“Mama, you are being rude to our guest.” She faced him, eyes bright. “I accept your invitation to go fishing sometime. Thank you.”
Atta girl. There was that pluck he admired.
“You will go inside now, Ruth.”
Miss Sutton looked at him, a shy smile spread across her lovely face, but her eyes looked—doubtful? “Good-bye, Mr. Coulter. Thank you again for the loan of your book.” She patted her leg twice. Buddy yawned and stretched then followed after her.
“My pleasure.”
Mrs. Sutton held her hands in front of her, fingers intertwined. “Thank you again for assisting Ruth with that heavy load. However, your services will not be required here in the future. Good day.”
Benjamin lifted his hat. “Ma’am.”
She left him alone on the veranda. He had been dismissed.
Benjamin plopped his hat on his head, picked up his book, and made his way along the stone path toward the road. Curtains swayed at the window. Was that Miss Sutton?
The lace coverings closed again and with it, any hopes of spending time with the spirited beauty. Her mother would most likely see to that.
6
Benjamin threw open the tent flap and slumped on the cot. It was dark and musty inside. He glanced around at his meager possessions. What did he have to offer a fine lady like Ruth Ann Sutton? She probably didn’t want for much of anything when it came to material things—except singing lessons. He chuckled. He could buy her singing lessons. Her caterwauling would be a small price to pay if it meant spending time with the lady.
He raked his fingers through his hair. Her mother didn’t approve of him. Even his position as a surveyor hadn’t impressed her. A surveyor earned a good pay and with the west opening up, he would have his pick of opportunities. Though, if he were being completely honest, he wasn’t a surveyor—yet. Only an apprentice. A tiny detail he’d neglected to mention.
Benjamin dropped to his knees and reached under his cot to the far back corner. He curled his fingers around the cool glass and pulled it from its hiding place. He’d intended to throw it out. Returning to his seat on the cot, Benjamin leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. He stared at the amber liquid. Mrs. Sutton’s disdainful glare flashed before him. Where was the respect his advancement from crew chief to surveyor should afford him?
He rolled the smooth glass from one palm to the other as thoughts of Marcy and his life in Texas surged through his memory. Pride swelled anew as Mr. Farrell’s words came to mind.
Never in the twelve-year history of the Dutton & Farrell Land Mapping Agency has anyone risen through the ranks as quickly as you have Benjamin. Seems we haven’t found a job yet you can’t do better than the man there before you. I see nothing but success in your future.
Filled with excitement about his good fortune, he’d gone to share his news with Marcy—and to propose.
Only she wasn’t alone. She was in the arms of another man. Grant Jackson.
His thumb glided over the torn whiskey label. Why couldn’t he just forget? The vein in Benjamin’s neck pulsated, a steady throbbing sensation that mimicked his rampant pulse. He might’ve beaten the man within an inch of his life if it hadn’t been for Marcy’s pleadings. Like a fool, he’d professed his undying love in a futile attempt to persuade her to stay. It wasn’t enough. She’d already decided to leave him. All that mattered to Marcy was the money.
Benjamin twisted the cork free. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he downed a long pull of whiskey then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Maybe he wasn’t Grant Jackson. Maybe he wasn’t a civil engineer—but he was on his way. Marcy may have left him for a man with deeper pockets, but he’d make sure that never happened to him again. After he passed that examination next spring, he’d acquire a position others would respect, envy even.
The tent flap whipped open and Ollie ducked inside. He glanced at the whiskey in Benjamin’s hand. “What’s eatin’ you? You look worse than a pig on butcherin’ day.”
“Nothin.’”
“Uh-oh, you got lady troubles?” Ollie chortled. “That pretty petticoat send you away?” Ollie slapped Benjamin on the back. “Well, never you mind. We men have to try, don’t we? I got somethin’ to take your mind off your ailin’ heart. I’m headin’ over to the livery for some poker. You want to join me?”
