Loving Liza Jane

by Unknown

  “Liza,” he whispered, turning her into an embrace, lifting her from the box and tenderly placing her feet squarely on the solid floor. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  She took in his musky scent, her cold nose rubbing up against the roughness of his woolen coat, and released a jagged sigh that kept her tears at bay. Her fists caught and held the fabric where his jacket came together, his rock-hard body pressing against hers until it seemed he would squeeze every last bit of air from her lungs.

  Tanner turned his head to nuzzle the two of them, but neither seemed to notice, Ben’s ministering to her tattered emotions a distraction to them both.

  A light kiss on the top of Liza’s head made her long for more of him, and so she tilted her face upward just slightly, hoping that the move might encourage him to journey to her lips. Suddenly, it mattered little what Mrs. Winthrop might think. Yes, she’d signed a contract, but she couldn’t very well control the pounding of her heart and the urgent need to love this man.

  But just as she issued the silent invitation, his hands traveled down her coat sleeves and stopped at her wrists. He set her back from him and gazed into her eyes, his face a picture of perplexity. How could she set him straight, erase his confusion, if she couldn’t explain the changes that had taken place within her own heart? No, it was best to allow him to speak first.

  “I’ll finish saddling Tanner,” he said with curtness, unexpectedly dropping her hands to her sides and spinning around to face the impatient stallion.

  Disappointment raced through her veins, leaving a trail of regret. Words failed her, for she couldn’t begin to express her feelings without first knowing what he thought. He’d kept distance between them for the last five days. Was he even now kicking himself for having touched her? And had his feelings for her so changed that the mere thought of kissing her lips left him cold?

  Silence filled the gap until she mounted Tanner without Ben’s assistance, standing on the box and putting her foot in the stirrup, and then throwing her other leg up and over.

  “Have a good day,” he issued from his place on the floor, broad legs positioned a foot or more apart, his stance straight and intractable.

  “And you as well,” she replied, turning Tanner around and nudging him into a slow walk. Outside, she urged him into a canter.

  Better to be completely out of sight before she let the tears flow.

  ***

  The time passed rapidly, too fast to suit Ben. With each day’s passing, he came that much closer to having to face the person of Sarah Woodward, and still he wasn’t one step closer to knowing what to say to her when he did lay eyes on her.

  How would she handle his immediate rejection, his suggestion that she head back East? He couldn’t marry someone he didn’t love, he’d decided, couldn’t even court her in his present state of mind. He’d added up his funds and decided he could offer her a cash settlement for her trouble, but would it be enough?

  Would she rant and rave about having made a useless trip, complain that he’d wasted her time, or worse, melt into a pool of tears, her disappointment mingling with the grief of having already suffered a great loss, the death of her mother?

  To say Ben felt like a heel would be putting the matter in gentle terms. Perhaps saying he felt like a brainless, coldhearted, worthless idiot would be slightly closer to reality.

  “Papa, it’s Friday,” Lili said, coming out of her bedroom dressed in her Sunday best, Molly trailing in her cotton dress, barefoot and unkempt.

  “Yes, it’s Friday, so why are you dressed as if you were heading for church and not for school?”

  “Miss Merriwether said we could read a Christmas play today and I’m to read the part of Jesus’ mother. I think I should look my best.”

  “Ah,” Ben said, “I agree.” He touched the hot mug of coffee to his lips, then took a long, slow sip of the brew, watching Lili over the rim.

  “Todd Thompson will be Joseph.” She scowled and wrinkled her nose. “But just because he’s going to be my husband doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Rufus, Gus, and Freddie are the wise men.” Lili took the piece of buttered bread Ben offered her along with the cup of milk. After taking a good-sized bite and chewing it down, she said, “Christmas is only two weeks away, Papa. Ain’t that thrillin’?” Ben arched an eyebrow. “I mean, isn’t it thrillin’?”

  For the life of him, he couldn’t muster her enthusiasm. Too many things weighed heavy on his mind. “Absolutely exhilarating.”

