Miss Lizzy's Legacy

by Peggy Moreland

  The sensation was so seductive, Callie could barely breathe much less think. “A vacation,” she murmured absently, her eyes riveted to his. “I needed a vacation.”

  Slowly, achingly, he drew her finger from between his lips. He released it with a soft, moist plop. “I don’t think you’ve had much of a vacation, do you?” he asked, then let her hand fall limply to his chest.

  Through heavy lids, Callie watched the tip of her finger disappear in the mat of dark hair there. “No,” she replied, hypnotized by the sight. “I don’t guess I have.”

  “Seems a shame, doesn’t it?” he said. “To leave before you have a chance to see all the sights?”

  “Yes,” she replied, lifting her gaze to his. “It does.”

  “You have, what, two weeks before the presentation in Houston?”

  “Yes. But there’s Thanksgiving.”

  “Do you have plans?”

  “No.”

  “Good, then you can finish out your vacation, spend Thanksgiving with my family. If you want, you can even stay out at my place.”

  “Your place?” she asked, startled by the offer.

  “Yeah.”

  “And where is that?”

  “In the country, about ten miles north of town.”

  Shivers of anticipation raced through her at the thought of spending two weeks alone with him in the country. “Any neighbors?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

  “None to speak of.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  “If we’re lucky.”

  She propped her elbow on her pillow and leaned her head against her palm. “I’m feeling lucky,” she said, lowering her voice suggestively.

  Grinning, Judd threw his arm around her waist and hauled her to him. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  “Where are we going first?” Callie asked, her eyes as charged with excitement as a second grader out on a school holiday.

  Judd couldn’t help but laugh as he tossed her suitcase in the back of his truck. “I thought we’d ride the trolley, get the official tour, see what interests you, then take my truck and backtrack.”

  Callie slipped her hand in his. “Sounds like a winner.”

  Judd handed her up on the trolley, then followed her to a seat. The bell clanged and the trolley eased from the curb and into traffic. Callie immediately pressed her nose to the window and listened as the guide began his spiel. Judd settled back, stretching his legs out in the narrow aisle, and watched Callie watch Guthrie, convinced he had the better view.

  The tour lasted forty-five minutes, and by the time Callie stepped off the trolley she had scribbled a page full of sights she wanted to revisit.

  “What’s your pleasure?” Judd asked after they’d climbed back into his truck.

  She looked at her list, then turned a hopeful eye to Judd. “Everything?” she asked, timidly.

  Chuckling, he shifted into gear. “Everything it is.” He retraced the trolley’s route, his first stop the Logan County Courthouse where three weeks before Callie had found the records of Miss Lizzy’s marriage. He parked the truck opposite the building. “Guthrie was born in a single day, April 22, 1889, when the government officially opened the Territory to settlement. People came from all over to take part in the run. Farmers, businessmen, speculators and profiteers.” He chuckled, then added, “And the occasional riffraff.

  “Guthrie was established as the Territorial capitol. Everyone assumed that once Oklahoma became a state, the capitol would remain here. Land was set aside for the future site and later a building was constructed. Everything was going as planned until June 11, 1910.” He leaned across the seat and nodded up at the courthouse. “On that night the state seal was stolen from this building and taken to Oklahoma City. It was a shock, both emotionally and financially, to the people here who had invested so much on the supposition that the capitol of Oklahoma would be in Guthrie. In many ways, the community never recovered.”

  Callie heard the pride in his voice as much as the regret. “You love it here, don’t you?”

  “It’s home.”

  “No, it’s more than that,” she insisted.

  He shrugged, then chuckled ruefully. “There was a time when I was younger that I considered Guthrie the armpit of America. Couldn’t wait to get out of here. I wanted the big city and a chance at fame that Guthrie couldn’t offer me. At twenty-one, I threw my guitar and what belongings I could call my own in the back of an old truck, headed for Nashville and never looked back.”

