Loving Liza Jane (13 page)

“Well, just the same, I appreciate your help, whether it was voluntary in nature or otherwise,” she said rather coolly, afraid to appear overtly thrilled with the cabin’s outcome on the chance that Mr. Broughton might view her actions as kowtowing. If there were to be an apology made on her behalf, she would give it in private.

“Yer happy then?” Andy asked in a hopeful tone.

“It’s, well, more than I ever imagined.” And it was. The more she studied her surroundings, the more delighted she became. She began to walk around the room then, oblivious to the watchful eyes that followed her every move. She would add her own finishing touches, of course. Curtains, rugs, a tablecloth, pictures—pictures. Just then, she noted a framed painting hanging on the wall beside the bedroom door.

“What’s this?” she asked, moving closer. The artwork was a scenic, lush valley surrounded on all sides by low mountains and luxuriant, grassy hills. A cluster of deer drank from a clear blue mountain stream and grazed in verdant meadows. A brass plate at the bottom of the frame carried the title “Patience Is a Virtue.” Alongside that the name of the artist.

Patience is a virtue. A blush crept up her neck, making her wish for a high collar to wrench across the heated, blotchy spot. She knew exactly why the painting hung there, and, although it was a beautiful piece of art, it would serve to remind her often of her earlier show of impatience with Benjamin Broughton and her lack of Bible knowledge. When she mustered the courage to look at Mr. Broughton, she found him equally flustered.

“Ben informed us all the paintin’ was a gift to the cabin, ma’am,” said Sully Thompson with a spark of amusement. “He wanted to make that clear when I first discovered it restin’ facedown on the top shelf of the closed cabinet.”

“Sully.” Ben’s sudden harshness seemed sufficient to put the men on warning. In fact, each one set to picking up tools and heading for the door.

“Time for us to take a quick waterin’ break. Excuse us, ma’am,” said Andy, brushing past her while courteously tipping his hat. “Come on, men.”

“Nice meetin’ ya, miss,” offered yet another whose name she hadn’t learned.

One by one, each man filed out until it was only Mr. Broughton and she, his great hulking presence fairly taking up all the air and surrounding space.

Liza turned her gaze toward the picture. “It’s a lovely painting that you’ve bought—for the cabin.”

“Sully should have kept quiet about it.”

“It will be a good reminder to me of my lack of tolerance and staying power. I do tend to rush ahead of myself.”

“It wasn’t my intention…”

“And I think you’ve found a good place for it. A person can surely spot it from any angle.”

“It can be moved into the other room,” he assured.

“No, it’s—perfect where it is.”

“I discovered it in Johansson’s Mercantile. It seemed fitting in light of, well, our earlier discussion.” He threw her a meaningful look.

“Yes. Well, it was foolish of me to think the phrase came from the Bible.”

“Not at all. It was a simple mistake.”

“Well, no matter; it’s true I need to brush up on the Scripture. I’m afraid the Lord has much work to do in me,” she confessed.

Mr. Broughton’s hands went to the back of him and he rocked just slightly on his booted heels, a smile breaking through. “I believe we all can say the same for ourselves.”

His intense gaze set her to walking about the little cabin once more, her shoes seeming to glide across the newly installed floor and making her relish in the thought of walking across it barefoot.

“The place is shaping up nicely, don’t you think?” he asked, his deep voice resounding off the walls of the empty cabin.

“Yes, absolutely.” She skimmed her palm across the kitchen workspace, happy when she found the wooden surface smooth to the touch. Even the sink and little cookstove next to it, which were marred from years of use, were clean. She tried to picture which man had labored so in the cleaning of it. Was it Mr. Broughton?

“We tried to fill in all the cracks in the walls so that you’d scarcely notice any drafts come winter. The fireplace should heat the place up nicely.” It was a massive thing with stone frontage from floor to ceiling, and it took up an entire wall. “I believe you’ll—”

“Mr. Broughton,” she quickly interrupted. “I simply must apologize for my previous behavior. It’s true; I do tend to overreact.”

“Is that a fact?” Crinkle lines carved into the corners of both eyes indicated he was prone to teasing.

“Well, you saw how I was after I’d been locked up in that outhouse.”

