The Preacher’s Daughter

by Cheryl St. John

  “I’m sure what you already have is serviceable,” she replied.

  “But we should have new for our new life together.”

  Her eyes shone with interest and surprise. “All right, then. Let’s look.”

  They scoured the pages for colors and fabrics and selected rugs for the parlor and bedroom. They ordered bolts of fabric for curtains to coordinate.

  “How long will these take?” Ben asked Hazel Paulson who ran the store.

  “They come from the factories by rail and usually don’t take no more’n a week or two,” she replied.

  “Is there someone who can come measure windows and make the drapes for us?”

  “You’re in luck. My daughter Beverly is the best drapery maker in town. Her place is ’round the corner.”

  “There’s been nothing in that front hall since I’ve had the house,” he thought aloud to Lorabeth. “Let’s choose a hall rack. Maybe one with a mirror.”

  Instead of a huge piece, they both liked a golden oak hall seat with storage inside and a separate matching mirror with hooks for coats and hats.

  “Our first purchase,” he told her with satisfaction. “Now. Let’s select a bedroom suite.”

  “Benjamin, is that a wise expense? Don’t you have a bed and chests of drawers?”

  “All hand-me-downs,” he replied. “Not good enough for our new life. Let’s see how expensive they are.” He flipped through the pages of a catalog, past tables and desks and bookcases until he found iron bed frames and on the next page found sets. “Look at this one,” he said, pointing to the full-page depiction entitled, High-Grade Bedroom Suite with Ornate Hand Carvings.

  “I don’t even think I could sleep in a bed that costs that much,” she whispered.

  “It’s not that much,” he told her. “I earn that from nearly every rancher in the spring when I do inoculations and exams.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re rich?”

  “I guess to some people I’m rich. We’re rich,” he corrected. His ability to afford a home and all they needed was a far cry from his humble beginnings. “How about this one, then? See here, it says exceptional value.”

  “Three hundred and ten pounds,” she read over his shoulder. “How much will it cost to ship?”

  He turned to look at her.

  She gave him a hesitant smile. “A good wife is frugal.”

  “I’m thankful that you’ll be lookin’ after our household, then. You’ll do a good job. Isn’t frugal also buyin’ good quality and makin’ the best deal possible? We’re not spendin’ money foolishly here. I want to provide these things, Lorabeth. It’s why I worked hard in school and sacrificed to start my business. So I never had to be poor.”

  “In that case,” she said, “I’ve always admired Ellie’s armoire.”

  Ben smiled. “Well then, that’ll be my wedding gift to you.”

  They were among the early diners at the Arcade that evening. The wood-paneled walls, elegant chandeliers and white linens caught Lorabeth’s attention immediately. Gleaming silver coffee urns lined one wall, and girls in immaculate black dresses and crisp white aprons bustled about with trays.

  A man in a black suit led the way to a table, and one of the girls handed them menus. The table was set with sweating glasses of ice water and pressed napkins. Lorabeth studied the menu in awe. She had no idea what a blue point was, but it came served on a shell. She read the list: filets of whitefish with madeira sauce; young capon; roast sirloin of beef au jus; pork with applesauce; stuffed turkey; salmi of duck; prairie chicken with currant jelly; sugar-cured ham; pickled lamb’s tongue; and lobster salad au mayonnaise.

  She raised her gaze to Benjamin’s. “They have all this food ready to bring us?”

  He nodded. “Pretty incredible, isn’t it?”

  “Where do they get all this?”

  “Fred Harvey pays his chefs more than anyone else in his employ. I hear some of ’em are from France. Food arrives fresh every day by train.”

  “Have you ever eaten lobster?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Had it once when Caleb brought us here for Ellie’s birthday.”

  “Pickled lamb’s tongue?”

  He shook his head and grimaced.

  “So the fish is fresh from the coast? That’s what I’m having. I’ve only eaten catfish and trout.”

  The waitress took their orders and brought them coffee. After she’d moved to another table, Lorabeth said, “Everything is so elegant. It’s all just perfect.”

  “All the Harvey Houses along the Sante Fe are set up the same. All staffed with attractive young woman like these.”

  “You’ve eaten in more than one?”

  He nodded. “A couple along the railroad. One right in Florence.”

  “Sometimes I think I’m going to wake up and all this will have been a dream.” She folded her hands on the edge of the table. “It’s almost too good to be true. You’re almost too good to be true.”

  “I’m not that special,” he answered.

  “You are to me.”

  “I find that too good to be true.” He winked.

  She smiled, and he placed his hand on top of hers.

  Movement caught his eye and he noticed the waiter leading a family to a table on the other side of the room. He immediately recognized the man’s hair and wide shoulders. All the heartwarming confidence the afternoon had generated evaporated as the Evans family took seats around a table.

  Ben looked away sharply. He tried to push Wesley Evans out of his thoughts so he could get on with his life, but fate kept throwing the man and his whole stinkin’ family in his face.

  Part of the rage he’d directed toward the world for so much of his younger days surfaced, and being so angry scared the hell out of him. Men were capable of terrible things when they were angry or drunk, and Ben never got drunk.

