A Love Restored

by Goshorn, Kelly;

“You have no idea.” She tugged on the crate. “My things, please, Mr. Coulter.”

  She peered up at him with those dark eyes of hers. A man could get lost in those eyes. He cleared his throat. “Please let me make it up to you. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  Miss Sutton angled her head and pursed her lips. Apparently, this was a big decision, and she didn’t want to get it wrong. Probably the schoolteacher in her. She finally nodded and relinquished her hold on the crate. “Thank you.”

  They looked up as the bell on the door rang again.

  The boy held up a brown paper sack, his freckled cheeks bulging like a squirrel in autumn. “Fanks agin, mitter.”

  Benjamin chuckled. “That reminds me.” He set the crate on the porch and retrieved his own brown sack from his shirt pocket. He held out the bag. “Care for a lemon drop?”

  She peeked into the bag then at him. Grinning, she reached inside for a piece. “Thank you.”

  Benjamin dropped a sour candy into his own mouth. He grabbed her purchases and followed her down the steps to the dirt road that ran in front of Turner’s store, searching his mind for something to say. Images of her runty dog came to mind. “So tell me about that herding dog of yours.”

  She glared at him out of the corner of her eye.

  If looks could kill, he’d be lying in a pine box.

  “Despite popular belief, they aren’t commonly used to herd rabbits.” She lifted her hand to block the afternoon sun. “They were bred to herd cattle by nipping at their heels.”

  Benjamin couldn’t picture a dog that size bossing anything around. To him, a dog should be able to protect him if need be and help him hunt perhaps, but... “He’s barely a foot and a half tall. You sure they can handle cattle?”

  “Most assuredly. Their short legs make them very agile. My brother-in-law’s family uses them to herd the horses on their farm near Middleburg.”

  She flashed him a dimple-laden smile that made him tingly inside. Where had that little beauty been hiding the other day?

  “Coulter, that you?”

  They stopped as an older, bowlegged man approached, carrying a bulging, burlap sack over his shoulder. Great. Not the impression he wanted to make on the lady. “Ollie Harper, this is Miss Ruth Ann Sutton.”

  Ollie removed his hat and tipped his head in Miss Sutton’s direction. He had less hair on top of his head than on his chin, and when he smiled, he disclosed more than one missing tooth. “Nice to meet ya.” He swished tobacco around his mouth then spat. Ollie nudged Benjamin with his elbow and waggled his bushy brows. “Didn’t take you long to find a pretty petticoat, even in this little town.”

  Benjamin glanced from Miss Sutton to Ollie. “Where you headed?”

  Ollie tipped his head in the direction he’d come. “Me and the fellas is headin’ to the general store.”

  Benjamin’s eyes darted to the other men from his crew, all straining to catch a glimpse of Ruth Ann.

  Ollie swung the sack off his shoulder. It landed with a thud in the dirt road, creating a small dust cloud. “I’ll be needin’ another jug. Found me a bushel o’ corn, real cheap.” He opened the sack so they could peer in.

  Miss Sutton coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. She leaned forward. “I’m afraid I don’t see what the jug is for. You’ll need jars to can all that corn.”

  Ollie removed his hat and struck it against his leg. He guffawed and nudged Benjamin in the ribs a second time. “Your petticoat thinks we’re cannin’ corn in camp.”

  Heat burned in Benjamin’s cheeks, and it wasn’t from the afternoon sun. “Maybe you best be on your way, Ollie.”

  Ollie plopped his hat on his head and hoisted the sack to his shoulder. He waggled his brows. “She ain’t nothing like Marcy, is she?”

  “Mr. Harper?” Miss Sutton’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t plan to can all that corn, what are you going to do with it?”

  A grin spread across his unshaven face. He winked. “Makin’ firewater, miss.”

  Miss Sutton tilted her head, all the while tapping her index finger against her cheek. Maybe if he hurried Ollie along, he could wriggle out of this uncomfortable situation before the teacher put two and two together.

  “Moonshine, Miss.”

  She gasped.

  Benjamin’s shoulders slumped. Too late. Now he’d have some explaining to do. “You’d better get going, Ollie. I need to escort Miss Sutton home before her family worries about her. I’ll see you back at camp.”