He gave a rich sounding laugh. “Hysterical.”

“Have you managed to contain that secret, by the way?”

“Reluctantly so.”

Relief flooded through her veins. “I appreciate that.” Moments of silence followed as she continued moseying through the cabin. “The place is wonderful. I should like to move in the day after tomorrow.”

He seemed to think that over. “There are a few more items to finish, after which I suspect you could begin moving in. Do you have furniture?”

“No, but I will—after I place an order with Sears and Roebuck. There is a catalog at Johansson’s Mercantile.” She spun circles to scan the room from every imaginable point of view. “I shall need to buy a table and chairs and perhaps a writing desk. Yes. Oh, and I’ll need to purchase a new bed and perhaps a chest of drawers. The armoire will suit me fine in the interim, of course. Rugs, yes, I need rugs, although the floor is lovely. I never imagined.

“And curtains. I saw the perfect calico pair at Winthrop’s Dry Goods just yesterday.

“A few towels and a tablecloth will dress up the kitchen nicely; well, that is, once I buy a table, and…what?”

Mr. Broughton was laughing at her. “Nothing. You’re getting ahead of yourself again. Do you really think you’ll be ready to move in day after tomorrow? You don’t even have anything to sleep on.”

“I shall sleep on the floor and enjoy every minute of it. I packed plenty of quilts and such.”

He laughed again. “You are something.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Aunt Hettie used to say I could get myself into trouble quicker than a worm at the end of a fishing line.”

Mr. Broughton smiled. “That’s the second time I’ve heard you mention your aunt. Where are your folks?” He folded his thick arms, propped a broad shoulder up against the wall, crossed his booted ankles, and studied her from across the room.

“They died in a fire. A neighbor managed to rescue me, but before he could run back inside to wake my folks the roof collapsed. My mother’s sister Hettie and my Uncle Gideon raised me from that day forth.”

A look of sorrow washed across his face. “It must have been horrible for you.”

“I was very young, a mere baby.”

“I see. It’s good that you don’t remember.” Something in his expression denoted deep-set pain. It made her want to ask about his wife, but she held her tongue. Emma Browning had been kind enough to indulge Liza just this week in a few of the facts surrounding Mrs. Broughton’s unfortunate death after giving birth to Molly.

“Have you found someone to care for your children yet?” It seemed a safe enough topic.

The question seemed to shake him from a state of introspection. “Oh, well, I have found a solution of sorts.” He pulled himself away from the wall and advanced to a window across the room, the one overlooking the creek.

“That’s wonderful,” she said, staying put by the deep sink, watching him lean into the window. “A woman from town then?”

He turned. “Why do you ask? Are you interested in the job, Eliza Jane?”

Flustered by his straightforward tone and carefree use of her two Christian names, she put a hand to her throat. “No, of course not.”

“I didn’t think so,” he said, smiling. He seemed to admire his handiwork as he ran a hand over the windowsill. “I’ve come to a decision over the past several days. I suppose you could say the job of refurbishing this cabin has hastened my decision, made me more aware of my circumstances. My children need stability, you see.”

Liza bit into her lip without thinking. “Of course. What will you do?”

“I’ve decided to send for a mail-order bride.”

“A w-what?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“A bride,” he stated as matter-of-fact as you please.

“Someone you don’t even know?” The notion seemed ludicrous.

“That’s right.”

“But that seems risky,” she pointed out.

“It is a Christian organization,” he clarified.

“And you assume that makes it right?” she asked, frantic for no good reason.

“I’ve just told you; my daughters need stability—and a woman.”

“I should think you could find someone in these parts.”

He grinned at her from his rather self-important stance, then turned it into a cynical chuckle. “Did you have someone in mind?”

“Absolutely not, Mr. Broughton.”

He sauntered away from the window. “Well, I’m wiring some money to the agency tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? But that’s so soon. What if she is quite homely?”

He laughed again and Liza realized she was beginning to accustom herself to the husky, jovial sound. “I won’t marry her on the spot, Liza,” he said. He’d done it again, used her Christian name as if it were second nature. “The agreement is that I will court her from the start while employing her services.”

“I see. But that hardly seems appropriate, employing her services.”