  “Oh, Papa, you’re silly. Can’t you be serious?”

  She had no idea how truly somber was his mood. What would Lili think if she learned a woman was coming, one he’d sent for, no less, with aspirations for being his wife and the mother of his children?

  Later, after dropping an energized Lili at school and Molly at Emma’s, Ben headed for Johansson’s to buy a new saw, some nails, and a post digger. Grady Swanson’s sawmill was his next stop, where he picked out some boards for finishing off the fence repair. On his way out the door, he bumped into Rocky Callahan.

  “Rock, how you been?”

  The man’s dark features seemed to give away his sour mood.

  “Wonderful, just wonderful,” he answered, the sarcastic tone hard to miss. “My niece and nephew are coming in on today’s stage.”

  “The stage? You serious?”

  “Yeah, ain’t that something? It’s not often the stagecoach comes to town, but I hear it’s carrying an assortment of people.”

  Ben’s gut tightened at the news. Would Miss Sarah Woodward be among its passengers?

  “That so?” A moment passed before Ben continued. He dreaded to ask the question. “How is your sister?”

  Rocky shifted his weight as his face went sullen, a streak of emotion flashing across it. “She passed on. Time came quicker than anyone expected.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Rocky. Really sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as me,” the fellow said, kicking a stone with the toe of his boot.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Liz and I weren’t all that close. That’s why I’m dreading taking in her kids. They’ll be like strangers to me.”

  “It’ll be difficult at first, but time will begin to close in that gap of awkwardness,” Ben said, as if he had a clue of the vastness in Rocky’s assignment.

  “Maybe so, but that isn’t what I’m worried about.”

  “What do you mean?” Ben asked.

  “I haven’t time for these kids. Haven’t time to see to their physical needs, let alone the emotional ones they’re bound to carry with the loss of their only parent.”

  Ben turned thoughtful. “I see what you mean.” He laid a hand to Rocky’s hard shoulder. “I’ll keep you in my prayers, Rock. God has an underlying plan. I’m certain of it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve heard that before,” he muttered. “I best get moving. I’ve a lot to accomplish. Plan to add another room to my cabin.”

  Ben might have offered his help were it not for the fact of his own level of responsibility. The notion that he’d bitten off more than he could chew weighed heavy. “Let me know if you need help with the new room,” he replied, feeble as it was, watching as Rocky gave a weak smile and strode off.

  “Father, go with him, give him a sense of hope in the middle of his circumstances,” Ben quietly prayed.

  “Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy.”

  The comforting words from the Psalms lent peace even to Ben as he ambled back to his wagon.

  ***

  Anticipation lingered in the air like the smell of fresh-cut pine bows. The students hurried through their lessons, knowing that when everyone had accomplished his or her assignment, they would set about reading the Christmas play. Everyone had some job to carry out, whether it was moving a prop or reading an important line of a designated character.

  The children had worked hard this w
eek, making Liza’s return to the classroom not only a pleasure, but also easier than she’d have expected. To her delight, Bess Barrington had done a fine job in her absence. She’d left a glowing report of the children’s efforts with nary a remark about any ill behavior, and had even assisted the class in designing pretty “welcome back” cards, which she had placed on Liza’s desk. Bess had written a note that she’d left alongsude the children’s cards:

  I have always longed to be a teacher, but with Thomas coming early in my marriage, followed later by Erlene, it seemed impossible. This past week has been wonderful for me, although I’m sorry for the horrible circumstances that made it possible.

  Having Erlene and Thomas in the classroom, and watching their bright minds at work, only made my experience all the pleasanter.

  I trust you are doing well.

  Liza folded up the missive, which she’d already read at least a dozen times that week, and stuffed it between two standing books on her desk.

  “Is it almost time for the play, Miss Merriwether?” asked Lili in a high-pitched whisper. Of course, the rest had heard her, their enthusiasm equally matched.

