorry for her, and on the other, knowing with certainty that he wasn’t to marry her. Whether it did him any good or not, he was in love with another woman. Marrying this one wouldn’t solve the problem of his bleeding heart.

“Again, I’m sorry.”

“You’re in love with another, aren’t you?” she said.

Her words halted his next breath. “Pardon me?”

“Oh please, I’ve seen the look before. You can’t tell me that you haven’t been snagged by someone else.”

He closed his eyes. Was he that transparent? “It doesn’t matter. She’s taken with someone else.”

“Married, you mean?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well then, what’s the problem? Go after her.”

Ben couldn’t believe the candidness of this stranger. He found himself pushing back in his chair and laughing, her smile offering him a measure of relief. At least it didn’t appear she’d be tarring and feathering him.

“Look,” he finally said, pulling a thick envelope from his pocket, “I’ll put you up at Emma’s. You can stay as long as you care to, after which I’ve provided you with enough money to go back East to your friends and family.” He dropped the envelope on the table under her flawlessly formed nose.

She pushed the envelope back at him. “I have very few friends and family back East,” she stated simply. “I’ll stay on here, find something to do, somewhere to work.”

“What?” How could he tactfully tell her she would never fit in? He measured his words with care. “By the look of you, you’ve never even seen a speck of dust before. This town is built on dirt.”

“I can handle dirt. I’m staying and I don’t want or need your money.”

No, he could see she didn’t need his money. But why she would want to stay when Little Hickman had nothing to offer a woman like her was beyond him.

He angled his face at her, then inched the envelope back in her direction. She promptly shoved it back. “Please, Mr. Broughton, I believe God sent me to this town, if not for the purpose of marrying you, then for something else far greater, and I shan’t go back on that conviction. Now, if you’ll be so kind, could you carry in my trunk?”

***

At close of day, Liza scanned her quiet, vacant classroom, the last of her students having rushed out the door just fifteen minutes ago. Everything was in its place, papers picked up, books neatly stacked.

The Christmas play had helped to take Lili’s mind off the incident she’d witnessed on the street, her father with the beautiful stranger, as she read her lines with rapt enthusiasm. “What manner of salutation is this, O angel?”

And when the angel Gabriel, played by none other than Rufus Baxter, told her with snickers that she was to bear a child, she solemnly replied, with great dramatic flair, “But how shall this be, seeing I know not a man?”

Gabriel, fighting to regain his composure, said, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon you, and you shall bear a—a child, for with God nothing shall be impossible.”

Then a blushing Mary hastily replied, “Behold thy handmaid; be it unto me according to thy word.”

All the students clapped at the final curtain, tickled by their achievement, tickled further when Liza surprised them with homemade cider and cookies. If her heart hadn’t weighed so uncommonly heavy, Liza might have been more apt to join in the excitement, but as it was, she’d had to paste a smile on her face the entire time.

Just as Liza pushed her chair up to her desk and stepped off the tiny platform to head for the coat closet, the door blew open, and in its wake stood Clement Bartel.

“Clement!” Her heart went into immediate double-time, pumping out a pace that made her feel like fainting. His figure so shocked her that at first she stood frozen in place, unable even to think rationally. But the slammed door, along with his fiery eyes and hard-faced expression, snapped her back to attention.

“You are not to come anywhere near me, Clement Bartel. You’ve been banned from school property,” she said, stepping backward.

He laughed, the malicious sound chilling her as he eased forward. Without forethought, she made a mad dash for the back door, figuring if she moved fast enough she could make it to safety.

But her hopes all shattered when he seized her just before she touched the doorknob and dragged her painfully by the hair across the room, tossing her like a rag doll into a chair. “Sit there, witch!” he roared.

With little consideration for the consequences, she released a bloodcurdling scream, to which he rewarded her with a slap across her stitched jaw.

Untold pain wreaked havoc with her senses as she felt fresh blood make a pathway down her face. A tingling sensation came over her with the shock of it, made tears gush without warning and her eyes go blurry.

“Ha! Blood, just the result I was looking for.” He lurked over her, madness in his eyes. “Got me a rope, see?” He withdrew a ball of twine from his hip pocket and stuck it under her nose.

Amidst the excruciating pain, she knew the importance of maintaining a measure of calm if she was to come out of this alive. “I thought you ran away,” she managed, her throat tight and painful.

“That’s a laugh. These hills are filled with caves. I’d know ’em with my eyes closed. Fool sheriff thought he had me figgered out. I even overheard ’im tell a group o’ other idiots that even one as stupid as Clement Bartel wouldn’t stick around these parts.” Clement cursed. She lifted her hands to her ears to blot out the evil words.

“Stick yer hands out,” he ordered hoarsely, showing her the twine.

“Clement, don’t do this,” she said, even as she extended her hands, anything to avoid another blow to her face. When he began to wrap her hands with the twine, she felt a twinge of pity for the boy. “God loves you, Clement. You don’t have to prove yourself to Him or anyone. He wants to come into your heart and…”

Another bluster of rage made him strike her in the mouth, knocking her sideways, threatening to land her on the floor were it not for Clement’s yanking her back into place. “Shut up! Ain’t no God in these parts.”

Indescribable pain shot through her face as she felt blood trickle from a split lip. “Dear Father in heaven, please…”

“Shut up, I tell you!” he bellowed, bending down until his face came even with hers. At least he didn’t strike her, and she counted that a blessing.

“Please keep me safe, dear Father, and help Clement…”

The school door flew open, hitting the wall and bouncing back. Rufus Baxter stood in the entryway, feet apart, hands at his sides.

“Rufe, you’re just the man I was lookin’ fer,” Clement said, turning with nonchalance. “Come lend me a hand.”

Rufus walked inside, giving a wary eye to Liza, who by now could barely make him out due to her mounting wooziness.

“You okay, Miss Merriwether?” he asked. “I came back for my lunch pail.”

“Rufus, you must leave immediately. Go!” she issued, hoping he wouldn’t try to involve himself. Clement would think no more of killing him than he would of crushing an ant beneath his boot.