by Unknown
“I think not,” he said, a muscle in his jaw flicking.
“Why not? I can do hard labor.”
He gave Liza a quick once-over. “Pardon me, ma’am, but you’re a mite of a woman.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing any job you might hand over to a man.”
With that, he burst into a round of riotous laughter, the sound bubbling from his chest and seeming to bounce off the cabin’s rickety walls. She supposed it had been an absurd statement, but certainly not that funny.
When he finally composed himself enough to speak, he merely said, “I’ll be starting on the work sometime this week—or next.” Turning, he headed for the door to the cabin.
“This week or next? But—why not today?” she asked, following directly on his heels, frustrated that he didn’t see the matter as urgent.
He stopped in midstride and turned. “Patience is a virtue, ma’am. Remember?”
“I remember, and for the moment, I have all the patience I can possibly muster. I have just traveled several hundred miles to reach this place, Mr. Broughton. I would appreciate a home of my own to settle into before school starts.”
He cocked his handsome head at her. “Ah, well, that could be a problem.” Then, glancing out the hole in the wall where once a window had been, he asked, “You see those fields out there?”
“Of course,” she answered, following his gaze.
“There’s corn out there that needs harvesting. Some of it is rotting already. Corn is not my only crop, either. There’s plowing and haying, not to mention cows that need milking, and a couple of hogs to fatten up before slaughtering day.”
When she failed to show him sympathy, he looked toward the ceiling with a sigh. “What I’m trying to say, Miss Merriwether…what is your first name?”
“Eliza—Eliza Jane. Liza to my closest friends. Miss Merriwether to you,” she tacked on.
He narrowed his midnight blues on her. “What I’m trying to say, Liza,” he carefully articulated with a hint of spite, “is that you came at a busy time in my life.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. Broughton.”
“Ben will suffice,” he reminded.
“School will be starting soon, and since you knew I was coming, I should think you would have planned ahead.”
He bowed his head and murmured something. A hasty prayer, perhaps? “I’ll gather some men and start as soon as possible. That’s all I can tell you.
“I’ll have to find someone to watch my girls,” he added as an afterthought while turning around. “The woman who watches over them is leaving soon.”
“I should think your wife…”
He offered her a cynical look. “I am no longer married, so you can stop referring to my wife. She died over a year ago.”
The simple statement stopped her in her tracks. “Oh,” was all she managed for the moment.
Chapter Four
I have a classroom to organize and lessons to prepare for, but I suppose I could find time to help with your children,” she offered, folding her hands at her petite waist.
He noticed that several strands of golden brown hair had pulled loose of the little knot she’d piled on top of her head. He wondered what she’d do if he simply tucked them back behind her ear. “No need. I’ll manage my personal affairs.”
He had to get out of here, he told himself. The cabin was downright stifling, and the little woman inside it didn’t help matters. He hadn’t wanted to mention Miranda’s passing, but now that he had, he prayed her name would not come up again.
“Do you have anyone in mind—to watch your children, that is?”
“No—yes—no; well, sort of.” He couldn’t lie. “I have several women in mind I’m about to approach on the matter.” The truth was he had a few, not several. “They all have broods of their own and I’m thinking that adding two more to the litter won’t make that much difference to them.”
There was the Johnson clan up the road. Mrs. Johnson had five little ones and another on the way. He seriously doubted she’d want to take on two more, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. Then there were the Bergens, the next farm over. They had four, but they were all very young. Their son, Thomas, a mere nine, was the oldest of the children. Mrs. Bergen likely had all she could handle right now.
He’d thought about the widow Riley, but he was afraid, after the suggestion Mrs. Granger had made about courting the woman, she just might get designs on him. There was always the mail-order bride concept, but that option was a last resort.
Liza tilted her head at him, as if to assess his situation. “Are you certain? The truth is, I want you to finish this place, and if watching over your children will speed things up, well…”
“No. Mrs. Granger will be around a bit longer, and as you said, you have to tend to your classroom.”
“How old are your children, Mr. Broughton?”
“Molly is fourteen months and Lili is seven. They’re a handful, but very smart.”
The teacher’s face brightened. “I’m sure they are.” Then, catching a hurried glance out the window, she said, “Well, I best be going. I have important things to see to.”
They exchanged strained smiles.
“I’ll stop by in a few days to check your progress,” she added. “I should think you’d be well on your way by then.”
Demanding little woman.
He watched her gather up her skirts and march down the slanted pathway toward her rented rig. She’d have to buy one of those getups if she planned to move out here. The three-mile walk was simple enough on warm, sunny days but downright bone-chilling in the winter months.
He wondered if she had a clue of what lay ahead. Something told him she would learn as she went. She seemed made of tougher stuff than he’d expected. On the outside she was sweet and fragile looking, but on the inside he suspected her blood was mixed with grit and gravel.
“Good-bye, Mr. Broughton,” she said from her high perch on the wagon.
Leaning against the little cabin’s exterior, he managed a grunt and a simple nod of the head. He could see already that the woman was going to rub him the wrong way.
As Eliza Jane Merriwether maneuvered the wagon back toward town, he mumbled a hasty prayer. “Lord, give me strength.”
