Miss Lizzy's Legacy (5 page)

“Why the tears?”

The question made fresh ones well in her eyes. Grimacing, she balled the handkerchief in her fist. “I'm just tired, is all. I didn't sleep well last night.” As soon as the words were out, she regretted them, knowing that with his ego, Judd would naturally assume thoughts of him were what kept her awake. Biting her lower lip, she glanced away.

Judd hadn't slept well, either, but he wouldn't tell her that. He didn't trust this woman any farther than he could throw her, but he couldn't deny the fact that she had aroused a craving in him that he'd kept under harness for the better part of a year. Just his luck to be tempted by another lying wench.

Because he wasn't willing to confess to his own lack of sleep or the reason for it, he thought it only fair to ease her embarrassment. “Always had trouble sleeping in a strange bed, myself.”

If she heard him, she didn't acknowledge it, for she continued to ignore him, staring off in the distance. She looked so pitiful, kneeling there in the dirt, looking so forlorn and lost that Judd was tempted to comfort her. He quickly squelched the urge. He didn't need this headache.

Sighing, he pushed against his knees to stand above her. “Sorry if Baby made a nuisance of himself.” He shuffled his feet, not sure what else to say, but feeling something more was needed. “If you want to verify that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Mary Elizabeth Bodean are one and the same, you can check the records over at the Logan County Courthouse.”

“I intend to.”

Her acidic tone made him wish he'd kept the helpful advice to himself. The woman had an attitude and seemed determined to take her hostilities out on him.

“Come on, Baby,” he said, slapping a hand to his thigh. “Let's go home.” He turned away, vowing that they'd be churning ice cream in hell before he offered any more help to Callie Benson.

“H
ere it is!” The court clerk spun the heavy ledger toward Callie and pointed to an entry dated August 1, 1891. Callie's heart sank as she read the entry the woman indicated. Throughout the trip from the cemetery to the Logan County Courthouse she'd held on to the thread of hope that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Mary Elizabeth Bodean were two different women. But the proof was there before her eyes: “Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Jedidiah Bodean, wed on August 1, 1891.” The words were blurred on the yellowed page, but legible, and they forced her to accept the truth.

Mary Elizabeth Sawyer hadn't died in childbirth as her great-grandfather had been led to believe. She'd married Jedidiah Bodean, and—if the information on the tombstone was accurate—had lived to the ripe old age of sixty-seven.

Then why had Papa, as an infant, been returned to Boston to be raised by his grandparents? she wondered. And why had he been told his mother had died? The answer was obvious and had Callie sinking into a chair, her knees no longer able to support her.

His mother hadn't wanted him. And now it was up to Callie to tell Papa that the mother whose death he'd blamed himself for all these long years hadn't died as a result of his birth. The truth was, she hadn't cared enough about her son to keep him. Anger burned through Callie for the injustice to her great-grandfather.

“Ma'am? Are you all right?”

Callie lifted her head. “Y-y-yes,” she stammered as she slowly rose. “I'm fine.” She raked her fingers through her hair, but her thoughts weren't as easily gathered as the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. She looked up at the clerk. “I need to find out more about these people. By any chance, have you ever heard of them or a family of that name?”

The woman offered an apologetic smile. “No, I'm sorry. I'm not originally from Guthrie. My husband and I moved here two years ago.” Her smile brightened. “But I know someone who might be able to help. No one knows more about Guthrie than—”

Callie feared she knew what was coming, because the description so resembled the one Frank had given the night before. “Judd Barker,” she said, finishing the sentence for the clerk, her shoulders sagging.

“Him, too,” the woman said, tipping her head in acknowledgement. “But I was going to suggest you talk to Molly Barker, Judd's mother. She used to teach Oklahoma history over at the high school, but she's retired now. Spends most of her time doing volunteer work for the historical society.”

Though she wasn't sure she wanted to talk to Judd Barker's mother, or even what she'd ask if she did decide to, Callie dutifully jotted down the location of the historical society headquarters, then gestured toward the ledger. “Would it be possible for me to get a copy of this document?”

The woman picked up the large volume. “Certainly. It'll only take a minute.”

Callie waited, curling her fingers against the chair's back, wishing like hell she'd never heard of Guthrie, Oklahoma. She'd have been a lot better off staying in Dallas, dealing with Stephen face-to-face and leaving Papa's memories of his mother intact.

* * *

Callie opened the door of the Harvey Olds House Museum where she'd been told she would locate Mrs. Barker, to find a woman dressed in a period costume standing at the end of a short hall.

“Mrs. Barker?”

The woman turned, pulling off her glasses. “Yes?”

