Spirit of the Valley (11 page)

She looked taken aback. “No. I wanted to say thank you for . . . coming and offering your help.”

It was his turn to feel speechless. “I'm glad to do it.”

“I know this is unusual,” she said breathily. “You may think me terrible for asking.”

“I won't,” he said quickly.

“It's just that I've been dead in a lot of ways for a long time now,” she said quietly. “I think . . .” Her gaze dropped to his lips. “I'd like to remember, or maybe to know, what a kiss feels like.”

A
kiss
? He wondered if he really knew how to kiss. He'd bedded a lot of women, but a kiss? And she wanted to know what it felt like from him? “I'm not sure I'm any good at it,” he admitted.

She shrugged delicately and he felt moved, almost shaken by her vulnerability. He leaned forward slowly and pressed a kiss to her lips. Her lips were soft and warm, a perfect fit for his. So this was how a kiss was supposed to feel. He hadn't known it was so sweet a thing. He pulled back slightly. “I think that's how it's done,” he said softly.

“I like it,” she whispered.

“I liked it, too.” She rose gracefully and started from the room. She turned back to him briefly at the door, and she was so beautiful, she stole his breath.

“Good night,” she said.

“'Night,” he echoed. He stared at the door long after she'd shut it. He could still smell her soft scent and feel her presence. It was good. It was so much better than being alone.

 

 

Lizzie walked back to her room, stunned by the boldness she'd just exhibited. It was so completely unlike her.
No
, it was unlike Pauline—she needed to stop dwelling on the person she'd been in another life. And it
had
been another life.

She slipped off her robe, turned out the lamp, and got into bed, reliving the kiss. How peculiar that the simple touching of lips could cause so many sensations and reactions. How peculiar too, that a man was sleeping just down the hall. A man she didn't even know. Was it utterly irresponsible?

She stared at the ceiling, recalling every word that had been spoken. If her instincts could be trusted, she liked him and believed him. She trusted him. Good Lord, she'd gone to his room in a state of near undress and kissed him. A shivery thrill passed through her and she rolled onto her side and curled up.

Chapter Fourteen

Lizzie opened her eyes at the sound of the rooster crowing and reveled in the feeling of having slept well. She remembered the kiss and exhaled slowly, fighting a wave of excitement that made her stomach tighten. She sat up and it occurred to her how remarkable it was to feel so awake, so present. Poor Pauline had suffered from insomnia, but not Lizzie. Being Lizzie was better all the way around.

She washed and dressed and went to make breakfast. It was a surprise to see the fire already going. So was the fire in the stove. At the sound of a thump overhead, she realized Jeremy was already working, despite a persistent light rain.

Rebecca and Jake appeared in their nightclothes and ate a breakfast of fried eggs and toasted sourdough bread with butter and jam.

“Is it ever going to stop raining?” Rebecca complained.

“Probably not,” Lizzie replied breezily. “It will rain from now on. Every day, every minute.”

Jake giggled.

“Very funny,” Rebecca said grumpily.

“Can we make gingerbread men today?” Jake asked. “We made gingerbread men last time it rained.”

It had rained many, many times since the long-ago afternoon they'd made gingerbread men. It was funny what a child's mind clung to. “Not today,” Lizzie said. “I don't have the right ingredients and we're going to go to church with Cessie. Remember?”

“Can we get the ingredients sometime?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes, we can. I look forward to baking. In fact, I hope to sell my baked goods in town. What do you think of that?”

Rebecca nodded thoughtfully. “I think it's a good idea.” A second later, hammering on the roof made her look up and frown.

“I'm going to start a list of everything I need,” Lizzie said. “If you'll please let me use some paper and a pencil.”

Jake hopped up. “I'll get it.”

“Finish your breakfast first.”

“I am finished,” he said as he dashed off.

“I'm finished, too,” Rebecca said.

“Then get dressed and feed the chickens.”

“I know,” Rebecca replied testily. She got up and carried her plate and cup to the sink, sulking the entire way. Lizzie watched, disturbed by how greatly her daughter disliked Jeremy simply because he was a man, because Rebecca distrusted all men. Perhaps that distrust could be turned around in time, but what if it couldn't?

What she should have done was to find a way to escape after the first time Ethan had raised his hand to her. Rebecca had been an infant at the time. Had she left him then, Rebecca would have grown up not knowing how cruel a man could be. Of course, Jake wouldn't be here.

Lizzie got up from the table, put on her coat, and went outside. She walked around front and backed away from the house until she could see Jeremy on the roof. At least, she could see his dark coat and hat. “Mr. Sheffield?”

He looked up and took the nails from between his lips. “Thought we talked about that.”

He was so handsome, the sight of him made her feel shy and self-conscious. How had she ever worked up the nerve to go to his room? “Breakfast is ready.”

He nodded. “I'll come down.”

As she went back inside, she was painfully aware of the pounding of her heart. When Jeremy came in, his male presence filled the room, and it was surprising how much she liked it. His company was so utterly different from Ethan's. “You got started early,” she remarked as she poured him a cup of hot coffee.