  He couldn’t believe his eyes. Miss Sutton had stepped toward Ollie and laid her hand on his filthy sleeve. “Mr. Harper, promise me you won’t do that. Doc Rawlings told me about homemade spirits. He calls it rotgut and says its poison.”

  “Aw, Miss, you don’t need to worry none. I’m so old and ornery nothing’s gonna hurt me. But thank ya for yer carin’.” He strode off in the direction of Turner’s. “No siree, Coulter, she’s nothin’ like Marcy,” he called over his shoulder. “Nothin’ at all.”

  “Mr. Coulter?”

  Oh boy, here it comes. She hadn’t wasted a second. Benjamin steeled himself for what might be an ugly scene. What was he thinking, anyway? Women like Miss Sutton didn’t associate with men like Ollie Harper. Men who drank and played poker—men like him. They wanted church-going types. Men like he used to be—before the war. Before Marcy.

  Surprisingly, her tone softened. “Promise me, neither of you will drink that rotgut.”

  Those dark eyes stared at him, waiting for an answer, but he wouldn’t make a promise he might not be able to keep.

  They started walking again but slower now.

  She spoke first, ending the awkward moments of silence. “Why do men like to drink firewater?”

  “For some of us, like Ollie and me, it helps us forget.”

  “Does it work?”

  Her questions were as probing as those eyes of hers. Who was he kidding? Nothing really helped. But for a few glorious hours every night he forgot about the death he had witnessed on the battlefield, the lives he took defending the Union. Women hadn’t helped either. Marcy was just one more thing he didn’t want to remember. “Only for a little while.”

  She stopped walking and searched his face. When she spoke, her voice was nearly a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

  Her gaze lingered on him as if she could see right through him. He looked away, hoping to discourage too close of an inspection. She wouldn’t like what she found. And somehow, that mattered to him. He pushed down the lump in his throat and resumed their pace.

  “How long have you known Mr. Harper?”

  “Ollie and I go way back. He saved my life during the siege of Petersburg and even though he’s a bit rough around the edges, a debt like that is hard to repay. He’s got no family. At least none that will have anything to do with him. So he followed me west to find work with the railroad, and we’ve stuck together ever since.”

  She veered off the dirt road onto a stone path.

  Benjamin’s eyes drifted upward, like the ivy that clung to the impressive dwelling. Woo-wee, I’m in way over my head. His parents’ modest farmhouse could easily fit inside her home three times. This little lady came from money. Although he had a bright future ahead of him as a surveyor, he’d never be able to afford a home like this one. Nor was he likely to spend his hard-earned money on such things.

  They passed the stairs to the front door and followed the stone path behind the house. The dog barked at the sound of their approach. The feisty little critter scurried toward them and jumped against her legs.

  “Hello, Buddy. I’ve missed you.”

  The dog trailed them down the remainder of the path to the back porch where two women, one Negro, one white, sat on the back porch snapping green beans into a large wooden bowl.

  “You can set the crate on the veranda. Thank you.”

  The white woman stood and dumped her apron full of unsnapped beans into a basket on the floor. Her eyes drifted from Benjamin’s plaid work shirt, to hi
s faded dungarees, to his scuffed work boots, then back up again.

  “Mama, this is Mr. Benjamin Coulter. We met the other day. He was in Turner’s this afternoon and offered to carry that heavy crate home for me.”

  Benjamin removed his hat and bowed slightly in Mrs. Sutton’s direction. “Ma’am.”

  Mrs. Sutton wiped her hands on her apron. She acknowledged him with a slight lift of her chin, but her scowl was tighter than the bun securing her dark hair at the nape of her neck.

  “Mr. Coulter,” Miss Sutton said, pointing with a nod toward the Negro woman. “This is a dear friend of our family, Myra. She works for us.”

  Myra stood and moved to the edge of the porch, shaking out her apron. “Can I gets you something cool to drink?”

  Mrs. Sutton limped toward him favoring her right leg, her mouth curved downward. Was she unhappy with his presence, or was she in pain—or both? “That will not be necessary, Myra.” She paused a moment as an involuntary shudder coursed through her. “I’m sure Mr. Coulter has things to do.”

  She may be in pain, but she definitely wanted him gone—far away from her little darling.

