The Preacher’s Daughter

by Cheryl St. John

  “I think I can. You took care of them.”

  “I don’t think I’m jealous, but maybe I am. Flynn has Caleb and thinks of him as his own father. I don’t think it matters a bit to Flynn that he isn’t. Maybe down deep I resent the fact that Ben has a real father. And I don’t.” Her eyes revealed a measure of pain Lorabeth hadn’t expected. “I feel like I’m losing him, and I know that’s silly.”

  Lorabeth got down on her knees in front of Ellie and took her free hand. “It’s not silly at all. Like you said, Benjamin is like your own child. You raised him and loved him and did everything you could to give him a good life. Then I came along and at the same time Wes showed up. I’m sure most parents feel a sense of loss when their child gets married. Your child got married and added more members to his family all at the same time.”

  Ellie tilted her head in acknowledgment.

  “And, Ellie, I can’t reassure you enough that from everything I know about Benjamin—which admittedly isn’t a vast amount—that he appreciates and holds you in high esteem. I confess I didn’t know how I would ever hold a candle to your sainthood in his eyes, but I’ve settled in with the fact that we’re not vying for his affections. It’s the same with you and Wes. You both love Benjamin, and he loves you both in different ways. Both good.”

  Ellie smiled and a little laugh burst through her tears. “Are you always so wise?”

  “Heavens, no. I can be a complete dolt when facing matters of importance.” She released Ellie’s hand and sat back on her heels.

  Ellie swiped at the last tears on her cheeks. “Like what?”

  Lorabeth’s face warmed with humiliation. Could she talk about this with Benjamin’s sister? She would feel disloyal to her husband if she did, so she softened her concerns. “I just worry that Benjamin regards me more highly than I deserve.”

  “I doubt that. You’re perfect for him, Lorabeth. Just like you’ve always been the perfect helper for me.”

  “Yes,” she replied without feeling.

  She was just perfect.

  Ellie raised Madeline over her shoulder and patted her back. Instead of burping, the infant emitted a gurgling sound and all the milk she’d just consumed shot over Ellie’s shoulder and the back of the rocker.

  Lorabeth stood up too quickly to grab toweling. She caught her balance and helped wipe Ellie’s dress and the baby.

  Dr. Chaney appeared with a wrinkled shirt in his hand at that moment. “Ellie, can you—Oh.”

  “I’m going to go change,” Ellie told him and handed him the baby. “She’ll want to eat again since she just lost it all.”

  Caleb balanced Madeline on one arm. “I have a meeting in a hour. I need to iron this shirt.”

  Lorabeth took the garment from him. “You hold her a minute and I’ll do it.” She took the shirt and set the iron on the stove to heat. The wave of dizziness she’d experienced had passed, and she unfolded the ironing board and steadied herself against it. A moment later, bile rose in her throat and she tore out the back door to the outhouse and lost her breakfast.

  Returning on shaky legs, she washed her face at the kitchen sink and patted her skin with a damp towel. “Madeline and I must have caught the same thing. Is she okay? Does she have a fever?”

  He looked at Lorabeth thoughtfully. “She’s perfectly fine.” Dr. Chaney kissed the baby’s head. “She just had an air bubble. I doubt you’re sick, either.”

  “I just lost my breakfast. Ugh,” she said at the reminder.

  “How have you been feeling lately? Tired?”

  “Well, kind of. But I never get a lot of sleep.”

  “Do smells bother you?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Now that you mention it.”

  “Lorabeth? Have you had your menses since you and Benjamin were married?” he asked. “Are your breasts sore or swollen?”

  Shocked at his personal questions, she blushed hot and looked away, grabbing the shirt and spreading it over the ironing board. Her head swam.

  “I am a doctor,” he said kindly. “I ask those kinds of questions all the time. And I’ve seen those exact same symptoms each time Ellie has been expecting.”

  Slowly she raised her head and stared at him. Expecting?