  He studied Lorabeth’s serene countenance as she admired their surroundings. The same peace she possessed was his desire. She was perfect for him in so many ways. He relaxed somewhat just looking at her. Her calming influence would always be a balm to his spirit.

  Tell her. Get it out. Secrets are destructive and you’ll lose her trust. The voice in his head wouldn’t be silenced, and the clincher was, Ben knew his conscience was right.

  The waitress served their food. Lorabeth tasted her fish and her lashes drifted down over her incredible eyes. She opened them and Ben read her delight. “I’ve never tasted anything like this,” she said.

  Ben cut a slice of his ham. He had to tell her about Evans. He’d told her father, thinking that had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. This would be worse. This woman he held in such high esteem would know his sordid secrets.

  He worked at making the most of their meal time together, refusing to look over and be tortured by Wes Evans eating with his perfect little family.

  The waitress offered them dessert, and Ben was hoping to leave, but Lorabeth’s eyes lit up at the mention of cheesecake. He realized in that moment that it was a good thing she was an unselfish and sensible woman, because he doubted he’d ever be able to say no to her.

  Once it arrived, she offered him a bite, and he leaned to accept the morsel from her fork. She gave him a bashful smile and a flush rose in her cheeks.

  Ben made up his mind not to be run off, and they sipped coffee until Lorabeth was ready to leave.

  He paid, leaving the waitress a generous tip, and helped Lorabeth into her coat.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said as they left the Arcade.

  “What about?”

  He stopped and turned to her. The wind had picked up since that afternoon and a brisk chill swept around their ankles. “Somewhere where we’ll be alone.”

  He led her to where they’d left the buggy, and drove to his house. Once inside, they hung their wraps, and Ben laid a fire. He stoked the range and pumped water for coffee. “I made a fool of myself showin’ your father the house,” he told her.

  Lorab
eth wandered the room as though taking better note of the layout. “You couldn’t have made too big a fool of yourself. He approved of you.”

  “He liked the range.”

  She cut him a glance.

  “It’s your kitchen now,” he told her.

  “I’m going to love everything about it. About the whole house, and…” She paused in her inspection of the room to study him. “I’m going to love everything about being your wife.”

  At those words new heat burst to life in Ben’s body. He busied himself getting down mugs.

  Lorabeth seated herself on one of the benches that flanked the long table. “What did you want to talk about?”

  He didn’t like his reactions. His childhood made him feel inadequate, and letting her see the inadequacy made him vulnerable. He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t want to be less in her eyes.

  He had to.

  “Ellie and I don’t talk much about where we came from,” he began. “How we grew up.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Some things are too painful to talk about.”

  Her lovely eyes held understanding. “Are you sure you want to now?”

  He nodded, then shook his head. “No. I don’t want to. But I have to. I have to tell you this so that it’s not between us.”

  Lorabeth was curious about the past and the family that Ellie and Benjamin had been evasive about. She would never have pried, but she was interested.

  Benjamin didn’t meet her eyes as he told her the circumstances of his birth, how he and Ellie and Flynn didn’t know who their fathers were because their mother had been a prostitute.

  Lorabeth absorbed that information and tried to process it. “Prostitutes are in the Bible. I just didn’t know any lived around here.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s an age-old profession for sure,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to be dense,” she told him, feeling completely ignorant. “I can’t even imagine what you’re saying.”

  “You’re not dense, Lorabeth. Decent young ladies don’t know about things like that, and that’s good.”

  “Does my father know?”

  “I told him.”

  “I see. Well, what your mother did can’t be held against you, Benjamin.”

  “What my mother did made me who I am today,” he argued.

  “No.” She reached to take his chin in her hand and turn his face so she could look him straight in the eye. “What you did with your life, going to school, attending college, coming to church, becoming a veterinarian—those are the things that made you who you are today.”

  “Hold those kind thoughts until you hear the rest,” he said.

  Lorabeth rested her arm on the table and leaned toward him. “There’s more?”

  Benjamin got up and strode across the kitchen and back, displaying his agitation. “There’s so much more, it would make your head hurt hearing it all. And you don’t need to hear it all. But you need to hear this.” He walked back to where she sat and stood beside her.

  Lorabeth had to look up.

  “The man who fathered me approached me a few weeks ago. His wife had seen me and suspected I was his son.” He went on to explain the events of the past several weeks.

  Lorabeth’s heart broke at the pain in the words he chose so carefully so as to disguise the hurt. She couldn’t even imagine the life of poverty and shame that was his childhood, but he had lived every moment of it. And now he knew that all the while he’d been struggling for existence, there had been a man out there—a father living a comfortable life. A father with a respectable wife and legitimate children he loved and for whom he provided while Benjamin and his siblings had gone hungry and cold. That knowledge had to be eating a hole in his heart.

  “It wasn’t fair to keep it from you,” he told her. “You should know what kind of man you’re marryin’.”

  “I know what kind of man I’m marrying.” She reached and took his hand. “You’re nothing like the woman who gave birth to you, Benjamin. You’re a good kind man. You take your responsibilities seriously.”

  She got up and moved to place her hand over his heart and looked up into his eyes. “More important, you have a pure heart and a lot of love to give.” They stood like that while the coffee perked on the stove, the aroma filling the warming room.