  Liza checked the clock on the wall. Two more hours of school hung between them and their weekend. “I should think it won’t be long now.”

  “I wish our parents could have watched us,” offered Lenora Humphrey from her desk situated halfway back. Liza noticed that she, along with most of the girls, had copied Rosie and Lili in fastening a Christmas angel to the front of her desk. Apparently, the boys would have none of it, however.

  “It would have been nice, but I’m afraid our building isn’t big enough to host a play. Besides, it isn’t as if we’ve had much time to prepare. Why, you don’t even have your lines memorized.”

  “Besides, our props stink,” said Rufus.

  The barn had been drawn with crooked lines and smeared with bits of charcoal to give it a rugged appearance, then fastened to the front of the room. It was less than perfect, but the children had given it their all. Then there was the manger, crafted from crates that Mr. Johansson had donated when Freddie Hogsworth had inquired about obtaining extras. Under the makeshift manger was the straw that Sam Livingston had contributed to the cause.

  “I think your props are quite fine,” Liza encouraged, to which Rufus visibly relaxed. The poor boy needed constant reassurance. “Now, let us quickly finish our assignments.”

  Outside, the sounds of approaching hoofbeats and the squeaky turn of wheels rumbled up Main Street, coming to a stop across the road from the schoolhouse and smack in front of Johansson’s Mercantile.

  Rufus, being tall enough to see, poked his head up high to peer out the window. “It’s the stagecoach,” he announced.

  A gasp rose up all around. “Can we look, Teacher?” came the small voice of Erlene Barrington. It wasn’t every day the stage rolled into town.

  “Of course. In fact, I’m just as curious as you,” she stated.

  In a flash, they dashed to the window overlooking town and watched the exit of several passengers, the first an elderly fellow Liza recognized as Mr. Morgan, who’d visited his daughter’s family for Thanksgiving. Then there were Mr. and Mrs. Jameson, who’d taken a trip south and were now returning. After them was a middle-aged man that Liza failed to recognize, followed by two school-aged children.

  “Who are they?” whispered Rosie.

  “I don’t know, but they look like they’ll be comin’ to school,” replied Thomas Bergen.

  “Do we got room for them, Miss Merriwether?” asked Lili.

  “Of course, we have room for them, honey. There’s always room for one more.”

  “You mean two more,” corrected Gus.

  “Well, we don’t know that they’ll be coming to school. Perchance they’re only visiting relatives,” Liza said, studying their sagging shoulders and dour expressions.

  A vaguely familiar man approached them then, his own dour expression matching that of the children. “That’s Mr. Callahan,” said Andrew Warner. “He’s my neighbor.”

  Mr. Callahan. The name came back to her now. He was the widowed friend of Ben. But why would he be shaking the hand of the young lad and nodding nervously to the tiny girl?

  “Look at her,” said Lili in hushed whispers, watching as a finely-put-together woman stepped down from the coach, her every movement poised to perfection, her long neck straight, her manner trained to demonstrate self-confidence and dignity. She reminded Liza of the fancy women of Boston’s upper region, those who came from the Imperial district and reeked of wealth and finery. Wrapped in a cashmere coat trimmed with mink collar and wearing a matching hat over glistening red curls, Liza could only dream of such extravagance.

  “Who is it?” asked a choking Freddie Hogsworth.

  “I wouldn’t know,” answered Liza, equally interested.

  “Maybe she’s the kids’ mama,” said an ever practical Sarah Jenkins.

  “Naw,” said Andrew Warner, his nose pasted to the windowpane, emitting steam and fogging the glass. “She don’t look like no ma to me. ’Sides, she ain’t hoverin’ over them.”

  While the lot of them watched in open curiosity, Liza more fascinated with the forlorn children now than with the woman, Lili let out a shriek. “What’s my papa doing talking to that—that woman?”

  Liza’s eyes trailed a path to the source of Lili’s bewilderment and discovered Ben conversing with the beautiful lady.