  A rush of delight washed over her in the seconds that followed. If God had seen His way to bless her with a baby so quickly, her marriage must be pleasing in His sight.

  Her happiness dimmed as quickly as it had come. “Benjamin is hesitant to have children. Afraid he’ll be a rotten father.”

  “That’s out of the question.”

  “Not to him.”

  “I know,” he answered.

  “Don’t say anything.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Not even to Ellie. Not yet. I need some time to tell him.”

  “All right. Make an appointment and come for an examination.”

  She grabbed the handle of the iron and pressed Dr.Chaney’s shirt. She wasn’t going to imagine that a baby would endear Benjamin to her. He hadn’t touched her in weeks.

  New fears and doubts crowded in. Every time she was around Caleb and Ellie she couldn’t help but compare her marriage to theirs. Each time they exchanged a smile or Caleb rested his hand at Ellie’s waist, Lorabeth’s heart sank a little more.

  She’d had so many hopes and dreams, and happiness didn’t seem unattainable for her in-laws. Would she end up being as lonely as her mother had been?

  And what would happen when a baby came along? Benjamin would never be a cold and distant father—he was open and loving with his nieces and nephews. Clearly, she was the one he held at arm’s length. Something must be wrong with her.

  She wanted this marriage so badly, she’d been determined to make it work. She wasn’t going to give up already. She refused to settle for the life her mother had. She would not wither up and die before her time.

  And she had a sweet secret, one she intended to cherish for a time.

  Chapter Twenty

  Benjamin bathed and changed clothes after a day in the barns. That day he’d taken the wagon to the railroad station and picked up supplies that had arrived. He tied a small crate containing something special he’d ordered for Lorabeth to the back of his saddle and rode Titus home.

  He put up the ranger in the carriage house and found himself whistling as he approached the back door. The windows were steamed over, and warm moist air laden with the scent of savory beef assailed him when he entered.

  She turned from the stove with a smile. “I saw you ride up.”

  He set the crate at the end of the table.

  She glanced at it.

  “It’s for you,” he said. “Open it.”

  She got an ice pick and sliced open the edge. Delving through layers of shredded newsprint and tissue, she discovered a ruby glass water pitcher and tumblers. She unwrapped the set and placed them on the table. Wild roses and gold trim decorated the sides.

  “It’s blown glass,” he told her. “Hand painted, and that’s real gold on the edges.”

  “It’s a lovely set,” she told him, but her voice didn’t hold much enthusiasm. Hadn’t she liked his gift? “They’ll look elegant in the china closet you bought last week. Thank you.”

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  She turned back to the stove. “No. I made a stew and biscuits. Simple fare.”

  “I love stew.”

  “We’ll sit in here if that’s all right. The dining room seems too big and formal for just the two of us.”

  “I like it in here,” he agreed.

  The table was already set with two place settings at one end, and he took a seat.

  Lorabeth spooned rich dark beef and vegetables over split biscuits and set their plates on the table.

  Ben had assumed the duty of saying a blessing before their meals because that’s what Caleb had always done, and he knew Lorabeth was accustomed to her father’s leading as well. He gave thanks for their health and their food and picked up his fork. />
  Lorabeth’s plate was half as full as his, and she ate slowly. He told her about his day, and she shared hers. Her face was becomingly flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and she’d done something different with her hair, fashioning it in a knot on the back of her head.

  “You look real pretty tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  They finished eating, and he helped her do the dishes. “Want to read in the study for a while?” he asked.

  “I’d like that.”

  He laid a fire and she settled on the settee with the book she’d been reading the night before. She was beautiful, his wife. He loved her beyond reason. He found himself watching her more than reading his book.

  She noticed and set aside her story. “Since the china closet was delivered I’ve been thinking I’d like to paint the dining room. Perhaps wallpaper above the wainscot.”

  “Just pick out the colors and paper, and I’ll find someone to do the work,” he told her.

