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 dress
ed 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.
Chapter Eleven
“Can I ride with you and Lorabeth?” Flynn asked. He had his fiddle case tucked under his arm.
Benjamin stood in the foyer in his best black trousers, white shirt and tie, waiting for Lorabeth.
“Of course you can,” she said from the top of the stairs.
She gathered the hem of her dress and descended as gracefully as anything Ben had ever seen. The dress was the color of a fresh summer peach, with lacy stuff at her neck and on the cuffs. The closer she got, the more clearly he noticed how the shade complemented her skin and made her eyes look dark and luminous.
“Holy cow, Miss Lorrie!” Flynn exclaimed. “You look beautiful!”
“Thank you, Flynn.”
Ben nodded his agreement.
Caleb ushered Nate and David down the stairs. “Papa’s ready to take on you two boys in a checker championship.”
Ben had seen Matthew and Laura’s buggy out front, the horse still harnessed. “I brought my rig,” he said.
“We’re taking my folks’,” Caleb replied.
Ellie came from the hall that led to the kitchen, carrying Madeline wrapped in a light blanket. “Your mother’s baking cookies with the girls,” she said to Caleb. “I need to grab a shawl.”
Madeline was still too small to leave behind for that many hours, and she slept most of the time, anyway, so she was coming along.
Lorabeth took her shawl from over her arm and draped it around her shoulders. “I made pies,” she told Ben.
Flynn picked up the crate that must hold her covered desserts, handed it to Ben, and they made their way to Ben’s buggy. While Ben stowed the pies, Flynn helped her up to the seat.
“What kind are they?” Ben asked, taking up the reins. “The pies.”
“Pumpkin. Do you like pumpkin?”
“One of my favorites.”
Lorabeth had to sit close in order for Flynn to fit on her other side, and the cramped space was no hardship. He enjoyed her presence beside him, her sweet fragrance reaching his senses immediately.
“Where do the animals go when people are dancing in their barn?” Lorabeth asked.
Ben exchanged a look with Flynn, and his brother looked away as though the countryside suddenly held particular fascination.
“The farmer herds them all into pens and corrals and pastures while he cleans out the barn during the day. He leaves them there for the evening.”
“And they don’t mind?” she asked.
Flynn wouldn’t look at him.
“The cows and horses? No, I don’t think they mind.”
“Do the Iversons have a Victrola?” she asked.
Ben wondered what difference that made, then figured it out. “There are musicians,” he told her. “Plenty of local talent in these parts.”
Lorabeth looked to Flynn. “That’s why you’ve brought your violin? To play with the musicians?”
Flynn nodded with a grin. “Yes’m.”
“Well, this will be more of a treat than I’d even imagined.”
“Wait till you see. All the schoolgirls line up near the front to watch ’im,” Ben teased.
“Nah, they don’t,” Flynn replied, and a smudge of ruddy color tinged his lean cheek.
“Wait and see,” Ben told Lorabeth.
She laughed at their good-natured joking.
Lorabeth asked questions about the farms and fields they passed. The purple and red streaks across the skies disappeared into inky darkness as night descended. The lights from the Iverson barn were visible as they approached from the road.
“This makes me think of Simon,” Lorabeth said softly. “I do wish he could share in things like this.” She reached over and grabbed Flynn’s hand, and Ben turned to observe her expression of excitement and apprehension. He glanced at her hand clenching his brother’s and felt a stab of possessiveness.
Even though he was a young man, Flynn was one of her charges, he chided himself. And surely Flynn reminded her sharply of her younger brother. His own hands had been occupied with the reins. He pulled the horses to a stop and looped the reins around the brake handle.
Flynn had stepped away from the buggy so that when Ben got around to the other side, Lorabeth was waiting for him. Ben bracketed her waist with both hands, and she stepped off the stair. He lowered her to the ground and immediately took her icy hand.
“Are you scared?” he asked, rubbing it.
“Only a little.”
“Nothing to fear,” he assured her. “You’ll be the prettiest girl there.”
Her gaze shot to his in surprise.
He smiled and went to get her desserts. They followed Flynn toward the barn.
Two woodstoves warmed the interior, which still held the smells of hay and livestock. Makeshift tables had been constructed along the west side in front of empty stalls, and already their surfaces were covered with trays and bowls of food. Ben held the wooden box out to Lorabeth, and she lifted out her pies and placed them on a table with a dozen delicious-looking varieties. Ben stored the container.
A keg sat on a workbench in the rear by the other set of doors which were closed in deference to the cool night. A crate of clean, empty jars stood on the floor beside it.
The platform that the townspeople took turns storing between dances had been constructed on the right, and J.J. Jenkins had brought the piano he had painted red a few years back.
A hum of conversation filled the building, which probably held forty people already. Flynn headed straight for the platform and the other musicians who were tuning up in a splendid clash of notes.
“Lorabeth! What a gorgeous dress!” Carrie Bennett came up beside them and ran an appreciative gaze over Lorabeth’s costume. “Did Miss Kirkpatrick make that for you?”
“She did,” Lorabeth answered.
“Lorabeth splurged this week.” Ellie joined them, Madeline swaddled in her arms. “Isn’t she a vision in that color?”
Carrie nodded.
“I’d better go make sure Caleb knows what to do with the sandwiches I brought.” Ellie hurried away.
“A few of the others are already here,” Carrie said. “You two must come sit with us.” She motioned for them to follow and led the way to the open area beside the platform where several chairs were gathered. Hobie and Carter stood to greet Lorabeth and Ben.
Ben didn’t like the way Carter looked at Lorabeth.
“These dances are so passé,” Zeta said, joining them, and pulled a long fa
ce. “But it’s a tradition and all, so I come with my parents.”
“I like the dances,” Carter said.
“Well, we can still have entertainment of our own fashion.” Carrie leaned forward. “I have an idea.”
“What is it?” Zeta asked.
“Why don’t we put all of our names in a hat and draw for dance partners throughout the night?”
“Will you keep the boys and girls separate or might a person draw their own gender as a partner?” Carter asked with a frown.
“You could draw a person of your own gender,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “And if you don’t dance with the person you drew, you have to pay a forfeit.”
Murmurs rippled.
Ben didn’t like the idea and he didn’t mind saying so. “I brought Lorabeth tonight, and I intend to dance with her. If she wants to accept invitations, that will be her choice, but count me out of the mix.”
“I’d rather not play this evening, either,” Lorabeth said, and her agreement pleased him.
He stole a glance at her, and she offered him a smile and took his hand.
“Have fun,” Ben said to the others who quickly formed a circle to plan their evening’s entertainment.
Half a dozen musicians had gathered. The man holding the guitar tapped out a rhythm and they jumped into a song.
“Are you hungry?” Ben asked. “I didn’t have supper, so the food tables look pretty good to me.”
“I’ll eat with you.”
He grabbed two tin plates from a stack, and they selected their fare. He led her to several long tables made out of planks and sawhorses, where they seated themselves so they could observe the goings-on. Ben ate one of Ellie’s sandwiches and a chicken leg while Lorabeth picked at a little sandwich she’d made of cheese and ham.
Deputy Sanders and his wife, Amanda, were the first on the dance floor, joined soon after by several other couples. Lorabeth watched with interest. “Do you know them?”
“Yep. That’s Owen Sanders, one of Marshal Connor’s deputies. His wife used to be a Harvey Girl. She and Sophie and Ellie are all friends.”
“Do they have children?”
The Preacher’s Daughter Page 12