“Always do.” He took off his gloves, hat, and coat and accepted the cup of coffee. “Thanks. It smells good.”

“Sugar and milk are on the table,” she reminded him.

“I take it black.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Any way. I'm not particular.”

She fried eggs and then carried the plate to him.

“Thank you,” he said.

She smiled and went to get herself a cup of coffee.

“I see you're making a grocery list,” he commented.

She came back to her place and sat, glancing over the list she'd begun. Sugars, flour, baking powder, cinnamon, ginger, cream of tartar, milk, cream, and butter. “I have a plan to bake things and sell them in town,” she said.

“That's a good idea.”

She looked up and studied him a moment. “Do you really think so?”

“I do. I haven't tasted anything like this,” he said, hefting a piece of bread. “I'd buy it every day.”

It was pleasing to hear. Other than leaving Indiana, she'd never made a decision or taken action on her own. The thought of generating an income, of acquiring true independence, was thrilling. “I'm glad you think so.” She paused. “We're going to church soon and Cessie mentioned staying for lunch, so I thought I'd put the stew in the oven for whenever you want it.”

“Sounds good.”

“We may not return until midafternoon. Do you think you'll be here when we get back?” she asked, purposely looking down at the list.

“I'll be here until dark. Or after. I mean, I could—”

She nodded rapidly and blushed hotly as she experienced the feeling again. The squeezy feeling in her stomach. She concentrated on breathing normally.
“Mm-hmm.”

“All right, then,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen

The air was cooler but the weather had cleared before Lizzie and the children started for Cessie and April May's, and it was a pleasant walk along the fragrant, wooded path. Leaves, most still dark green but some beginning to change color, sparkled with raindrops. When they came upon the farmyard, they saw April May hauling a wheelbarrow out to the mules at the same moment the scent of baking ham assailed their senses from the house.

“Can we go see the donkeys?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes, but don't be long,” Lizzie replied. “Cessie may be ready to leave.”

The children ran off and Lizzie continued to the house. She knocked lightly as she stepped into the side door to the kitchen to see Cessie removing a pie from the oven. The scent of baked apples filled the house. “'Morning,” she said.

“Good morning,” Cessie said as she set the pie next to another. She looked at Lizzie. “Oh, honey. Don't you look pretty!”

Lizzie's dress was a floral print and one of only three decent dresses that she owned. “Thank you. So do you.”

Cessie quickly removed her apron. “The children out back?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“They're about as taken with the mules as with Sister, and I fear one's about as good an influence as the other.”

Lizzie laughed. “It smells so good in here,” she said as she came farther in.

“There's not much that smells better than a baked ham,” Cessie said as she pulled off a lid to stir the contents of a pot. “Unless maybe it's apple pie.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, it's done. I'll just leave everything in the oven to keep warm until we get home. You want a piece of sugared crust?”

Lizzie saw the plate Cessie had no doubt prepared for the children. She'd rolled out the bit of pie dough not used in the crust and cut fanciful shapes, then sugared and baked them. Lizzie selected a piece and tried it.
“Mmm,”
she murmured.

“You look . . . happy this morning,” Cessie commented. “I was going to say bright eyed and bushy tailed, but it's more than that. You look happy.”

April May walked in with her purposeful step, followed by the children. “I imagine she is,” April May said slyly.

Cessie looked from April May to Lizzie, as Lizzie looked from April May to Rebecca, who looked decidedly guilty.

“I'm thinking I might just go to church myself,” April May stated. “Give me two minutes to change my clothes.”

“You're going to church,” Cessie repeated in astonishment.

“Why not? It's an awful pretty morning and I have a feeling there might be some interesting conversation on the way.”

Cessie gave her a look. “Oh, now that's a good reason to go.”

“Aren't you always trying to get me to go?”

“Yes, but for the right reasons.”

April May shrugged. “You know what they say. The Lord works in mysterious ways,” she said as she walked off. “Don't you have something to give the children?”

“Yes, I do,” Cessie said to the children. “Follow me.”

Lizzie watched everyone exit and then went out to the front porch. Obviously, Rebecca had mentioned Jeremy—which she'd been planning to do herself. Not that she'd worked out exactly what she was going to say. She sat on the porch swing, knowing it was time she figured it out.

Rebecca rushed out to her with a rag doll, all guilt replaced by pure excitement. “Mama, look.” The rather shapeless doll she held had a painted-on face and yellow hair. “And look,” Rebecca exclaimed, tipping the doll over. The doll's skirt flipped down, revealing another figure on the opposite end, a smiling Aunt Jemima figure. “I named
her
Polly and”—she flipped back to the yellow-haired doll—“her, Daisy. Because her hair reminds me of daisies.”

“Or daffodils,” April May suggested as she stepped outside, having put on a skirt instead of her dungarees.

Rebecca made a face. “I never heard the name Daffodil.”

“Don't mean you cain't use it. I kind of think she looks like a daffodil.”

Rebecca studied the doll's face. “I'll think about it.” She looked up at her mother. “Jake got a present, too. A zoetrope. Although Cessie said we could share both, if we wanted, and the zoetrope is like magic, Mama. Wait till you see it.” Rebecca hugged the doll to her as she ran back inside.