  He sat a moment, one arm hooked over the steering wheel, lost in the memories. “Funny,” he said, voicing his thoughts aloud. “But during the trial, all I could think about was getting back here. Where I could walk down the street without people staring and whispering. Where my family and friends were. Where a man’s word is as good as gold. That’s what kept me going.”

  He shook his head to clear the melancholy thoughts. “Anyway, after the trial, I did come back. The folks here accepted me with no questions asked. They’ve respected my privacy, protected it like it was their own.” His lips thinned in determination. “I owe the folks in this town a big debt. Some day I hope to repay them by giving them back what they lost.”

  “But how? You can’t possibly change the site of the state capitol back to Guthrie.”

  He shifted into gear. “No, but I can give them back their pride.”

  Easing off the clutch, he drove on while Callie stared at his profile, wondering if he realized that he, too, had been stripped of his pride. Not by political shenanigans as Guthrie had been, but by false accusations and a public that thrived on whatever dirt the media fed them. She suspected it was that loss of pride that had brought him home to Guthrie and forced him to give up his music career.

  “This area is known as Capitol Hill,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Forcing herself to pay attention to what he was saying, she listened while Judd pointed to a block of land and a cluster of buildings. “And that was Government Acre, land set aside for the capitol building. The building covering the square is the world’s largest Scottish Rite Masonic Temple. The temple was built back in the 1920s with a price tag of over two million dollars. It has a ballroom, reading salons and two theaters that they rent out to the public. In fact, the Historical Society is having a concert there next month to raise money for future renovations.”

  “Will you be singing?”

  He shook his head and shifted into gear. “Nope,” he replied as he pulled away. “I don’t sing anymore.”

  She felt his withdrawal as strongly as she felt the beat of her heart. And he was lying. He did sing. Maybe not for the public, but she’d heard him singing down in the Blue Bell when he’d thought he was alone. To confront him would be useless. She could see that.

  He traversed residential and business streets alike, elaborating on the information the tour guide had shared. By the time they neared the old Masonic Children’s Home, she was once again caught up in the history of Guthrie and stretched out a hand, motioning for him to stop.

  Judd eased to the curb opposite the group of buildings, wondering what she found of interest here.

  Once home for children sponsored by the Masons, the buildings had been vacant for years and decay had set in. The brick wall surrounding the property had crumbled, windows were broken, weeds and vegetation had taken over the landscape. It’s haunted look gave substance to the scary stories children shared about the place. Despite the No Trespassing signs posted, teenagers used it as a meeting place to sneak a beer or a passionate ride in the back seat of their car with their sweetheart.

  Callie was enchanted.

  “Prudy would love this,” she said, her gaze darting from one building to the next.

  “Prudy?”

  “A friend of mine in Dallas.”

  Judd leaned around her to look out the window, trying to see what she saw. “What’s there to love?”

  Callie looked at him in surprise. “Where is your v
ision? Your sense of adventure?” She turned back to the window. “Imagine how this must have looked when it was inhabited. How it could look with a little work.”

  “A little work?”

  “Okay, a lot of work. But just imagine if the grounds were cleaned up, the building restored. It would be magnificent!”

  “For what?”

  Callie looked at him with an impatient frown. “I don’t know! But something.” She turned back to the window. “Prudy would know. She has vision.”

  Judd cranked the ignition, biting back a smile. “Right. Now what else would you like to see?”

  She heaved a sigh as she continued to stare out at the abandoned buildings. “Your bedroom ceiling.”

  Judd whipped his head around. She turned and smiled sweetly at him. “You asked.”

  * * *

  His place, as he’d called it that morning when he’d invited her to stay with him, consisted of acres and acres of rolling pastures sectioned off by black creosote fencing. Embedded in the limestone pillars flanking the entrance, black wrought-iron twisted to form the brand JB. Horses lifted their heads from their grazing as the truck passed, their ears pricked, watching. Delighted by the pastoral setting, Callie pressed her nose to the window.

