Loving Liza Jane

by Unknown

  “But I’m his son’s teacher.”

  “True, but not all parents place as much importance on their child’s education as you might wish.”

  “Poor Rufus.”

  Ben turned to look at her. “You’re something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I believe you’d have pushed that man to his limits if I hadn’t been here. No telling what trouble you might have found yourself in.”

  Liza swept a bothersome strand of hair out of her eyes. “He’s pig-headed and obnoxious. Anyone could see that. I feel sorry for his wife.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t know any other way of life,” he supplied.

  “He as much as said she was stupid. I hope she didn’t hear him.”

  “She’s heard worse, I’m sure. One thing you should know about these hill people is that they live by their own set of rules, and you best respect them for it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A lot of things go on up here that not even the law will get involved in, Liza. Until we have lawmakers that are willing to risk life and limb, I suppose it will continue for generations to come.”

  “What kinds of things are we talking about?”

  “Bootlegging, thievery, all forms of abuse. Even incest. Everyone in these parts carries a gun. Didn’t you see the pistol Baxter had tucked away in his hip pocket?”

  Liza gasped. “No! I saw the rifles on the wall, but I assumed those were for hunting game.”

  Ben chortled, looked both ways when they arrived at a fork in the road, and then guided the rig to the right. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. “They hunt game all right. Trouble is it’s not always the four-legged kind.”

  Liza put a hand to her mouth to stifle a shriek. “Is murder another one of their vices?”

  “They wouldn’t call it murder. They would call it self-defense, protecting their property and their rights as citizens. They don’t consider themselves criminals, and for the most part, they’re not. Most folks up here are as law-abiding as the next; however, there are some who rule their land as if they were kings, going to any lengths to keep people off it.

  “They treat their women, daughters included, as second-class citizens, more like slaves. Most of the wives up here grew up in similar situations. They look at it as a way of life.”

  “These people need the Lord,” Liza said, her heart suddenly fallen clear to the tips of her high-top shoes.

  Ben looked straight ahead. “You’re right on that count.”

  ***

  The Bartel place sat on a large stretch of land. Ben had no idea how much property Angus Bartel owned, but he’d heard from some that it was close to a hundred acres, and probably more. How he’d found the money to acquire it was another matter. To Ben’s knowledge, he’d never held a job, at least not in town. Some thought he made brew of the strongest kind and sold it to the underground market. Ben had seen men of every known description come and go in these parts, most slickly dressed, wearing guns under their long, dapper coats.

  This was dangerous ground to be on, but Liza was a stubborn woman. There was no way he would have allowed her to make the trip alone.

  “Is that it?” Liza asked after they rounded a bend in the trail.

  “It is.”

  “It’s not much more than a big, run-down shack. The Baxters’ farm was better than this.”

  The yard, littered with waste, created a potluck for roaming chickens and goats to pick at. A nearby barn looked ready to topple. Tall, unmowed grass bent to the gentle breezes while an array of soaring wild flowers grew up helter-skelter, untouched, a stark contrast to the peeling white paint on the ramshackle, clapboard, two-story house.

  “Most of the men in these parts make their money, then squander it on gambling and such. They patronize Madam Guttersnipe’s hangout on a regular basis, I’m afraid. They’re not much for taking care of their possessions, unless someone tries to steal away what’s theirs.”

  Liza visibly shuddered and Ben put a hand to her shoulder. “You should let me do the talking, Liza.”

  “But I’m Clement’s and Rosie’s teacher.” Her pert little chin jutted out in defiance. He couldn’t help but admire the little spitfire. And maybe what he was feeling went even deeper than admiration. Whatever it was, he knew his heart was in trouble.

  “Okay, you do the talking, but if I need to cut in, I will,” he said.

  “That seems fair enough.”

  “And when I say it’s time to go, don’t argue with me.”

  Liza gave him a dubious look before relenting. “All right, I suppose you know more about what to expect than I do.”

  “Believe me, Liza, I do not know what to expect, and that’s what makes me nervous.”

  “Hold it right there!”