Callie extended her hand. “I'm Callie Benson. A clerk at the courthouse thought you might be able to help me. I'm trying to trace some of my family.”

The woman's smile was genuine and warm as she took Callie's hand in greeting. “I'd be happy to assist in any way I can.” She waved Callie into the parlor toward an antique settee while she took the rocker opposite it. “Callie Benson,” she replied thoughtfully, settling her skirt and petticoats around her. She tapped the earpiece of her glasses against her lower lip as she studied Callie. “Your name is awfully familiar. Were you one of my students?”

Callie smiled patiently. “No, I'm a visitor to Guthrie.”

The woman blew out a relieved breath, sending wisps of grey hair that had escaped her bun, flying. “Thank goodness. I didn't think my memory had faded that badly.” She put the toe of a high-topped shoe to the floor, settled her hands on the chair's curved arms and gently started the chair rocking. “So, how can I be of assistance?”

“Well, I'm not sure,” Callie replied hesitantly. “I'm trying to locate information about Jedidiah and Mary Elizabeth Bodean. Have you heard of them?”

“The Bodeans!” she parroted. “Lands, yes! One of Guthrie's first families. Jedidiah made the run in 1889 and claimed himself some prime real estate in what is now downtown Guthrie. You see, because of the law's governing townships in the new territory, Guthrie at that time was divided into four sections: Capital Hill, West Guthrie, Guthrie Proper and East Guthrie.” She batted a hand, chuckling, and sent the chair rocking again. “But you didn't come here for a history lesson, did you, dear?”

“Oh, no, please. It's fascinating.”

“Yes, it is. But, then, I love history. But you wanted to know about the Bodeans. Now, what exactly can I tell you about them?”

“Everything. I wasn't even aware Mary Elizabeth had married until I saw the tombstone.”

“My, yes, she married. Such a romantic tale. As the story goes, Jedidiah courted Miss Sawyer for over a year before she agreed to marry him. Jedidiah was a bit of a rake. Had his hands in all kinds of businesses, a few of which some of the townspeople didn't approve,” she added, arching a knowing brow at Callie. “There was also another complication. You see, Miss Sawyer believed she was in love with someone else, then along came Jedidiah and swept her off her feet.” She tipped back her head and laughed merrily. “Although I'm quite sure Jedidiah wouldn't agree with the term ‘swept,' being as it took him over a year to convince her to marry him.”

“Did they have children?”

“No.” She shook her head sadly. “Not together, anyway. Elizabeth had a child before they married, but the child died at birth. Times were hard then. No doctors or hospitals to speak of. Usually women helping women through the births.” She knitted her forehead in concern and leaned toward Callie. “Did I say something to upset you, dear?”

Callie scraped the heels of her hands across her cheeks to swipe at the hot tears. She tried to smile, but couldn't. She was too damned mad. “No, it's nothing you said. It's just that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer's son, the one everyone insists died at birth, is my great-grandfather.”

Mrs. Barker reared back, her eyes wide. “Great-grandfather?” she repeated.

Callie dug in her purse and pulled out the faded paper on which Papa's birth was recorded. “This is his birth certificate,” she said as she passed the paper to Molly. “Contrary to popular belief, William Leighton Sawyer is very much alive and lives in a nursing home in Dallas, Texas.”

Molly placed her reading glasses back on her nose and studied the document. “It looks real enough,” she murmured.

“I assure you,” Callie replied indignantly, “it is.”

Molly leaned to pat Callie on the knee. “I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to infer that you weren't honest. I just don't know what to make of all of this.”

“Nor do I.”

Molly passed the document back. “Makes a person wonder if there wasn't foul play of some sort.” She sighed. “I guess we'll never know.”

“Oh, yes we will.”

Molly raised a brow. “But that was over a hundred years ago. How will you ever unravel it all now?”

“I don't know, but I'm not going back to Dallas until I find out the truth.”

“That kind of research will take time,” Molly warned. “Can you be away from your family and your job that long?”

Stephen came to mind, if only briefly, but Callie quickly discarded the thought. “Family isn't a problem.” Her thoughts shifted to the statue she'd been commissioned to sculpt for the new women's wing at a hospital in Houston. The deadline for that silently ticked nearer—yet another point of stress in an already stressful life. “As far as my job goes, I do have a project I'm working on. But I can do that here as easily as at home, although I'll require more space than my room at the Harrison House offers.”

“If there is anything I can do to help, dear—”

“Perhaps you can,” Callie said, her mind already jumping ahead to everything she'd need to arrange. “I need to lease a place to work. At least for the month. Nothing fancy. Just lots of room and light. Do you know of anything available?”