That evening, after putting both his girls down in the little room next to his, Lili on the cot, and Molly in the crib, he took a strong cup of coffee and pulled a chair up to the table.
The day had been sweltering, but nighttime breezes now wafted through the open windows of his sturdy house, cooling and lending comfort. He tipped the chair back on its hind legs and hoisted his feet atop the table, something Miranda would never have allowed. Even as he did so, he had to push down a guilty conscience. He could almost hear her scolding tone now. “Benjamin Broughton,” she would say, “you get them boots off that table straightaway. We’re gonna be eatin’ ar breakfast on that table.”
A slow smile formed and lingered as the memories did.
He’d met his Miranda at a barn dance when he was nineteen. The entire town seemed to have shown up for the affair, the nighttime celebration of the day’s barn raising. Glancing about the place that night, and looking for his buddies, Rocky Callahan and James Buchanan, he’d spotted Miranda Franklin instead. It was the Franklin family who’d lost their barn to a fire along with countless livestock. As was the custom, the men and boys from all across the region showed up the following week to raise another barn. He and his aging grandfather had been among them.
He’d caught glimpses of the Franklin girl that day and thought she’d noticed him, too, but always when he’d sent a special nod or smile her way, she’d dropped her head in a skittish manner, picked up her flouncy skirt, and turned away, as if a mere glance at him were too embarrassing. She was a shy one back then.
Well, that night he meant to change things. There she was standing as pretty as a picture in front of the punch table, golden curls hugging the curve of her neck, a fitted, flowery dress accenting her tiny waist. Mu
stering up all his courage, he’d approached her, afraid she’d run the other way. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d smiled and given him a curtsy. One look into her clear blue eyes had been like seeing the ocean for the very first time. Pricked by Cupid’s arrow, he’d felt the pangs of young love.
Ben smiled at the simple remembrance. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out they belonged together, and so they’d married in June of the following year.
That was ten years ago, although it felt like two entire lifetimes. He was a mere twenty-nine, but he could have been forty-nine for all the pain and suffering he’d endured in her passing. She’d been sickly during her second pregnancy, and when the complications of childbirth set in, there was little the doctor could do for her. Her resistance was too low, Doc Randolph had said. In the end, she’d bled to death and left him with an infant daughter and a six year old that he hadn’t the slightest notion how to care for.
Now, here he was, fourteen months later, barely managing. If nothing else, he’d learned to place his faith and trust in his heavenly Father.
Reaching for his tattered Bible, he opened it to the passage he’d been studying. In the margin, he’d scrawled, “The sorrows of death encompassed me, and the pains of hell found me: I found trouble and sorrow. Then called I upon the name of the Lord; O Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul. Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful. Psalm 116:3–5.”
He’d penned the words just after putting his newborn infant into her crib and his wife in her grave. Emotions he’d labored long and hard to keep under lock and key had gushed forth that night, as if a mighty dam had finally broken free. In his misery, he’d sought strength in God’s Word and found it.
“Papa?”
Ben went into automatic alert at the sound of Lili’s small voice. Booted feet hit the floor as he lay his Bible back down and turned to face his daughter. She stood in the doorway, golden curls mussed and sleep still evident in her eyes.
“What’s the matter, pumpkin?”
“I can’t sleep,” she mumbled, crossing the room.
“Why not?”
“Molly’s makin’ noises,” she complained.
“What kinds of noises?”
“Snorey ones.”
Ben smiled. “At least she’s sleeping for a change,” he reminded.
“Can I sit on yer lap?”
Without giving him the chance to reply, Lili climbed up and snuggled into the crook of his neck.
“It’s late, Lil, and you know how you are in the morning when you don’t get the sleep you need.”
“I promise not to grouch—too much,” she said.
He smiled over the top of her head and smoothed down a few hairs that insisted on going straight to his mouth.
“I’m also too excited,” she added.
“Now, what would you have to be excited about?” he asked, rubbing little circles into her back.
“Miss Merriwether. What else?” Her voice fairly chirped with enthusiasm. “Aren’t you excited?”
Ben closed his eyes and sought a suitable reply. “I wouldn’t say excited is the proper choice of words.” At present, the woman represented work to him.
After picking up building supplies in town and talking several men into coming out to help him, Ben and the others had set about refurbishing the old Broughton place immediately. One thing was certain; this was not a simple project. Matter of fact, the further they got into it, the worse it got. It seemed everything from the roof on down needed some sort of repair.
“Why ain’t you excited?” Lili asked, curling into him.
“I’ve asked you not to use that word.”
“Well, then why aren’t you?”
“Well, of course I’m happy that you will start school as scheduled. Isn’t that enough?”
“What does she look like, Papa?” she asked, ignoring the fact he’d dodged her question.
How could he explain to Lili that her new teacher was pretty without risking disrespect to her mother’s memory? “She’s—fine—I suppose.”
“But how does she look? Did you notice any ugly birthmarks?”
Ben laughed outright, the mere thought of an ugly mark on the refined Miss Merriwether somehow cheering his mood. “No, Lili, none that were visible.”
