Miss Lizzy's Legacy

by Peggy Moreland

  William Leighton Sawyer

  Infant Son of Mary Elizabeth Sawyer

  June 14, 1890

  She sat down hard on her heels and dragged her hands to her knees. “No,” she murmured, shaking her head in denial. “No, it can’t be.”

  She dug her nails into the fabric at her knees, clinging to reason. William Leighton Sawyer hadn’t died at birth. He had lived a very full life, fathering two sons himself while parlaying the Boston Sawyers’ wealth to new highs in Texas oil.

  He’d outlived both his sons and saw three of his grandchildren—one of which was Callie’s mother—start their own families, giving him four great-grandchildren. He had ruled the dynasty he’d created from the eighteenth floor of the office building he owned in downtown Dallas before he’d been forced into retirement at the age of ninety-eight by Callie’s father and a handful of greedy relatives who couldn’t wait for him to die so they could get their hands on his money.

  They’d said he was crazy, although the legal papers they’d drawn against him read mentally incompetent. Callie had never considered him crazy. Eccentric, yes, but who wasn’t in their own way?

  Throughout her life, she’d heard the stories about Papa. How his mother had run away from home, chasing after some smooth-talking stranger on his way to the Oklahoma Territory to seek his fortune. How the man had gotten her pregnant and abandoned her without marrying her once they’d arrived in the wild territory. And how she’d died giving birth to Papa.

  Cousins from Boston who’d come to Texas to visit during the summers would whisper stories of how Papa was considered the renegade in the family, just like his mother. It was that streak of wildness that had carried him to Texas, they’d said, much to the dismay of the grandparents who’d taken him in and raised him as their own. Papa had thumbed his nose at them all and their high-society ways and proceeded to build a fortune that made the Boston Sawyers look like poor white trash in comparison.

  Always strong and full of energy, but with the power of his businesses stripped from him, Papa’s health had quickly faded and his focus had shifted to his past. His mother had become his obsession. Her life in Oklahoma and his part in her death seemed to haunt him. He wanted to find where she’d been buried and ensure she’d received a proper burial. Although the rest of the family had pooh-poohed his request as just one more outrageous demand from a crazy old man, Callie had agreed to help him.

  A tear streaked down her face followed quickly by another, then another, until her shoulders shook with sobs as she stared at the slab of granite. Guilt stabbed at her, for her reasons in agreeing to help Papa weren’t purely unselfish. Yes, she loved him and wanted to help him, but she’d also wanted to get out of Dallas, and Papa’s request for help had been the excuse she’d needed.

  With the deadline quickly approaching for a signed commission sculpture she couldn’t seem to create, and Stephen’s and her mother’s constant pressure for her to set a wedding date, she’d needed to escape it all. In her mind, that put her in the same category as the rest of her family. Selfish, greedy and spineless. She’d thought she could locate the grave, take a picture for Papa and maybe find a few tidbits of information about his mother for him, then spend the rest of her vacation working out her own personal problems.

  And now this.

  Baby dropped down beside her, nuzzling his snout against her hand. Hardly aware of her movements, she shifted a hand to scratch his ears. He lifted his head and licked at the tears on her cheek, whimpering low in his throat.

  “Oh, Baby.” Callie threw her arms around the dog’s neck and buried her face in his fur. “Now what am I going to do?”

  “You can start by letting loose my dog.”

  Callie opened her eyes to find a pair of scuffed boots planted not a foot from her knee. She raised her gaze, skimming it over jeans and a black duster until her eyes met the accusing ones of Judd Barker.

  She immediately turned away, hiding her tears. Heat flooded her face as she remembered all too clearly the way she’d responded to him the night before. “I didn’t steal your dog,” she mumbled.

  “Didn’t say you did,” Judd replied, although that was exactly the thought that had crossed his mind when Frank had told him he’d seen Callie drive away earlier that morning with Baby riding in the back seat of her car.

  Callie dropped her hands from around Baby’s neck and swiped at her cheeks. “You insinuated as much. But the truth of the matter is, your dog jumped in the back of my car and wouldn’t get out. It was easier to just let him ride along.”

  Judd hunkered down beside them, placing a hand on Baby’s head. “When he sets his mind on something, he’s hard to sway.”

  Callie sniffed and gazed off in the distance, refusing to look at him.

  Judd nodded in the direction of the stone. “I see you found what you were looking for.”

  Without favoring him a glance, Callie replied sharply, “I don’t know that I have.”

  “Seems clear enough to me. There’s the stone bearing the name William Leighton Sawyer, infant son of Mary Elizabeth Sawyer. And there—” he said with a nod toward the larger upright stone “—is the grave of Mary Elizabeth Bodean. What more proof do you need?”

  She snapped her head around to glare at him. “I don’t know for a fact that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Mary Elizabeth Bodean were one and the same person.”

  The streak of tears on her face took Judd by surprise, for he couldn’t imagine what the woman would have to cry about. The grave was more than a hundred years old, so she couldn’t have any affection for the infant buried there. Which led him to believe that more than likely she was crying because she’d been caught in her lies. Still, the tears moved him. He tucked his duster behind his hip and dug in his back pocket for a handkerchief. He held it out to Callie.

  “It’s clean,” he assured her when she hesitated.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled grudgingly as she accepted it. She mopped her eyes, then blew her nose.

  “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.

  Three

  “Here 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 r
ead 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.”