  Judd drove over a cattle guard, then the dam of a small lake where geese took flight at Baby’s welcoming bark from the back of the truck. From there, the asphalt drive snaked its way up a small rise to end at a limestone ranch house.

  Judd had bought the place when his career had first taken off. He’d remodeled the original house, added a wing that held a music room and a small theater. He’d cleared the land, built fences and barns, all for his own pleasure. Although he’d spent most of his time at his home in Nashville, through the years he’d always returned here to rest and regroup. It was his secret hideaway and to him this was home.

  He stopped the truck in the circle drive in front and turned off the ignition. “Well, this is it.” He threw an arm along the back of the seat, watching for Callie’s reaction. He’d brought women here before, but he’d never particularly cared whether they’d like it or not. The tangle of nerves in his stomach told him that Callie’s opinion was important.

  Her face remained turned to the window, her gaze fixed on the long front porch where a willow porch swing moved gently in the wind. “I know this probably sounds silly,” she said, embarrassed by the admission. “But I feel as if I’ve come home.”

  The knots in Judd’s stomach slowly unraveled. He shifted to squeeze her shoulder. “You have. For as long as you like.”

  Callie twisted in the seat and met the warmth of his gaze. Unable to contain the happiness swelling in her heart, she threw her arms around his neck. “Judd Barker, you might regret saying that to me.”

  Closing his eyes against the sting of emotion, he hugged her back. “Not by a long shot, darlin’.”

  * * *

  That first quick tour of Guthrie was the only glimpse of the town Callie saw for almost a week. Two people, holed up in a house with only each other for company, might have grown bored after a few days. Not Callie. And certainly not Judd. Their time together took on the quality of a honeymoon. Long nights of loving. Sleeping late of a morning. Relaxing strolls through the pastures with Baby trotting at their sides. Long, lazy soaks in Judd’s hot tub. Meals shared across the kitchen table with Callie no farther away than the stretch of a bare toe.

  He loved to watch her sleep, her body curled close to his. He loved to listen to her talk, no matter what the subject. She had a way of fluttering her hands when she became excited and her eyes would sparkle brighter than stars on a summer night. Her laughter filled his house with music and his heart with sunshine.

  He tried hard not to think about the time when she’d leave, but the clock marking the time for the Houston hospital presentation ticked silently away. He’d find himself looking at her, already missing her vibrance and presence in his life. He wondered if she thought, too, about the time when she would leave, and called himself a fool.

  Why would she want to stay with a washed-up singer like himself in a one-horse town like Guthrie? he asked himself more than once. Not that he’d trade Guthrie for any other spot in the world. Here he felt safe, protected from the ugliness he’d endured from the media during his trial.

  No, he wouldn’t leave Guthrie. And he couldn’t ask Callie to stay.

  * * *

  “You’re sure you want to have Thanksgiving dinner at my mother’s?”

  Callie rolled her eyes as Judd turned down a residential street. “You’ve asked me that twenty times, and my answer is the same. No, I don’t mind.”

  He stopped in front of a house. “Well, I just want to make sure. She always has a house full of people, most of ‘em strangers.”

  “Since I don’t know very many people here, they’ll all be strangers to me.”

  He turned off the ignition, obviously uncomfortable and wanting to say more. “Mother can be pretty nosey,” he said slowly. “And bossy, too.”

  Callie laughed and reached across the seat to pat his arm. “You forget. I’ve met your mother. She’s charming and sweet and polite.”

  Judd’s mouth twisted sardonically. “Yeah, right.” He shoved open his door and climbed out. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he mumbled over his shoulder.

  When Callie stepped through the front door of the Barkers’ home, she immediately knew Judd’s warnings weren’t totally exaggerated. The house was full of people and most of them strangers. She was passed from one group to the next, exchanging names and pleasantries, and by the time she reached the kitchen where Molly was busy filling glasses, she was relieved to see a familiar face.