  A fierce ball of fire rolled around inside her stomach, as if she had license to concern herself with whom Ben chose to talk. Nevertheless, the bitter taste of resentment simmered.

  It seemed impossible, even highly unlikely, Liza reasoned. She leaned into the glass as if to get a better view. Could it be? No, Ben had told her himself that he’d changed his mind about the notion of marrying Sarah—what was her name?—Woodward. Still, it would explain his untold lack of friendliness and his apathy toward kissing her. Oh, to think she’d encouraged that kiss!

  Another hurried look across the road found him taking the woman by the elbow and leading her off the street, bending now to speak into her ear.

  “What is he doing?” Lili shrieked again.

  Fresh anger boiled to the surface, burning Liza’s lungs and throat.

  “I—I don’t know, Lili,” she answered, jealous ire mixed with blinding disappointment. “I suppose you’ll have to ask him when you get home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She definitely wasn’t happy with him. That much was clear. Ben sat across the table from Sarah Woodward in Emma’s kitchen, Emma having taken Molly and scooted out the door to allow the two their privacy, but not before supplying them both with hot cups of tea and a plate of warm cookies.

  “I’m deeply sorry for the inconvenience I’ve caused you,” Ben told Sarah. “I know that your journey couldn’t have been easy, particularly in this cold weather and then following on the heels of your loss.”

  The woman twisted a flaming red curl around her index finger, her rosy cheeks, once blushing with delight at having finally met Ben face-to-face, now flushed with something altogether different—outright anger? “You might have let me know.”

  “Believe me, I tried. When I failed to hear back from the agency and received no further letters from you, I assumed you’d gotten the message. It’s been months.”

  “Well, as I told you, the agency folded some time ago.” She fingered a cookie with her finely manicured hands, then went for her cup of tea instead.

  “Yes, you told me that in your recent letter. Until then, however, I had no way of knowing.”

  She pursed her lips and blew air through her nostrils, putting Ben in mind of a fierce tiger. Blazing red hair curled around her cheeks, and when she huffed again, a lock shot straight out like a red-hot flame.

  She looked too much for him to handle anyway, he decided. Of course, he’d thought the same when first meeting Eliza Jane Merriwether.

  “What changed your mind, if I might ask?” Sarah
inquired, leaning forward, now hugging the cup of hot tea between both her hands.

  There was no denying the woman’s beauty. High cheekbones etched to perfection and framed by the lovely red curls drew attention to her larger-than-life hazel eyes, blue in the light of the sun, but now green in the light of Emma’s kitchen.

  And her elegant garments. Although clothing never defined the person, the way Sarah Woodward dressed hinted at her lineage. Wouldn’t Iris Winthrop have a fit once she realized she’d met her match in Hickman’s skimpy world of fashion?

  Why would a lady of this caliber apply at such a place as the Marriage Made in Heaven Agency when, by all intents and purposes, she could have any man her heart desired?

  Ben pondered her question. “I was hasty in sending for you. In truth, I didn’t truly pray about my decision as I should have.”

  “Well, I did, and I still believe I’ve made the proper choice in coming here.”

  Ben struggled in his heart and mind, on the one hand feeling sorry for her, and on the other, knowing with certainty that he wasn’t to marry her. Whether it did him any good or not, he was in love with another woman. Marrying this one wouldn’t solve the problem of his bleeding heart.

  “Again, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re in love with another, aren’t you?” she said.

  Her words halted his next breath. “Pardon me?”

  “Oh please, I’ve seen the look before. You can’t tell me that you haven’t been snagged by someone else.”

  He closed his eyes. Was he that transparent? “It doesn’t matter. She’s taken with someone else.”

  “Married, you mean?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Well then, what’s the problem? Go after her.”

  Ben couldn’t believe the candidness of this stranger. He found himself pushing back in his chair and laughing, her smile offering him a measure of relief. At least it didn’t appear she’d be tarring and feathering him.