  Ben halted the team in the middle of the road and looked all directions before he spotted Angus Bartel’s approach from behind a decaying shed. How long had the burly man with the scruffy, graying beard been watching from his hiding place? Denim overalls hung loosely over a dirty shirt, and a tattered felt hat perched sideways on his head of longish hair added to his already coarse appearance. What stood out the most, however, was the shotgun he held at the ready.

  “Mr. Bartel, we’d be obliged if you’d put down the gun. We mean no harm,” Ben said, determined to stay calm for Liza’s sake.

  “Can’t ya read? Sign says, no trespassin’.”

  “We saw the sign but figured you wouldn’t mind if…”

  “Well, would ya lookie there, Paw?” From the barn came a sauntering Clement Bartel, as big as his father, if not taller and huskier. Instinct told Ben the boy was trouble. Greasy strands of long, sandy-colored hair lay across his pimpled forehead. Baggy, torn pants fell haphazardly below his exposed waistline. “It’s my teacher. Ain’t she a perty one? Didn’t I tell ya she was a looker?”

  Ben’s gut twisted to the point of nausea.

  “Shut yore mouth, boy.” Angus spat on the ground. “Show some respect.” But even as Angus spoke the order, it was obvious by the glint in his eye that his son’s remarks had humored him.

  Liza shifted, and Ben put a hand to her thigh to still her. “The teacher here would like a word with you and Mrs. Bartel. This is a social call, mind you. Miss Merriwether has been making the rounds to all her students’ families.”

  “Well now, ain’t that nice?” With that, Angus lowered the rifle to his side, allowing Ben to breathe easier. Still, the shrewd look in his eye did little to ease his suspicions about the two of them.

  “Yeah, it’s mighty nice,” echoed Clement, his gaze resting exclusively on Liza.

  “Are your wife and Rosie nearby?” Liza asked. “I would like to see them.”

  “The woman’s busy makin’ ar grub. Rosie’s helpin’. They can’t be bothered,” Angus said, pulling at his unkempt beard.

  Clement let his gaze fall to the ground, then kicked a stone with the toe of his boot, a sly smirk present on his face.

  “Oh, but I’ll only take a minute of your time.”

  “Let ’er stay, Paw,” Clement urged, the whine in his voice exaggerated. “It ain’t ever’ day sech a perty thing comes across ar land.”

  Angus opened his mouth to respond at the same time that Rosie came bounding onto the porch. “Teacher! Mama, it’s my teacher! Come quick.”

  Liza’s face lit up at the sight of the ten year old. “Rosie!”

  “Miss Merriwether!” the child cried, running toward their wagon, bare feet caked with dirt, knee-length dress faded and holey. Instinctively, Ben moved the horses closer to the house, something he was certain Angus would find objectionable.

  “I heard you was visitin’, but I din’t think you’d really come to my house.”

  “She comed to see me, too, brat,” Clement asserted.

  Liza started to climb down, but Ben snatched hold of her arm. She turned a sour look on him before giving the child her full attention. “I would not have left you out, Rosie,” s
he said, taking care not to look Clement’s way.

  “I got all my homework done,” the child announced. Clement sneered audibly.

  “Good for you. I’m proud of you,” Liza said.

  “You hightail it back in the house, and tell your maw there ain’t no need fer her to be steppin’ out on the porch,” Angus said with undue harshness.

  Too late, Mrs. Bartel opened the door and stepped outside, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun to get a better view. Her discolored cotton dress hung just past her knees, and, like her daughter, her feet were bare. Although just as pale and gaunt looking as Mrs. Baxter, this woman wore a certain kind of defiance that showed up clear as glass in her intelligent eyes.

  “Git back in the house, woman,” Angus Bartel ordered.

  But the woman’s chin came out at the same time that she pulled her shoulders back. It was then that Ben spotted the large bruise about the size of a fist on the underside of her jaw. He tensed as he thought about how and where she’d acquired the ugly bluish mark. Had it come from her brutish husband or, worse, her son? Tempted to ask, yet knowing the stir it could cause with Angus, he waited for a dose of spiritual wisdom.

  The gasp that came from Liza’s throat told Ben she’d also glimpsed the bruise.