He raised his jet-black eyebrows. “I plan to make arrangements for her to stay at Emma’s place. In fact, she can take over the room you will vacate.”

What was that tight feeling that made breathing so difficult? “I see. What does Lili say about—this arrangement?”

Deep frown lines creased his forehead. “Lili doesn’t know yet.”

“That hardly seems fair, Mr. Broughton. Lili seems a very impressionable child. I should think—”

“It doesn’t matter what you think, now, does it?” He issued the fact as cool as could be, shutting her up on the spot. He moved to the door, the heels of his boots seeming to accentuate his point as they echoed in the empty room. “The fact is, I need a wife,” he added, turning just slightly, annoyance evident in his voice. “And the sooner the better I think.”

***

Ben patted the envelope stored safely in his hip pocket, then checked to see that the letter he’d written to the agency was there as well. He intended to deposit money in the bank first, then wire the desired amount to the Marriage Made in Heaven Agency. If nothing else, the drive in had demonstrated his point of needing a wife. Lili had been crying profusely ever since they left the farm because he’d told her they would not be stopping off at Emma Browning’s place to pay a visit to Miss Merriwether. Molly had been crying as well, but for reasons that only God Himself understood. He’d left the kitchen in a shambles and dirty clothes on the floor.

To make matters worse, he had a splitting headache, and he suspected the stress of unmet deadlines, failing crops, an ailing horse, and unfinished chores contributed greatly. Yes, he needed a wife.

He’d spent a good share of last evening reading Scripture and seeking God’s direction regarding bringing a woman into their household. In the end, he’d simply asked the Lord to drop a giant stumbling block in front of him if the idea of sending for a mail-order bride was entirely wrong. And now it would seem that instead of a stumbling block the Lord had filled him with plenty of reasons for needing a woman. Simply put, he was at the end of his rope as far as single parenting went.

To top matters off, Mrs. Granger had announced that the day after tomorrow would be her last for watching the children. She was heading for St. Louis on the next available train out of Lexington. In fact, she was considering a permanent move. “Nothing much holding me here in Little Hickman, Ben,” she’d said. “My family’s gone, spread from here to kingdom come. My daughter’s been itching to find me a place near her. I believe my son Charles and I will scout out the area while I’m there.”

Ben liked Mrs. Granger. She’d always been a good family friend. But truth be told, he’d miss her dependability almost more than her friendship. She’d been a steady force for his children, Lili in particular, always loving and gentle in her treatment of them.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” he’d said begrudgingly. “Naturally, we will all miss you dearly.”

“You know I feel the same.”

So what was he to do in the interim? Sarah Woodward wouldn’t arrive for several weeks, and then only if she agreed to all his stipulations—caring for his children and the housework, staying at the boardinghouse, and attending church regularly. He was certain the latter was the least of his worries.

What if she is quite homely? Liza’s words came back as a fresh reminder of yesterday’s heated discussion on the topic. Of course, looks were not an issue, he told himself. Still, he could hardly abide the thought of marrying someone entirely unseemly in looks. Miranda had been beautiful by anyone’s standards. The contrast would be hard to take.

It’s not fair to keep the news from Lili. She’s impressionable. He hadn’t expected the schoolteacher to be so forthright in her opinion, but he supposed she did have Lili’s best interests in mind, Lili being her student and all. And he had to admit she did have a point. He would have to let his daughter know of his intentions sooner or later.

As if on cue, Lili sniffed loudly, forcing him to turn his gaze on her. She sat on the far end of the seat, facing straight ahead, Molly snuggled in between them. “Have you ended your crying spell yet?” he asked too harshly.

Apparently, Molly thought he spoke to her, for her whimpering started up again. “Molly, what is it? Are your teeth bothering you again?” He drew a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and swiped it across the child’s runny nose. Then, slipping an index finger into her mouth, he found swollen gums and discovered the molar responsible for her pain. To top matters, her cheeks were unusually hot. “Maybe we best stop in to see Doc Randolph while we’re at it.”

“Then could we go see Miss Merriwether?” Lili asked.

“We’ve been over this before. You don’t need to visit her every time we come to town.” Though it was more Ben who needed to avoid the little lady.