  “Oh. All right. Ellie can help me select them. I think I’ll go wash the water pitcher and glasses and put them away.”

  Ben got up to follow. “I’ll help.”

  He added kindling to the fire, pumped fresh water and set the kettle on the stove. After picking up the packing material, he carried the crate out to the burn barrel at the back property line and returned.

  Lorabeth had finished washing and drying the pieces and he carried the tumblers to the dining room for her.

  She placed the set on display in the cabinet where only a few items graced the shelves.

  “Thought the cabinet looked empty,” he said.

  Back in the kitchen she took the wet dish towels and hung them on a short line she’d strung behind the stove. It already held the towels from their supper dishes.

  “It’ll be bitter cold soon,” he told her. “No reason for you to do the laundry on the back porch and hang it outside over the winter. We can take it out.”

  “I’ve been doing laundry once a week every winter for as long as I can remember,” she answered. “But if that’s what you’d like…” She stared off into nothingness for a moment.

  Mittens meowed in his loud feline manner, drawing their attention. He’d entered the kitchen and stood with his curving tail swinging over his back.

  Lorabeth got a white ironstone cup from the cupboard and filled it halfway with cream from the icebox.

  She knelt and placed it on the floor but remained beside it. “Here you go, pretty boy.”

  The cat looked from the cup to her and blinked haughtily.

  “Come on. You like cream. It’s right here.”

  The cat sat back on its haunches with a superior glare for each of them.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice holding a surprising edge. “If you want this, you’re going to have to come get it.”

  And then she plopped down on the smooth wooden floor he’d spent hours sanding and varnishing as though she was going to wait out the cat’s aloof resistance.

  “You all right, Lorabeth?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. I’m tired of him avoiding me. I’m a perfectly nice person, and he knows it. He’s just being stubborn.”

  “He’s scared.”

  “Of what? Do I look frightening to you?” She turned her gaze on him and an unanticipated fire lit those tawny eyes.

  “Other people have hurt ’im, starved ’im,” he reasoned. “Other cats have picked on ’im. You don’t know what happened before he came here. He’s not intentionally mistrusting.”

  “Well, I want him to let me close. I feed him, I change his sandbox. He needs to give me a chance. I’m not the one who hurt him.”

  “You’re mad,” he figured out at last.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s eatin’ at you?”

  “Nothing.” But she stood and banked the fire in the stove with purposeful movements. “I’m going to bed. Join me if you wish.”

  And she swept past him.

  Ben stared at the doorway through which she’d disappeared. Mittens stood up and padded over to the cup on the floor and lapped the cream.

  “If I’d known you were gonna hurt her feelings I’d have dumped you back in that alley.”

  The cat looked up at him, swiped a pink tongue over its lips and went back to slurping up its treat.

  Ben went after his wife. “Lorabeth, what in blazes is wrong with you?” he asked from the doorway.

  She’d seated herself at her dressing table and was taking the pins from her knot of hair. “I guess I’m tired.”

  “Come to bed tonight instead of stayin’ up reading,” he told her.

  “Is that what you’d like?”

  He just looked at her. “I’m not tellin’ you what to do, it was a suggestion.”

  She picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. “You could let me know what you’d like, since it obviously isn’t me.”

  He took off his shirt and tossed it on the end of the bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She turned on the bench to face him. “Benjamin, do you think I’m wicked?”

  His mouth opened before he spoke. “Of course not!”

  She craved closeness, yearned to be the woman he wanted and needed. Her dreams seemed to be dissolving until she felt lonelier than she had in her father’s house. “What’s wrong with me that I can’t be the woman you want?”

  She got up and deliberately crossed the room to stand before him and place her palms against his bare chest.

  His eyes smoldered, but he cast his glance over her shoulder.

  “Have I been expecting too much?” she asked. “Is it too much to ask you to fill a place in my heart that you don’t want? Have I set you up unfairly by expecting you to love me?”

