The Preacher's Daughter (11 page)

“I doubt I’ll ever forget.”

“So we admit the truth, but we don’t punish ourselves with it,” she insisted.

“The truth is our mother was a whore and we don’t know who our fathers are,” he said bluntly.

“But if you had a chance to know,” she said, her voice intense now, “would you take it?”

He looked at her. “A man like that isn’t worth opening a vein for, Ellie.”

“Can you be sure what kind of man he is?”

“He was one of
them.
”

She closed her eyes. A tear slipped beneath her lashes, and the sight made his chest ache.

“Ellie.”

“I’m not sad for me, Ben, I’m aching inside for you.” She opened her eyes. “You’re the only one who can decide if you want to give this man a chance or not. If you want to know the truth. If you can handle it.”

“What good would it do?”

“I don’t know. And neither do you. But you have a chance to find out.” She stood and gazed down at him. “You’re not him. You’re not any of them. Maybe that’s what you’d learn. Or maybe you’d learn he’s not the piece of dung you’ve believed he is all these years, and you just don’t want to stop hating him because hate is easy.”

Her words found their mark and sank in. He placed his elbows on the tabletop and laced his fingers over the lower half of his face.

Soft footsteps sounded, and Lorabeth stepped into the semidarkened kitchen. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting you?”

She turned as though to leave.

“No,” Ben said before she could go. “Come on in.”

He got up and turned up the wick on the wall lamp.

Lorabeth held a book against her midriff. “I was going to make some tea and read.”

“I’m tired,” Ellie said with a weak smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m heading upstairs.” She leaned over and pecked Ben’s cheek with a light kiss.

“’Night, Ellie.”

Lorabeth laid the book on the table, pumped water into the kettle and stoked the fire in the stove. “Will you join me?”

“Sure.”

The water boiled and she poured it over leaves in the teapot, then let them stand while she got cups from the cupboard. “How’s your patient?”

“News sure travels,” he answered. “Dog’s doin’ well.”

“There’s no home social this week because the Iversons are holding a dance at their place. A barn dance, Ellie called it. She and Caleb are planning to go, and she said her mother-in-law will come stay with the children so I can go, too.”

The harvest dance was a yearly event, but his thoughts had been elsewhere, and he hadn’t given the festivity any consideration. “Will you let me escort you?” he asked.

She gave him a bright smile. “I would love that. This will be our chance to really dance, won’t it?”

He nodded. “It will.”

She poured their tea and set the sugar bowl in front of him. “Is everything all right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

“Of course. I liked all the books. I’m reading this one a second time.”

“I’ll return them and bring you more.”

Her smile showed her delight. She appreciated small things, things others would deem inconsequential. He liked that about her. He understood. He knew what it was like to miss out on things others took for granted and to be grateful for them when they were finally yours.

Recent events had ripped open emotional wounds and shed light on unresolved fears he had never wanted to face. Maybe he didn’t want to face the truth about Wes because it would place some of the responsibility on himself. Responsibility to accept and understand and forgive instead of hating and blaming. He needed wisdom to put his life in order.

“C
an I ask you a question, Lorabeth?”

She picked up her cup and blew lightly across the surface of her tea. “Sure.”

He absently stirred a spoonful of sugar into his. “What does the Bible have to say about fathers?”

“Well, all the stories about fathers are stories of men who loved their children. Men like Joseph and Abraham and David. The apostle Paul tells us we’re supposed to honor our fathers and mothers.”

“Yeah, I heard that. What about parents who don’t deserve honor?”

She frowned and a little crease formed between her brows. “You ask tough questions, Benjamin.”

“Does your father deserve honor?”

She nodded. “I respect him and I respect his position as my parent. I may not have always agreed with all of his mandates, but I recognize his right to have those opinions and make the rules.”

Ben rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “What if he’d been cruel to you and your brothers and sister? What then? What if he’d never provided for you or even cared if you lived or died?”

She brought her gaze to his in the lamplight, and he hoped his emotions and confusion weren’t plainly displayed on his face.