April May waggled her eyesbrows at Lizzie. “Mr. Sheffield, huh?”

“All right,” Cessie called. “Let's go.”

Lizzie quickly started toward the wagon, which was already hitched. “You heard the lady. It's time to go.”

“Uh-huh,” April May said as she followed.

 

 

The children rode in the back of the wagon, happily playing with their toys, while Lizzie sat between April May, who was driving, and Cessie. She'd told them about Jeremy—most of it, anyway. She'd explained that he'd shown up and offered to help after T. Emmett Rice had mentioned the state of the cottage.

“Out of the sheer goodness of his heart, huh?” April May asked.

“I'll fix him meals and send him home with food.”

“Well, I'm tickled to hear it,” Cessie said. “This will be good for him. Bless his heart.”

Lizzie looked at her curiously.

“He's had a hard time of it,” Cessie explained. “He had a wonderful family once, and then his younger sister, Jenny, drowned when she was just at the bloom of womanhood. I guess she was sixteen?”

April May nodded.

“She was a sweet girl,” Cessie continued. “You don't think someone like that is going to be snatched away so suddenly, and it was a strange accident. It destroyed that family. Jeremy's mama took it so hard,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “So hard. I think the shock made her sick and she was gone not even a year after. The poor father. He was trying his best, but we had a serious drought two or three years running. With the death of his daughter and then his wife, and the drought ruining crops, he started drinking. The talk was, he'd taken out a loan when the crops first failed and then . . . well, he just couldn't recuperate.”

“Jeremy tried to hold everything together,” April May said in an uncharacteristically solemn tone.

Cessie glanced behind to make sure the children weren't listening. “But Rodney, Jeremy's daddy, hanged himself,” she whispered.

Lizzie felt sick.

“After that,” April May said, “Jeremy wasn't the same. He took it so hard. Withdrew. Went to work in the mines—the worst mining operation, at that. Number Six.” She shook her head. “Ought to be called six sixty-six, and that's not just my opinion; everyone says so. Hell, I been in there myself.”

“Sister,” Cessie scolded. “Language. And on a Sunday when the children can hear you.”

“I beg everyone's pardon,” April May said loudly. “You too, God.”

Rebecca giggled and Cessie shook her head and sighed in exasperation. “I think it seems like a mighty good step,” Cessie said a moment later. “That he's willing to reach out and help you and the children. It'll be good for him.”

“I hope so,” Lizzie said quietly. “I like him.”

“I like him, too,” April May said. “Always have. Just out of curiosity, what' cha know about coal mines?”

“Nothing, really. He said it was dark and cold.”

“That's an understatement,” April May said wryly.

“Sister goes down there sometimes to rescue the mules they can't do anything with. They call her the mule lady.”

“Dark and cold doesn't even begin to tell the story,” April May said with a grim shake of her head.

 

 

The church service was short and the choir was wonderful, both of which Lizzie appreciated. They were walking out when she was tapped on the shoulder, and turned to see Fiona.

“'Member me? Fiona Jones.”

“Yes, of course. The boarding house.”

“Hello, Fiona, dear,” Cessie said, patting her arm as she walked by. Jake held Cessie's hand and Rebecca followed, still holding her doll. April May had exited early and was chatting with someone in the courtyard.

“Hey, Cessie.” Fiona grinned at Lizzie when Cessie and the children had walked on. “She looks like the grandmother she always should have been.”

“They're wonderful. I'm so grateful you sent us that way.”

“Funny how things work out. Hey, listen, I was wondering if you want to head out to the Martin farm with me next week and visit my friend Em Medlin. You'll like her. In fact, you kind of remind me of her. Might be a nice diversion from working on the cottage.”

So, everyone in town knew she was installed in the cottage. My, but it
was
a small town.

“The kids can go too, of course. We'll have lunch and spend a few hours visiting, jaw jacking. My aunt Doll lives there, too. It's always a real nice time.”

“I'd like that,” Lizzie replied enthusiastically. Ethan had kept her cut off from other people, but she was in control now, and it would be wonderful having a friend or two.

“We shoot for Tuesday if it's not raining. Start about ten thirty? That sound good?”

Lizzie nodded. “Yes. Can I bring something?”

“Oh Lord, no. Bring food into Doll's kitchen? She cooks for the outfit.”

“C'mon, Fiona,” a man said as he approached with a fussy two-year-old. “Let's get.”

“That's my husband, Wayne, and our fusspot, who is needing a nap in a big way. I'll see you Tuesday,” she said with a gentle squeeze to Lizzie's arm. “I'll pick you up.”

Lizzie nodded again and Fiona followed after her husband and son, greeting others as she went. Lizzie followed too, returning the smiles and nods of those who watched with unabashed interest. She saw no hostility or even reserve; it was more avid curiosity and perhaps even a little shame.
You should feel shame
, she thought,
if you treated Papa poorly.
It took a moment to realize that she felt indignant on behalf of a man she'd never even met, and then it occurred to her how much Lionel would have enjoyed that.