Satisfied, she asked. “Was she mean and grumpy?”
He supposed that all depended on who you asked, but he had to come up with a better answer than that. “I’m sure to you she will be everything and more than you ever dreamed possible in a teacher.”
Lili drew back and granted him a wide-eyed look of joy. “Jumpin’ Jehosephat! This is good news!”
“Lili, where do you come up with your vocabulary?” Ben scowled, at the same time fighting the urge to smile.
“I’m plain thrilled that you liked her,” she said, ignoring his question.
“I didn’t say I…”
“When can I meet her?” she cried.
“Huh?”
“Can we drive the buggy into town tomorrow so I can meet her face-to-face?”
“What? No, Lili. Papa has many chores to do tomorrow, one of which is fixing up Grandpa Broughton’s place so she can move into it.”
“Just think of it, the new teacher will be our neighbor. I will be the envy of the whole entire school.”
“Lili, it is not nice to create envy in your friends, particularly if you want to keep them,” he gently scolded.
Ben glanced out the window and up at Shannon’s Peak. The cabin was near enough that when his grandfather had lived there Ben could see the smoke rise up from the chimney, see his shadow pass across the window on a moonlit night, and catch the sight of his glowing lamp in the window when he sat next to it in the morning to read from the old family Bible. Would he once again watch out his window for the first hint of light on Shannon’s Peak?
“Well, when can I meet her?” she pleaded.
“School will start soon enough.”
“But I want to meet her before—so I won’t get the jitteries.”
He smiled. “You weren’t nervous last year, were you?”
“Not on the first day,” she admitted, fidgeting with the hem of her cotton nightgown, “but I was petrified on the second day, ’cause I found out Mr. Lofthouse was mean and grumpy.”
Ben sighed. “Lili, I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” After meeting Miss Merriwether, he could rest assured his daughter would be in safe hands. The teacher might have been a little crisp and outspoken with him, but he was sure she had a love for children. Of course, he couldn’t tell Lili that because it was just a hunch.
“Well, can I meet her anyway?”
Her persistence was beginning to annoy him. “I just…well, perhaps I can drive you into town one day soon.” He knew just as soon as she batted those golden lashes and gave him that droopy look there’d be no letting up until she’d met the infamous Miss Merriwether.
“Oh, thank you, Papa. Tomorrow?”
“No promises.”
He was an easy target, and he knew it. Her slender arms moved around his neck and tugged until she’d gotten his face down close enough to plop a wet kiss across his cheek. “I love you, Papa. You are the best Papa in the world.”
“All right. I can see where this is heading. It’s time you hopped back into bed. Morning will be here before you know it.”
“Can I have a drink of water first?”
“Suppose you have to beat a path to the outhouse. Too much water will do that to you.”
“Then I’ll wake you up to take me.”
“That is just what I was afraid you’d say.” He tousled her hair and gently placed her on her bare feet. Her sleeping gown was getting shorter, indicating a growth spurt. “When did you grow those extra inches?” he asked, frowning.
She stretched to her full height. “I am seven, going on eight.”
“You just turned seven last month.”
“I’m still going on eight,” she corrected.
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br /> He smiled and stood to his feet, mulling about how proud Miranda would be of Lili. “Let’s get you that cup of water.”
The next morning brought dark storm clouds. With no trace of a sunrise in sight, it appeared as if a storm was imminent. Ben tossed the bedcovers off him and rose with a start, distant thunder bringing him to full awareness. He pulled on the same pair of old work pants he’d worn yesterday, but grabbed a fresh shirt off the stack of halfway folded ones he’d laid on top of the chest of drawers.
The concept of a mail-order bride struck him anew. At least the place would shine once more if he had a woman around. Not to mention there would be breakfast on the table when he came in from milking Bessie and Sarah and feeding the livestock. Washday would become her duty, and she could mend his shirts and darn his socks. Most important, she would love the Lord. The agency advertised only Christian brides.
Lord, what am I thinking?
The stench of last night’s burnt biscuits, pork gravy, and navy beans with brown sugar still lingered heavily, turning his stomach. He wrinkled up his nose as he passed the unscrubbed kettle still sitting on the cook stove. There was barely time to clean up the place what with all the chores awaiting him in the barn and out in the fields—and now over at the cabin. What had he even been thinking when he’d offered the broken-down place? At first, it’d seemed a generous move, even charitable, but now he questioned his sanity.
“You goin’ out to the barn, Papa?” The familiar little voice forced him to turn.
“Lili, go back to bed. It’s not even six o’clock yet. I’ll be in to rustle up some breakfast after I’ve tended to the animals. It’s going to rain and I want to finish as many of the outdoor chores as possible.”
She dropped her lower lip. “I can help.”
“I prefer you stay inside with Molly. She may wake up, and I’ll need you to keep watch.”
“But I helped you gather eggs yesterday while she slept,” she argued.
“This is different. I have a good deal more to do right now than gather eggs.”
“But, Papa…”
“Lili!”
Brought up short by the unfamiliar harshness in her father’s tone, her eyes welled up. Without another word, she walked slowly back to bed.