  “I would like to meet the teacher, Angus. Rosie has told me so much about her,” Mrs. Bartel said in a quiet voice. She rested her hands on the wobbly porch railing and squinted up at Ben and Liza. “Afternoon. May I interest you in some lemonade?”

  The woman had grit; Ben had to give her that much.

  Angus transferred his weight from one foot to the other, stuck a thumb in one hip pocket, still holding to the rifle with the other hand, and released a low growl. He moved his murky eyes from the poor woman back to his son. Some hidden message lay buried in their depths, and Ben didn’t like the grim feeling it produced. He leaned his heavy frame in closer to Liza, willing her to sit still.

  “A glass of lemonade would be nice, ma’am,” Ben answered, “but I’m afraid we can’t stay. Dusk is falling in, and I have to get Miss Merriwether back down the mountainside.”

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Bartel, her face dropping with disappointment.

  “I would love a glass, thank you,” said Liza, scooting off the high seat before Ben could nab her. With lightning speed, Clement was there to capture her hand, his hungry eyes taking in the length of her as she hopped down. Ben’s gut twisted with dread. What was the young buck trying to accomplish by flirting with his schoolteacher? Just as quickly, Ben’s own feet hit the ground, after which he raced around to Liza’s side and seized her by the elbow.

  Moments later, Mrs. Bartel and Rosie returned with a tray of mismatched glasses and a tall pitcher of lemonade. At this proximity, Ben caught a better view of the woman’s facial contusion, and the mere sight of it made his stomach reel. If he were a betting man, he would wager his last dollar that she hadn’t gotten it falling. Had the bruise resulted from an act of defiance on her part? What would she face when they left for disobeying her husband and bringing out lemonade? How many other such wounds lay hidden beneath her clothing?

  Angus Bartel huffed in anger as he climbed the porch steps and plopped into a warped rocker, his eyes never leaving the small gathering, his rifle lying at the ready across his lap. It didn’t take a genius to realize he wanted Ben and Liza off his property, and the sooner the better. Ben prayed for both wisdom and protection. Men such as Angus Bartel were as dangerous as dynamite. One false move and you might not live to tell about it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Liza watched Mrs. Bartel with keen eyes. The poor thing tried her best to play the hospitable hostess, but with a husband such as she had, vulgar and undignified, and a son with the manners of a loutish bull, she was hard-pressed to pull it off. Still, she lifted the pitcher with ease and, with Rosie’s help, poured the lemonade into the empty glasses, plastering a smile on her face as she did so.

  “I want to thank you for makin’ the trip up the mountain, Miss Merriwether,” the woman said, handing over a full glass of lemonade to Liza and then one to Ben. Ben lifted the glass and, to Liza’s amazement, swallowed the entire contents in one gulp. “It ain’t an easy trip. My Rosie rides down with Mr. Chalmers ever’ mornin’. He works at Grady Swanson’s sawmill. Clement here finds his own way,” she said, giving Clement what looked to Liza like an iniquitous stare.

  “Oh, you have Mr. Broughton to thank for driving me,” replied Liza, lifting her face to gauge Ben’s expression and finding it incensed. Something told her she should have remained in her seat. She hugged the cool glass between her palms, praying for the correct choice of words, wanting to keep the visit cordial and Ben’s displeasure in check.

  “I’d have been happy to drive you, Teacher. All ya needed to do was ask.” Clement grinned with his syrupy offer, revealing two oversized, yellowish front teeth Liza had never noticed before, perhaps because he rarely showed them unless it was to sneer.

  “I appreciate the offer, Clement, but it wasn’t necessary,” Liza said. “Mr. Broughton insisted.”

  “That so?” Clement’s eyes fell to Ben. “You sweet on my perty teacher, Mr. Broughton?”

  “Clement, that’s enough,” Mrs. Bartel said, turning a trembling chin upward, something in her eyes indicating distress at having to discipline her son.

  “Miss Merriwether, I believe we should go.” Ben’s fingers clenched Liza’s elbow until she nearly winced, but her feet refused to budge. Angus rocked back and forth on the porch, the chair squeaking loudly with every pass. “The boy ain’t meanin’ no harm, Broughton,” he said with a husky laugh. “I think he has a soft spot fer the teacher. Can’t say I blame him none. She is a perty thing.”