  Emotions crossed his face, among them panic, regret, fear. “I’ve tried to show you how I feel, Lorabeth. I thought you liked the things I bought for you.”

  She backed away to look him full in the face. “The gifts are all lovely. The dressing table, the books, the chocolate…the water glass set. Lovely. I’m not ungrateful. I’m not. But they’re things. Things! I want you to give me your heart!”

  Tears formed in her eyes, and the sight of her misery tore Ben’s heart to shreds. He wanted to step forward and fold her into his arms. Her anger had surprised him, but her displeasure was a hundred times more effective at chipping away his defenses. Had his concern about his own doubts and fear been so selfish that he hadn’t seen he was hurting her?

  He’d been trying to be the best man he knew how. Could he fix this and still protect her?

  There was a commotion out on the street, and Ben stepped to the window. Out front a carriage was stopped and an angry man was shouting. Ben unlocked and slid open the window.

  “I said move you worthless hay-burnin’ pile o’ dung!” A whip cracked, and in the moonlight Ben made out a horse as it reared and tipped a carriage. “Move! H’yaw!”

  This time the horse stood on its hind legs and the carriage toppled over, taking the horse down with it. The animal struggled to its feet and tried to leap forward, bound by the weight attached to the traces. The driver cracked the whip against the horse’s neck and the animal screamed in fright.

  “Stop that!” Ben shouted from the open window. “Stop!” He turned and ran out of the room.

  “Benjamin! What’s the matter?” Lorabeth followed, but he was faster and exited the front door well ahead of her, shooting along the path to the street.

  Hesitantly she stood on the porch for a moment, watching in horror as a stranger whipped a horse that was tangled in the traces that held it to an overturned buggy.

  “Stop, mister!” Ben shouted and the man turned toward Ben.

  “Benjamin!” she shouted, running out to the curb.

  Benjamin lunged toward the man. They grappled and fell to the ground with a chorus of groans. The man cursed a blue streak, and Benjamin determinedly grabbed the lash from his hands.

  “That’s enoug
h!” he shouted, his outrage evident.

  Being bigger and younger, he had the upper hand. Lorabeth watched him compose himself while the other man cursed and ranted from his spot on the ground. In one swift movement that caused her heart to leap, Benjamin grabbed the fellow, spun him around and tied his hands behind his back with the whip.

  “I’m gonna see to the animal, and you’re gonna lay right there. Got it?”

  Ben spoke softly to the horse, letting it smell his hand before he tried to get close. The poor thing finally lay its head on the pavement in exhaustion.

  Several of their neighbors had gathered on the street, and Ben gestured to one of the men. “Go for the marshal, will ya, Hanley?”

  “Sure thing, Ben.”

  Two other men came and stood close enough to the stranger that he wasn’t going to be getting up and fighting. “Damned piece o’ meat cain’t pull ’is own weight no more,” he grumbled.

  Benjamin looked at the horse’s eyes and listened to its breathing. “This animal’s sick.”

  Lorabeth joined him, her skirt forming a puddle around her as she knelt. “What will you do with the poor creature out here on the street like this?”

  “I could try to get him into a wagon bed,” he told her. “Take him out to the stables where I can treat him. He’s not old and appears to be from good stock.”

  “I’ll get my team and wagon,” one of the men said from behind Lorabeth.

  “I’m coming with you,” Lorabeth called to him. “Let me grab clothing and lock the house.” She turned.

  “You don’t have to…” he called, but she was dashing in through the front door.

  Minutes later, dressed and carrying a bag, she watched from the curb with the other ladies as the men got the horse on its feet and into the back of the wagon.

  “Can you ride back here with me, Jack?” Benjamin asked.

  Determined not to be left behind, Lorabeth scrambled up to the seat beside the driver.

  Once they arrived at the barns, the men assembled a ramp for the horse and led it down and inside. She went into the house, lit lanterns and made coffee, then brought each man a full cup. They drank and thanked her before leaving.