  “Mr. Coulter has just done me a kindness, Mama, and I think it’s only proper to repay him with a glass of lemonade.”

  “Very well, Ruth. Myra, you can remain on the porch. Ruth and I will get the lemonade.” Mrs. Sutton held the screen door open for her daughter.

  “You’ll wait for me? I-I mean the lemonade?” A smidgen of pink graced her cheeks. Miss Sutton wanted him to stay.

  Benjamin glanced at her mother. She was a petite, but formidable, woman. He guessed she stood at least four inches shorter than her daughter, but they both seemed to possess the same determined spirit. “I have time for one glass. Thank you. Then I should be heading back to camp.”

  Miss Sutton headed for the door where her mother stood vigil then looked back over her shoulder and smiled before disappearing inside.

  Benjamin stroked his beard. What was he doing? He knew better. When a man played with fire, eventually he got burned.

  ~*~

  Ruth Ann poured three glasses of lemonade and placed them on a hand-painted tray. “Will you be joining us for lemonade on the veranda, Mama?”

  Mama’s fingers strummed on the wooden butcher block. “No, I am not joining you. This is not a social call, Ruth.” Mama clutched her arm. “What do you know of this Mr. Coulter?”

  “He is a surveyor with a land mapping agency, and he’s assigned to the Washington & Ohio Railroad.”

  “A railroad man? What does he want with you?”

  “Nothing, I suppose. He offered to carry my heavy crate, and I let him. He’s kind and witty.” Her gaze dropped to her forearm. “Please let go of my arm now. Mr. Coulter is waiting.”

  Mama tightened her grip. “You find him kind and witty? You prefer that scraggly, ill-mannered railroad man to the wealth and refined gentility of James Thornton?”

  She preferred just about anything to James. “Mr. Coulter may be a bit unkempt, but he’s not ill-mannered.” Of course, he’d laughed at her predicament in Turner’s. At least he had apologized. And earlier he had helped with the fallen skillets—before he had called her obstinate. But those eyes...

  “You can do much better than a tracklayer who resides in a railroad camp, Ruth.”

  “Please keep your voice down, Mama. He’ll hear you. Besides, Mr. Coulter is not a tracklayer. He is a surveyor. And just because a man is polite and offers to carry a heavy load for a woman doesn’t mean he has taken a liking to her.” She glanced at her arm. “Please let go. You’re hurting me.”

  “Mind what I say. Be polite, but don’t give him a reason to come back.”

  ~*~

  Benjamin ran his fingers through Buddy’s thick coat. He was one lucky dog to have that pretty schoolteacher for his mistress.

  Mrs. Sutton’s voice drifted through the open window. “You can do much better than a tracklayer who resides in a railroad camp, Ruth.”

  He stood and donned his hat. “If you’d just let Miss Sutton know I had to leave, I’d appreciate it.”

  Myra sauntered to the edge of the veranda and leaned against a white pillar. She wiped her brow with the edge of her apron. “You gonna leave when she gettin’ you lemonade?”

  Mrs. Sutton didn’t approve. She clearly saw him as a predatory fox, and she didn’t intend to leave her baby chic unprotected. “It’s just better this way, ma’am.”

  “Mmm-hmmm. You right. You best be on your way.” She shooed him away with her hands. “Any man come callin’ ‘round here gonna need more spunk than that.”

  The woman had lost her mind. He’d merely assisted Miss Sutton with her crate. Benjamin massaged the back of his neck. He leaned forward and peered through the screen door. “You have the situation all wrong. We are acquaintances. I helped her carry a heavy load. That’s all. No more. No less.”

  Myra shook her head. “I ain’t never seen her eyes sparkle like that. She lit up like a firefly in July.” The woman scanned him from head to toe. “You best clean yourself up if you come callin’ on Miss Ruth Ann. You in pitiful need of a haircut. And you tell the barber to trim that beard while he at it. Never mind that. You just tell him to shave it clean off.” She glanced toward the screen door then back at him, eyes twinkling. “Miss Ruth Ann don’t cotton to men with beards, especially scraggly ones.”

  Benjamin scratched the course hair on his cheek. He’d been meaning to get to the barber.

  The hinges creaked on the screen door. Myra meandered back to the bench and picked up the wooden bowl of beans. She raised a brow. “Mind what I tell you.”