Molly pursed her lips as she reflected on the question. “I don't know if it would suit your needs, but I own a building just a couple of blocks from the Harrison House. The upstairs is vacant and has been for years.” She lifted her wrist to glance at her watch. “I won't be through here until after four o'clock. If you'd like to meet me, I could show you the place. Then you can decide for yourself.”

The front door slammed and both women turned to find Judd standing in the entry. “Decide, what?” he asked as he crossed the narrow distance to the parlor.

Callie's stomach muscles tensed at the sight of him while a smile bloomed on Molly's face. “Come and meet Callie Benson. Callie, this is my son, Judd Barker.”

Judd stopped beside his mother's chair and frowned at Callie, still feeling the sting of her sharp tongue. “We've met.”

“You have?” Molly asked, her gaze shifting from one unsmiling face to another.

“Yeah, at the Blue Bell.”

“Did she mention she's a descendant of the Bodeans?”

Judd's lips twisted in derision as he looked down at Callie. “Oh, so now you're claiming kin to the Bodeans, huh?”

Indignant, Callie rose to her feet, stuffing the birth certificate back in her purse. “Not the Bodeans. Mary Elizabeth Sawyer.”

Molly flapped a hand. “My fault, dear. This is just all so confusing.”

Callie tore her gaze from Judd's to offer Molly a tight smile. “That's quite all right. I'm having a rather difficult time absorbing it all myself.”

Judd's snort didn't escape Callie's or his mother's notice.

Callie chose to ignore him and hitched her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “I really should be going. Thank you for visiting with me, Mrs. Barker.”

Molly rose as well. “Molly, dear. Call me Molly. Everyone does. And it was my pleasure.” She walked with Callie to the door. “Why don't we plan to meet at the Blue Bell Saloon at five this afternoon? That way if I'm running a bit late, you won't have to wait out in the weather.”

Though she would rather meet anywhere but the Blue Bell for fear of running into Judd again, Callie bit her tongue. After all, he was the woman's son. It wouldn't do to offend her after she'd been so helpful. “That'll be fine. Thanks, Molly.”

As soon as Molly closed the door behind Callie, she turned to face her son, her lips pressed tightly together. The look she wore warned Judd that if he was thirteen instead of thirty, she'd probably give his ear a good hard twist.

“And what was that all about?” she demanded to know. “I taught you better manners than that.”

Judd flopped down on the settee and threw a leg up, sinking a boot into the velvet upholstery. He pulled his hat over his eyes. “She's a reporter, Mom.”

“Callie?” When his hat moved in a nod, her lips thinned and she gave his boot a shove. His heel hit the floor at the same moment her hand whacked the hat off his head. “When you're in my house, the hat's off.”

Judd bit back a smile as he looked up at her. “This isn't your house.”

She pursed her lips in a frown. “Yours, either, but that isn't the point. How do you know she's a reporter?”

“Don't for a fact, but her back seat is full of cameras.”

“Is that right?” Molly replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “And just because she has a few cameras you automatically assume she's a reporter?”

“That and the fact that she lied about why she's in Guthrie.”

“Lied! She's here to trace some of her family. She told me so herself.”

Judd snorted. “Mom, you know as well as I do that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer only had one child and that child died at birth. Callie Benson made up this cock-and-bull story about tracing some of her family to hang around town long enough to get a story about me. She just chose the wrong family to claim as kin is all.”

Molly sagged down onto the rocker, knotting her fingers into her skirt's fabric. She was torn between knocking some sense in her son's head and gathering him up, big as he was, in her lap for a cuddle. But she knew comfort wasn't what he needed. He needed a shove, a good, hard shove to get him headed in the right direction. “When are you going to quit looking over your shoulder and live like a normal human being?”

“There's nothing wrong with the way I live.”

“Not if you consider spending all your time with a dog normal.”

“Baby would take offense at that.”

“If Baby could talk, he'd tell you to quit hiding.”

The conversation was old ground and Judd wasn't in the mood to travel it again. He rose to his feet, scooped his hat off the floor and shoved it back on his head. “I'm not hiding,” he said tersely. “I came home is all, where I thought I could find a little peace.” He strode to the door. “Thanks to Miss Callie Benson, it doesn't look like I'll be getting any of that.”

He slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall. Molly's heart twisted as only a mother's can as she watched him stride down the sidewalk. “Oh, Judd,” she murmured sadly. “When are you going to climb out of that hole you've dug for yourself?”

* * *

Callie hurried to keep up with Judd's long stride. “I thought your mother was going to meet me.”