“My father taught me to always take the verses in context, so let’s look at that one in its context.”

He shrugged. Did she mean she needed a Bible?

“Children obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.” Obviously she didn’t need a Bible. “Honor thy father and thy mother, which is the first commandment with promise—that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.”

He was gonna die any minute if that promise held true.

“And ye fathers,” she continued. “Provoke not your children to wrath, but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” She sipped her tea and set the cup back in its saucer. “I suppose if my father provoked me and neglected me, I wouldn’t be bound to honor him.”

After a moment, she added, “Maybe I haven’t done so well in that department lately.”

“Mothers, too?” Ben asked as though he hadn’t heard her.

“Probably the same would hold true for either parent.”

“I don’t want to put myself in that place,” he said at last. “If I couldn’t be a good parent, then I wouldn’t want to have young ones. It’s too risky.”

Lorabeth prayed she knew how to answer Benjamin’s questions correctly. His face was etched with deep concern and confusion, and intuitively she knew this was an important conversation. She’d never heard him or his sister talk about their parents, and the one time she’d asked, he’d told her he’d never had a father.

“Some people’s best is better than others. I’m no expert,” she told him with a shrug.

“I didn’t ask you because you’re an expert,” he said. “I asked because you’re a friend and you’re smart about that kind of thing.”

I asked because you’re a friend.
She’d known he thought of her as a friend, but hearing him say it tweaked her confidence. “Perhaps if you need a wiser answer you could ask my father. Ellie has invited him to dinner this Sunday.”

“Your brother, too?”

She nodded. “We’re often asked to dinner after church, but my father rarely accepts. I suspect he did this time so he could gauge how I’m faring here.”

“I’d like to know your brother better,” he told her. “I’ll think about talkin’ to your father. I think he’s a fine preacher, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t know if I want to, well, ask him questions like this.”

“That’s okay,” she answered.

“Thanks for answering,” he said.

“I’m pleased to talk with you anytime, Benjamin.”

A vivid blue fire blazed in his eyes as he studied her. His perusal warmed her skin and made her stomach flutter. She felt a connection to him that she’d never experienced before, something special and tender and exciting. She didn’t want to miss out on a moment with him.

Getting up from the bench and moving to the other side of the table, she perched beside him.

“Thanks for caring about me,” she told him.

“A lot of people care about you, Lorabeth.”

“Your reasons aren’t family obligations, though. It’s not the same.”

He had a full lower lip that curled up becomingly when he smiled, and that smile had a powerful effect on her, especially right now when she was so close to him. “No, I don’t suppose it is,” he said.

“You don’t feel toward me like you feel toward Ellie, do you?”

His expression sobered. “Sure don’t.”

It felt right to raise her hand to his face and rest her fingertips against his cheek. It was an intimate touch, that brush of sensitive skin against the rough texture of his jaw. Foreign. Forbidden. Exciting. She moved her fingers and experienced the rasp of his beard with a jolt of sensation that shot through her body.

His nostrils flared as though her scent disturbed him, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“This is dangerous, Lorabeth.” His low voice was almost a growl.

“Because you want to kiss me?”

He nodded without speaking.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

He turned and took her head in both hands, pulling her to him for a meeting of lips more greedy and less delicate than the last time. The kiss detonated, setting off a robust clamor in her heart and a throbbing rush of heat to her limbs. She wanted to climb onto his lap and make herself part of him.

Lorabeth’s senses reeled. Nothing had ever prepared her for this rush of desire, for the desperate craving she had for this man. She wanted to belong to him, possess him, crush him to her and never let go.

She draped one arm around his neck and curled the fingers of her other hand into the front of his shirt. Benjamin wrapped his arms around her and pulled her right up beside him, hip to hip, breasts crushed against his ribs, where he held her tightly.

His tongue darted across her lips, and Lorabeth parted them, meeting his tongue with eager thrusts and surging passion.

Benjamin moved his body away and bracketed her face with his hands, staring into her eyes, his chest heaving.