Benjamin stared at the bottle in his hand. He’d been trying to drink and gamble less since leaving Texas. Coming to Virginia was his chance to start over—clean slate. He’d even visited the local church a few times. But who was he fooling? He wasn’t good enough for God anymore, and he sure wasn’t good enough for Miss Fancy Boots—at least her mother didn’t think so, and she was the gatekeeper. He let out a breath. Anything seemed better than sitting alone in his tent, dwelling on the afternoon’s events. “Sure, I’ll come along.”
~*~
Perspiration made the cards stick to Benjamin’s fingers. Smoke hung in the dank air, weaving its scent with the stench from unattended horse stalls and human sweat. He eyed the man across from him. Could his opponent’s hand really be as good as he was indicating or was the man bluffing?
Artie smirked. “Looks like it’s me and you, Coulter.” The chainman lifted the jug, took a swig, and passed it to Benjamin.
As Benjamin brought the corn liquor to his lips, a sad pair of dark brown eyes flickered before him. Promise me neither of you will drink that rotgut. He sighed before surrendering the jug to the man beside him.
“Coulter. I raised you two dollars. You foldin’ or bettin’?”
Benjamin glanced at his cards, then the pot of money on the table, and finally at Artie who was taking yet another swig of rotgut. The gamble he’d taken earlier, asking Miss Fancy Boots to go fishing, had been a draw, at best. He didn’t plan to lose again—at least not today.
“I’m in.” Benjamin placed his two dollars in the pile. He leaned forward as he dropped additional money on the table. “And I’ll raise you five dollars, Artie.”
Mack reached for the jug. “Whooo-wheeee. This is gettin’ good.”
“Hold up, there, Coulter.” Ollie swished a wad of tobacco to the other side of his mouth. “Ya sure yer thinkin’ things through. Just ‘cause that gal’s mother gave ya the boot don’t mean ya should risk an entire week’s wages.”
Benjamin glared at his friend. The man never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Refocusing his attention back to the game, he nodded toward Artie. “I raised you five dollars. You in or not?”
Artie ran his hand over his whiskers and stared at Benjamin. The sheen of perspiration glistened above his lip. He finally dropped five dollars in the pot and puffed his cigar. “I call. Three of a kind.” He laid his three sixes on the makeshift table.
Benjamin stared at Artie’s cards. Thoughts of Marcy’s stinging rejection mingled with Mrs. Sutton’s disapproving looks.
One of the tracklayers, Jim Tatem, slapped Artie on the back then handed him the jug. “Looks like you took him, Artie”
With a hasty shake of his head Benjamin divulged his hand, snapping the cards as he laid them on the barrel. “Flush, boys, in diamonds. I believe that pot is mine.” He swept the money into his hat.
“Well, I’ll be.” Ollie lifted the crock of moonshine. “Here’s to ya, Coulter.”
The bell rang at the livery door.
Mack stood. “Be right back.” The foreman lowered his voice. “That’s probably Peterson returning his carriage, but you fellas keep it down. Can’t have word of our little game gettin’ back to Mr. Palmer.”
The men grunted.
Tatem shook his head. “I sure thought you had that one, Artie.”
Ollie hoisted the jug to his mouth. “With that pile of winnings, Coulter, you can buy a fancy suit to go callin’ on that pretty schoolteacher. Then her mama might take a shine to you.”
Tatem chortled. “The gal you were talking to outside of Turner’s earlier—she’s a schoolteacher?”
Artie waggled his eyebrows. “The one with…th
e curves.” His hands swerved generously through the air mocking her buxom shape.
“Don’t go gettin' ornery now, Artie,” one of the other men whooped. “How much whiskey have you had anyway?”
“Not nearly enough.” He swaggered over to Benjamin and poked a finger in his chest. “God didn’t make women with ample figures like that for marryin’ boy. You oughta know that.”
Benjamin’s fists grasped Artie’s shirt. “Shut your mouth. She’s a fine lady.”
Tatem snickered. “Fine for beddin’ down.”
The men guffawed.
Benjamin released Artie with a shove, removed his winnings from his hat and stuffed them into his pocket. “See you back at camp, Ollie.” He stepped around Artie and headed for the door.
Emboldened by the liquor, Artie blocked his path. “Well, you let me know if you’re gonna pass on her. Because I can tell you right now, those plump little fillies are some of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever known.”