  “Mama…” Rosie’s soft voice interrupted the exchange, her face a picture of worry and embarrassment as she pulled on her mother’s skirts.

  “I think it’s obvious you aren’t interested in what the teacher has to say, Angus,” Ben inserted roughly, looking from father to son. Liza stiffened at the harsh tone his words carried. “Come on, Liza.” He yanked at her arm again.

  Risking Ben’s anger, Liza said firmly, “I came to talk to the Bartels, and I would dearly like to do just that.”

  Angus’s sour-sounding laugh rose up from his round, meaty gut. “I can’t say I got the time, miss.”

  “Are you saying you’re not interested in your children’s education?” Liza faced him head-on, determined not to give in to his intimidating glare.

  “I’m saying I ain’t got the time,” he pressed.

  “What say we leave the women to their own talk, Angus?” Ben suddenly offered. “You and Clement can show me around your place.” He handed his empty glass back to Mrs. Bartel, his steely eyes never leaving Angus’s face in the process.

  Mr. Bartel ceased his rocking and beard pulling, his beady eyes filling with suspicion. “Ain’t nothin’ around here you’d be interested in seein’, but it can’t hurt to give you a tour.” With that, the man stood. “Come on, boy.” He motioned at a reluctant Clement to lead the way.

  “Ben,” Liza whispered, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as Angus and Clement started meandering down the path and Mrs. Bartel and Rosie walked up to the porch.

  “You’ll be fine,” he quietly assured. “Stay on the porch where I can keep my eye on you. I won’t go far.”

  She nodded. “All right, but what about you? What are you…?”

  He bent down close to her ear, sending a ripple of shivers up her spine when his breath tickled her lobe. “I’m big enough to take care of myself, but bear in mind we’re leaving in ten minutes, you hear?”

  “I’ll be ready,” she promised.

  Ten minutes passed and Ben did not return.

  Liza glanced out at the shed to which the three had entered while Mrs. Bartel kept up her chatter. “It’s been so long since I talked to another woman, ma’am. And one as pretty and refined as you makes it extra special.”

  “Thank you, Mrs.
Bartel. I’m happy to talk to you, as well.” She looked at Rosie, whose cheeks were beaming with delight. “You should be very proud of your daughter. Rosie is a fine student. She attends to all her lessons and minds her manners perfectly.”

  Mrs. Bartel smiled with pleasure. “She always has been a fine child. I—I’m sorry about Clement.”

  Liza paused before responding. “Yes, well, I’m afraid your son has some difficulties in school—both academically and socially.”

  “He ain’t my son. I want to make that clear right off.” The words came out sounding cold and hard as stone. “He comes from another woman, one of Angus’s, well, you know.” Liza didn’t know, and she felt too stunned by the information to pry. “The woman had no money, you see, so when Clement was five, she dropped him off on ar porch. Never come back fer him, neither. That was ten years ago. Clement ain’t seen her since.

  “I tried to raise the boy best I could, but he is terrible cruel. By the time we got him, he already had a mean streak blacker than sin; kilt ever’ little animal he could get his hands on, kittens, puppies, even wild bunnies. Strangulated ’em, he did, then left ’em to rot on my doorstep like he was proud or somethin’. I can’t abide his awful temper and disrespect for the feelin’s of others.” That said, she put a flat palm to her wounded jaw.

  Liza gasped. “Did Clement do that to you?”

  Mrs. Bartel shrugged. “Weren’t nothin’. He’s always knockin’ me or Angus around.”

  “Angus too?”

  “Angus is gettin’ older. He can’t stand up to the boy the way he used to. When Clement gets in one of his fits, there ain’t no stoppin’ ’im, and pity the person who gets in his way.”

  She shook her head in a show of defeat. Rosie’s perceptive gaze said she wasn’t a bit surprised by her mother’s words. “My mama’s never done nothin’ to Clement ’cept be nice to him.” She wrapped an arm around her mother’s tiny waist.

  “Oh, Rosie, has Clement ever hurt you?” Liza asked.