“Oh, the wonder of it,” she whispered. “The beauty and
perfection.
Did you know? Did you know it could be like this?”

He shook his head.

She didn’t want him to release her. She didn’t want the moment to disappear. “Don’t let me go,” she pleaded.

“I have to leave.”

“Hold me a moment longer.”

He crushed her against him, her ear to his chest, where his heart pounded in a frantic rhythm. Lorabeth knew in that moment that she didn’t want this overwhelming need for him to be snatched away or criticized or met with disapproval.

Her existence had purpose now. Benjamin Chaney’s presence made colors brighter, made scents sweeter, and the fact that he wanted her buoyed all her dreams and desires and made her want to shout with gladness.

“Benjamin,” she whispered. “You make me feel alive.”

He threaded his fingers into her hair, and the way he held her made her feel precious.

After a few minutes Benjamin ended the embrace and gave her a final sweet kiss before standing. “I’ll come for you Saturday evening,” he told her.

“I can hardly wait,” she answered.

She walked him to the front door and bolted it behind him. Parting the lace curtain on the long foyer window, she peered into the darkness, trying to make out his retreating form.

She couldn’t see anything, so she turned down the last lamp and ran up the stairs to her dark room where she hurried to the window and caught a glimpse of him as he rode beyond the trees and nudged the horse into a gallop on the street.

Was he her answer? Was Benjamin the husband she’d prayed for? Could he be the mate she’d dreamed of so many times? He’d been places beyond her tiny world, had seen things he could share with her. He was educated and kind, as endearingly handsome as she’d dreamed for, but he wasn’t taken with himself. In fact, he was attentive and unselfish. He’d shown her things she’d been curious about, had already introduced her to a way of life she craved knowing.

Would there be anything wrong with hoping he was the husband she’d waited for? What would her father have to say about him? she wondered. Benjamin had attended their church on a regular basis for years. He had his own veterinary practice and a home—two homes for that matter! What kind of objections would stand in the way of something she wanted with all her heart?

She lit her lamp and studied her reflection in the mirror over the washstand for a moment. It might not be good to want this too badly, Lorabeth reminded herself. Even if her father came up with an objection, Benjamin might not have the least inclination to marry her.

The chance made an ache blossom in her chest. She may not be the woman of his dreams. She thought about Zeta and Jenetta and Carrie and their lovely dresses and the way they knew all the games and had so many friends. Frances and Ida had pretty smiles and fashionable hair. Why would Benjamin choose her over any one of them?

She unbuttoned her shirtwaist and plain skirt, stepping out of them and turning back to the mirror in her cotton undergarments. As plain as all her clothing, as all her belongings. She’d dressed her little wards many mornings and undressed them at night, and even the children wore drawers and chemises with delicate lace and pastel ribbons.

She took the tie from the end of her braid and brushed out her hair until it crackled and shone. She separated the mass into three sections, then stopped herself. She let the tresses fall over her shoulders and down her back and turned this way and that to see herself in the mirror.

Taking a fresh nightgown from a drawer, she flipped it out and changed. White cotton. Plain and practical. Like her life.

Lorabeth padded to the bureau and opened her top drawer. Under more cotton chemises and ironed hankies was a small wooden box Simon had made for her. She opened it and looked at the layers of bills.

Her brother Jubal had convinced her to start an account at the bank, so this was only a small portion of what she’d earned working for the Chaneys the past two years. She’d barely touched her wages in all that time. Her father had paid for clothing and food. Meals were provided and her needs were met here, too. Occasionally she purchased shoes or a hair comb, but the amount spent had never been much. She’d never had an opportunity or a reason to spend this money. Or an inkling of what to spend it on.

Lorabeth had an idea. She closed the box and the drawer.

Turning up the wick on the lamp, she nestled into the comfortable chair with her feet curled beneath her and picked up the book she’d left there. She could have clothes as feminine and pretty as the others—shoes, too. She could be the woman of Benjamin’s dreams.