  Benjamin’s eyes closed and he dropped his forehead against hers. A moment later he hugged her close. Finally Lorabeth leaned away and asked, “Why did Wes come to see you? What did he say?”

  Ben released her and took a seat. “Didn’t really say anything.”

  “He came to see you, but didn’t have anything to say?”

  “I—well, I didn’t give ’im much of a chance.”

  She sat and covered his hand with hers. “What do you mean?”

  “I ordered him off my property. Said I didn’t want to talk.”

  “Maybe you should have listened, Benjamin. Maybe he wanted to apologize.”

  “He can’t make amends for my life.”

  “No, but he can ask your forgiveness. And even if he doesn’t ask, you can forgive him.”

  Benjamin pulled his hand away. “You don’t know what you’re askin’.”

  Lorabeth paused, unsure of how much to say or if she had the right, but his misery was so complete that anger and resentment had to be eating him up. She stayed seated while he poured coffee and set mugs on the table, then placed a sugar bowl between them and sat. She calmly spooned sugar and milk into her cup and stirred.

  “You’ve asked more than once about what the Bible says on different subjects,” she said.

  He sighed and pursed his lips as though he didn’t want to hear what was coming.

  “So I know you think it’s good advice.”

  He said nothing.

  “I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do, Benjamin, but I will tell you what the Bible says about forgiveness.”

  “Turn the other cheek?”

  “That if we want to be forgiven, we have to forgive.”

  He met her eyes then. She didn’t see any resentment, for which she was relieved. “You think I should talk to him.”

  “You didn’t let him talk, did you?” she answered.

  He raised a palm in a supplicating gesture. “He can’t explain away my childhood.”

  “No, he can’t. But you learned how the truth eats away inside and needs to come out. Maybe it’s the same for him.”

  “I don’t owe him anything.”

  “Forgiveness is a gift, Benjamin.”

  He studied her, his expressive blue eyes taking in her face and hair before softening. “I asked for this, didn’t I? Marryin’ a woman so kind and wise?”

  Their hands met on top of the table, his large and warm around hers.

  “Will you come with me?” Ben asked. “To talk to him?”

  “I’ll always be here for you,” she assured him.

  He believed her. He didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve someone so wholeheartedly good and kind and generous, but he was grateful. And he vowed he would never take her devotion lightly. He was going to be the man she deserved.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Benjamin visited the town hall to read the directory of Newton residents and businesses and discovered Wesley Evans’s home address.

  He told Ellie what he was going to do and gathered Lorabeth to accompany him the next evening. He drew the buggy before a modest home in the Third Ward.

  “Accordin’ to the dates recorded in the city directory,” he told Lorabeth, “he bought this place less than a year ago.”

  He helped her down and she took his hand as they approached the front door. Ben raised and lowered a brass knocker several times. Lorabeth squeezed his fingers. Her reaction to the truth about his mother still took him by surprise when he thought about it. Could she care for him so much that it didn’t matter? Or was it her nature to be forgiving of all?

  The door opened. One of the young girls he’d seen with Wes and Suzanne stood in t
he opening. Two platinum-blond braids hung over her shoulders. Her eyes were startling blue—like his own. “Can I help you?”

  “I’ve come to see your father.”

  “Come on in.” She opened the door wide and ushered them into a small hallway. “Have a seat in the parlor and I’ll go get Daddy.”

  Ben and Lorabeth entered the room she’d indicated. The furnishings were not new, but had been well cared for. Needlepoint pillows rested in every sofa and chair, and delicate lacy antimacassars were pinned to the backs.

  Solid footsteps along the wooden boards of the hallway alerted Ben to someone’s arrival.

  Wes Evans halted in the doorway, surprise evident on his face. He composed his expression. “Benjamin?”

  “Hope it’s okay I came like this.”

  “Of course.” Wes entered the room. “I’ll take your coats.”

  Ben helped Lorabeth out of hers and shrugged off his own. Wes left momentarily and returned. “Oh. Sorry. Sit down. I’m a little flustered.”

  Ben gestured for Lorabeth to be seated on the sofa and he perched beside her.

  “Is this your sister?” Wes asked.

  “No. This is Lorabeth Holdridge, my…fiancée.”

  Lorabeth offered her hand and Wes shook it before sitting down across from them. “Congratulations. To both of you.”

  “Thank you,” Lorabeth replied.

  “This is awkward for all of us,” Wes said.

  Ben nodded.

  Suzanne entered the room then. “I came to see if you and your guests would like—” She halted when she recognized Ben.

  “Join us,” Ben said, and she took a chair. He introduced Lorabeth. “Lorabeth thought I needed to come hear you out,” he began. “I was just madder’n all get-out that day you came to my place. Not in much of a mood to listen, I reckon.”

  “I’m glad you came,” Wes said. “I understand.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Your sister is a touchy subject apparently,” Wes said. “I appreciate that you’re protective of her.”

  Ben bristled. “She raised me. We took care of each other.”

  Wes nodded. “I don’t know your situation or anything about what happened to your mother or Ellianna.”