  Molly grabbed a dishcloth to dry her hands and hurried over to give Callie a hug. “I’m so glad you could come,” she said.

  “Thanks for inviting me.” Callie glanced around the crowded kitchen where counters were heaped high with food. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Yes,” Molly said, slapping Judd’s hand from a basket filled with rolls fresh from the oven. “You can supervise the carving of the turkey.” She thrust a carving knife and fork toward Judd, then swept an apron around Callie’s waist. “And make sure more turkey goes on the platter than in his mouth,” she said as she bustled away.

  “I told you she was bossy,” Judd mumbled, but dutifully positioned the knife and fork over the roasted turkey.

  Callie pressed against his arm, watching while he sliced off a leg and set it aside. “Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked dubiously.

  He lifted his gaze to hers. “Would you like to do the honors?” he asked, offering her the fork and knife.

  Callie stepped back, her eyes wide. “Heavens, no! I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “You’ve never carved a turkey?” he asked in surprise.

  She arched a brow. “I can go you one better than that. I’ve never seen a turkey carved.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. In fact, I don’t remember ever seeing a whole turkey before. Our family always ate Thanksgiving dinner at the country club. The turkey was carved by the chef in the kitchen and served to us sliced on our plates.”

  Thanksgiving dinner at a country club. Judd couldn’t imagine anything worse. Dinner served by waiters, moving silently and unobtrusively around the table. Everyone talking in low, polite voices. No laughing, no teasing, no stealing food from the kitchen when your mother wasn’t looking. He didn’t realize how lucky he was to have a mother who insisted on family traditions...or how deprived Callie was not to have had those same traditions.

  He laid the knife and fork aside, gathered Callie into his arms and kissed her long and deep. When he drew away, she looked up at him, her eyes wide. “What was that for?” she asked breathlessly.

  He turned away, picking up the knife and fork again. “Just my way of giving thanks.”

  * * *

  With the Thanksgiving holiday behind them, the resid
ents and businessmen of Guthrie turned their attention toward Christmas. Decorations started popping up in store windows. The lampposts downtown were draped in greenery and lights.

  Though Judd would rather have kept Callie all to himself at his ranch, he was determined to make good his pledge that she see all the sights that Guthrie had to offer. To make sure she received a full education on Guthrie’s history, he planned another full day in town. He took her on a walking tour, serving as her private guide through the Territorial Museum and the State Capitol Publishing Museum.

  They walked the streets of Guthrie hand in hand, ducking into antique shops and browsing when they grew cold. They lunched at Granny Had One, dined on barbecue at the Stables and had a beer with Hank at the Blue Bell Saloon.

  After watching the evening performance of Christmas on the Prairie at the Pollard Theater, Judd hired a horse-drawn buggy to drive them on a moonlit ride through the town. Carolers, dressed in period costumes, strolled along the sidewalk, their harmonized voices filling the cold night air with the sounds of Christmas.

  This was the Guthrie Judd loved. The peaceful streets, the tranquil setting, that special magic unique to small towns. He looked at Callie, riding beside him, blankets pulled to her chin, and wished this night could go on forever.

  At that very moment, she tipped her face up to his, a contented smile touching the corners of her mouth. “I love you, Judd Barker,” she murmured before touching her lips to his.

  His heart twisting in his chest, Judd hugged her to him, wishing he could offer her the same words in return.

  She touched a finger to his cheek as she withdrew. Her eyes filled with her love for him, she whispered, “Thank you for sharing Guthrie with me. It’s a wonderful town.”

  Judd tucked her head beneath his chin. “Yes, it is,” he replied honestly, for with her there with him, it was true...everything was wonderful.

  * * *

  He was thinking about the moonlit carriage ride and Callie’s profession of love when he walked in from the barn the next day and found her curled up on the den sofa, the phone tucked to her ear. She was laughing, her head thrown back, the phone cord braceleted around her wrist. She lifted a hand and waved, but kept right on talking.