That was it. Benjamin’s jaw stiffened as scorching heat coursed through his veins. He’d tried to leave, but Artie just wouldn’t let it go. Miss Sutton deserved better than to have this drunken sot maligning her.
He spun and lunged at Artie sending them both crashing into the crates. Cards and money flew through the air. Benjamin’s fist connected repeatedly with Artie’s face before the man was able to roll Benjamin over and get in a few punches of his own. The men whooped and hollered, encouraging the brawl.
“What the Sam Hill is goin’ on in here?” Mack yelled. “Separate those men!”
Tatem wrenched Artie from atop Benjamin. “C’mon. Mack says you’re done fightin’.”
Ollie offered his hand then yanked Benjamin from the ground.
Benjamin’s chest heaved. The rusty taste of his busted lip lingered on his tongue.
Mack stepped between Benjamin and Artie, one hand planted firmly in the chest of each man. “Mr. Palmer will fire my hide if he finds out what we’re doin’ in his livery.”
Artie hawked a blob of bloody spit at Benjamin’s feet.
That was all the incentive Benjamin needed. He broke loose from Ollie’s hold. Mack ducked as Benjamin took another swing at Artie.
Mack shoved himself in front of Benjamin, mere inches separating their noses. “That’s enough!”
Gulping air, Artie leaned forward, resting his hands against his knees. “Not my fault…this fool…don’t know women with figures like hers are good for one thing only.”
Mack glared at Artie. “Sometimes you don’t know when to shut your mouth.”
Benjamin’s gaze drifted past Mack, finally resting on the older man behind him. Could this day get any worse? He hadn’t noticed the onlooker until now. Benjamin avoided Neil Peterson’s piercing eyes—the kind that bore into a person’s soul. Peterson was an elder from the church he’d been visiting. Benjamin could already hear the tongue-lashing he’d get following tomorrow’s services. He picked up his hat and dusted it off against his pant leg. Pushing past Artie and the others, Benjamin hastily exited the livery without another glance in Peterson’s direction.
~*~
Benjamin trudged down the muddy road, water splashing from puddles he couldn’t avoid in the dark. The sounds of late summer filled the warm September night. Crickets and bullfrogs swapped mating calls, creating a peaceful harmony that usually soothed his soul when troubled. Not tonight. He was furious with himself—drinking and gambling. When would he ever learn?
“Benjamin, wait up!”
Hearing the older man call out his name, Benjamin stopped. Great. On top of everything else, now I’m going to get a sermon from Neil Peterson.
“You all right, son? Do you need to see the doc about that lip?”
Benjamin dabbed his hand against his bloody mouth. “Nah, I’m fine.”
Neil set a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “Where are you heading?”
“Back to camp.”
“Why don't you come along with me, instead? My wife, Trudy, made a delicious peach pie this afternoon. I’m on my way home to have a piece.”
Benjamin searched the older man’s eyes for the judgment and condemnation that he deserved, but all he found was heartfelt concern. “I’m a bit of a mess, sir. I should probably go clean up.”
Neil patted him on the back. “We’re all a mess, son. That’s why we need a Savior.” He pointed in the direction from which they’d come. “It’s a short walk from here.”
Benjamin hesitated. He didn’t relish the idea of going back to his tent—alone. And, there was something about Neil that drew Benjamin. What was it exactly—his quiet confidence, his unswerving faith? If he spent time with this man, would it rub off on him? He didn’t know, but he aimed to find out. “Sure, pie sounds great.”
“Good.”
A few minutes later, the two men sat on the back porch of the Petersons’ three-story boardinghouse. Neil gently pumped his rocking chair. “So why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you. Why were you fighting with Arthur Johnson?”
Benjamin ran his fingers down the length of his course beard. “He said some disrespectful things.”
“About you?”
“Mostly about a woman I met recently.”
“Punches flew over a woman you barely know? Very honorable. You must care about her.”
He avoided Neil’s gaze, preferring instead to fiddle with his hat perched on his knee. There wasn’t anything honorable about him or his behavior tonight. “I do care for her, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not...”
Neil rested his hands on the arms of the rocking chair. “Not good enough for her?”