  Miss Sutton returned with the tray of lemonade and offered them both a glass before setting the tray on the bench beside Myra. She picked up her own drink and drew a long sip. Her lips puckered from the tart beverage.

  What he wouldn’t give to be that glass—pressing against her lips.

  Whoa. From where had that thought come? He was only helping an acquaintance. A stubborn acquaintance at that, but one with the most beautiful dimple-laden smile he’d ever seen.

  If he needed a dose of reality, her mother offered it. She stood guard at the screen door as if his mere presence may sully her daughter’s reputation. He gulped his lemonade then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

  “Thank you for the drink.” He placed his empty glass on the tray. “Nice meeting you.” He tipped his head first toward Mrs. Sutton then toward Myra.

  Mrs. Sutton returned to the house, probably satisfied the danger had passed.

  Hat in hand, he extended his arm toward the crate. “I just need to get my books. They’re under the dictionary.”

  “Oh, certainly.” Miss Sutton set the large red book to the side and retrieved the novels. Her hand gently caressed the top cover.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “Not at all.” Her eyes remained fixed on the book as if it were a rare and precious gem. “A Journey to the Center of the Earth. One of my favorite stories.”

  Benjamin’s mouth fell agape. Miss Fancy Boots read Jules Verne?

  She placed the top book underneath and spoke with a reverence he’d only heard in church. “Around the World in Eighty Days—his latest novel.”

  He stepped forward. “Y-you read Jules Verne?”

  “Oh, yes.” She finally lifted her eyes to him. “May I?”

  Benjamin nodded.

  She sat on the edge of the veranda reading the first chapter aloud.

  He looked to Myra. She lifted a brow and motioned for him to sit beside Miss Sutton. He removed his hat and did as directed. Head bowed with book in hand, she was lost in the story.

  Benjamin was lost in her—her creamy complexion, the wispy curls that had freed themselves from her bun and floated on the breeze, and her lavender scent. Oh, how he wanted to reach up and twist one of those curls around his finger.

  He slid away and leaned against the nearest pillar, his long legs stretched out before him. D
elighting in the sound of her voice as the story unfolded before her, Benjamin couldn’t help but smile. She was enchanting.

  Ollie had never been more right. She was nothing like Marcy.

  A cold, wet nose nudged his hand. Benjamin scratched Buddy’s chin. The dog rolled over, paws flapping, exposing his white belly. Benjamin chuckled, and he stroked the snowy fur. He lifted his head when he realized she had stopped.

  Miss Sutton closed the cover. “I-I don’t know what came over me.”

  They flinched when the screen door banged against the side of the house. Mrs. Sutton stood rigid beside them. “I didn’t realize you were still here, Mr. Coulter.”

  Myra gathered the basket and wooden bowl. She stepped around Mrs. Sutton and hurried inside.

  “We’ve kept Mr. Coulter long enough, Ruth.”

  Miss Sutton stood and offered him the book. “Here you go, Mr. Coulter.”

  Benjamin shook his head. “You keep it. I’ll read the other one first.”

  She held the novel tight against her. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Sutton held the door open for her daughter. “Go inside now and help Myra set the table.”

  Benjamin fiddled with the brim of his hat. He preferred to speak to Miss Sutton privately, but her mother didn’t plan to leave them alone again. “I-I’m wondering if you would like to go fishing with me, Miss Sutton. We could talk about the books once we’ve both finished.”

  Her eyes brightened. “I—”

  “Thank you for your kind offer, but that is out of the question. Ruth barely knows you and a trip to the woods...to fish? Surely you must see that is inappropriate for a young woman of Ruth’s upbringing.”

  Miss Sutton’s eyes widened. “Mama, it’s just a fishing trip to the creek. Perhaps Sarah, Joseph, and the children could accompany us.”

  Could it be? Did she really want to spend time with him, too? He didn’t know the folks she referred to, but if it meant he could see her again, he’d bring Ollie. “I would be happy to have them join us.”

  Her mother’s jaw tightened. She tilted her head in the direction of the house. “Ruth.”

  Miss Sutton’s gaze flitted between her mother and him while she weighed her options. Benjamin recognized the fire in her eyes as her chin lifted.