Benjamin lifted his head. “H-how did you know?”
“I was a young man, too, once—full of myself and my pride. I was determined to make the world bow in recognition of me instead of bowing to the One who made me.” Neil paused while his wife served them peach pie and coffee.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Benjamin set his mug on the porch railing, then broke off the point of his pie with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. He washed it down with a sip of coffee while he waited for the door to close behind Mrs. Peterson. “It’s too late, Neil. I veered away from God a long time ago. Even if He were to forgive me, a lady like Miss Sutton would have a hard time overlooking my past.”
Neil raised his bushy brows. “Ruth Ann Sutton is the woman you were referring to?”
Benjamin nodded.
“She’s a fine young woman—the kind that looks past the outside and into the heart.”
“That’s exactly what concerns me. There’s nothing good there for her to find.”
Neil’s eyes remained fixed on him. “There’s nothing God can’t forgive Benjamin.”
He swallowed another bite of his pie. “Those are pretty words, and I believed them once. But God doesn’t have much use for me—not anymore. You saw me tonight—drinking and gambling. And that’s nowhere near the worst of it.”
Neil lowered his coffee cup. “You know, Benjamin, even when we are walking with the Lord, we still stumble. That’s all you did tonight. You stumbled a bit.”
“I’ve been stumbling for years.”
“Tell me what’s troubling you, son. Sounds like it’s time to get it off your chest.”
Benjamin listened to the rain’s sorrowful melody. He wanted to believe Neil—to believe it wasn’t too late for him. Why not? What did he have to lose? Benjamin scraped a hand along his beard. Eyes trained on his coffee mug, he forced the words from his mouth. “Growing up, my family didn’t have much. My pa owned a successful orchard but drank away most of the profits. I couldn’t wait to leave home and strike out on my own. I worked hard in school, especially in arithmetic. Pa, however, expected me to take over the farm and forbade me from taking advanced courses. I finally told him I didn’t want to work the farm but preferred to go to college instead. He drew me close, putting his arm around my shoulder. His whiskey-laden breath filled the air between us, as sour as the words he spoke. ‘Son, let me set ya s
traight. No Coulter has ever amounted to anything in this world, and neither will you. You’ll take yer place on this land, and scrape out yer living beside yer Pa as I did mine.’”
There it was. The truth Benjamin had been running from for nearly nine years. The truth he’d become determined to dispel. Staring at the rain running off the edge of the porch roof, Benjamin bit back the bitterness threatening to overtake him. “A few days later, the Confederates burned Chambersburg to the ground. Determined to prove my father wrong, I ran off and enlisted in the Union army. I was only fifteen, but anything was better than a future trapped on that farm. I was a good soldier, too. A lot of Rebs died at the point of my bayonet, and I have the medals to prove it.” He shook his head. “But no matter how much I drink, I still see their eyes pleading for mercy. After the war I followed the railroad west. I worked my way up from a tracklayer and spikeman to the position of chainman and rodman on a surveying crew. I met a woman, too. One I wanted to share my future with, but she left me for a man who made more money than I did.”
Benjamin scoffed. “Appears Marcy’s refusal fulfilled Pa’s prophecy, wouldn’t you say?” He folded his arms across his chest and pumped his rocker. “I tried to forget it all and move on, but I can’t. Truth is, no amount of liquor or cheap women will ever be enough to make me forget my father’s grim predictions, the lives I took on the battlefield, or Marcy’s stinging rejection.”
Neil leaned back in his rocking chair. A lamp in the window behind him partially illuminated his face. Calm and expressionless, his eyes held no censure. Knowledge that both comforted and unnerved Benjamin.
The older man finally broke the silence. “And you think that’s unforgiveable? You’re not the first man to take a life in the line of duty or share a bed with a woman he wasn’t married to. I’m not excusing your behavior, mind you. The Bible is clear that knowing a woman other than your wife is sin. However, the Good Book is also full of men who made far more grievous errors than you.”
Benjamin shook his head.
Neil leaned forward in his rocker. “You don’t believe me? One such man lusted after another man’s wife, committed adultery with her, and then sent her husband to the front lines in battle so he would die.”
A Love Restored Page 6