“I know.” Becky wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “That’s what’s so funny.” She sobered. “And a little frightening. You usually make things happen like you want them to.”
❧
Dinner proved to be a success. Determined now to make a match between Becky and Ben, Lily smiled a great deal and said little unless it was to promote her friend in Ben’s eyes. He responded to her sallies with a marked interest in Becky, smiling at her, asking her about her family. He had been to Louisiana not long after the war, about the time Becky’s family moved north to Iowa, so they had something to talk about that did not include Lily. When they apologized for not including her, she admitted that she would rather listen and learn.
“You know I want to learn all I can about interesting places,” she said.
Her plans worked just fine all the way to Becky’s. Then she found herself alone with Ben. They strolled through a night cleared of clouds.
This should be Matt beside me! Lily cried out inside her head.
They could talk of all the places the railroad took a body, all the places it would take a body once it expanded even farther around the country. They could discuss moving away to one of those places where people wanted more excitement than a plowing contest and the spring bazaar, sewing bees and an Easter egg hunt.
“I love the peace here.” Ben inhaled a lungful of fresh air. “And everything smells so good.”
“Does it?” Lily sniffed. “It smells like snow to me.”
“Is that what the freshness is? How right are you about that?”
“I’ve lived in this state all my life. I know how to read the weather.”
“In one state all your life.” Ben nodded to a lone man stepping out of the hotel. “What’s that like? I mean, was it here in Browning City?”
“No, I lived more north. My family had a farm.” Lily hugged her arms across her middle.
“Had?” Ben’s tone gently probed.
“We lost it.”
She didn’t want to talk about her family on such a perfect night, even a perfect night with the wrong man.
“I’m sorry. That must have been rough on you.”
“Browning City isn’t as lonely as the farm got to be, and I like my work.”
“But don’t you want land?” Ben tilted his head back. “I want land. I want to stand out in a field and stare at a sky like this without a single light to dim the stars.”
“I like lights. I like people and noise. It’s just the opposite of being left alone like I was.”
“Music?”
“Yes. I mean, I like to listen to it. I’m not talented. What about you?”
“Can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” He laughed.
Lily joined him in the humor, yet she thought maybe he exaggerated. She could not believe a man with the rich timbre of his speaking voice couldn’t sing.
“Becky has a lovely singing voice.” Lily spoke one more accolade of her friend.
“Becky is a lovely lady.”
Lily skipped around the corner leading to Mrs. Willoughby’s house. He liked Becky. Wonderful. He thought she was lovely.
Ben paused at the end of Mrs. Willoughby’s front walk. “And so are you, Miss Lily. That simple dinner at the hotel wasn’t nearly enough to thank the two of you for the time you took to get my room ready for me. I’ll have to do—”
“Nothing, please.” Lily’s tone held desperation. “I—I wasn’t being in the least selfless when I cleaned up that room. I was thinking of myself, not you.”
A burden lifted from her heart at the confession.
Except Ben laughed. He threw back his head and let the rolling sound drift to the stars.
Lily faced him, shaking her head. “I just admitted that I am a selfish creature, and you laugh at me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I am laughing because I am so happy to be around a lady who is so refreshingly honest.” He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “Of course you did all that work to get your room back. But, to me, that doesn’t at all lessen the importance of having my own place to stay, a place that doesn’t roll on wheels. And you did that for me, whatever the reason.”
“So—” Lily’s mouth felt dry. “So did Becky.”
“She sure did, and I’m grateful to her, too.”
Good. He wasn’t singling Lily out. Still. . .that touch on her cheek. . .
“I must get inside.” Lily turned away. “I’m freezing. Enjoy your quarters, and thank you again for dinner.”
“See you in church?”
“Of course.” Lily dashed up the walk and front stoop.
Inside Mrs. Willoughby’s house, which always smelled of camphor, Lily paused to listen to Ben’s retreating footfalls. He had an easy stride that diminished quickly into the distance. A fine man who was all wrong for her. She must continue her efforts to match him up with Becky.
“How do I get them together?”
Church was impossible. Becky sat with her family to help keep her siblings in line. After the service, her mother needed Becky to corral the children into coats and a line to herd them home. No, Lily needed to get Becky away from her family so she would be free to show Ben more of her charm.
Thinking about an opportunity to play matchmaker, Lily slept little that night. The next day, her head swam with rejected ideas and too little sleep until Mary, the pastor’s wife, reminded the congregation of the Easter egg hunt coming up in six weeks.
“We will have a separate party for the adults afterward.”
No entertainment for six weeks? Too long. Lily would plan a party, a “welcome to Browning City” party for Ben. Mrs. Twining would be in favor of the idea. Best of all, she’d make certain he met everyone in town he should, as well as get to better know his future wife. It was the least she could do to repay him for being so gracious about her selfish motives for fixing up his chamber.
Five
“You should come into the parlor and join us.” Ben stood in the doorway to the overheated kitchen and smiled down at Lily. “The kitchen won’t fly away if you aren’t here to hold it down.”
“But the coffee may boil over.” Lily picked up a knife. “And if people want more cake—”
“They can come get it themselves. Now come along. You haven’t sat down for a minute since the guests arrived.” Ben held out his hand to her.
As she did anytime they met, and shaking hands or even giving an object like a plate or cup to one another that might result in his touching her, Lily skittered away like a frightened rabbit. She busied herself with something, even unnecessary tasks, to avoid being near him.
The reaction made Ben smile. If she were indifferent to him, she wouldn’t work so hard to keep out of his way.
“Or I could just take the rest of this food into the parlor for you.” He started to lift the heavy tray of cake and sandwiches. “Will that do?”
“No, no, I need to keep them covered.” Lily flicked a tea towel over the lot. “They’ll go stale if I don’t keep them moist, and we can’t have a towel over them out there. People wouldn’t eat anything. So I must stay here and fill plates.”
“Everyone here, even my rather infirm great-aunt, can fill his own plate.” Ben stepped forward and took Lily’s hand.
Despite the heat in the kitchen, her fingers were freezing.
“You need to be near a fire.” He glanced at the stove and grinned at her.
That coaxed a slow smile out of her. “Maybe I’m tired.”
“But these people are your friends, your neighbors. You’ve known them for years.”
“Only three. They’re more your aunt’s friends and neighbors. My friends haven’t come.” She looked so disappointed that he squeezed her hand and gently drew her forward.
“I’m your friend, and I’m here.”
“But Becky and Matt aren’t, and I particularly wanted them here.” She blinked, glanced down, and drew her hand free. “Maybe they’ll come later.”
“If they do,
you’ll be closer to the door to greet them.”
Lily looked up at him and laughed. “Did you sell things with your father?”
“I did. I was especially good at selling pretty ribbons to the ladies.”
“I can imagine you were.” She set the last sandwich on the tray. “Now, do you think anyone in the parlor wants anything?”
“Your presence.” Ben opened the door again. “At least I do, and I’m the guest of honor. So come along.”
“Yes, sir.” Lily headed for the doorway, stopped, and yanked off her apron.
Ben decided not to tell her that a loose curl bobbed on the back of her neck. It looked so sweet he wanted to touch it to see if it felt as silky as it looked.
He followed her and the bouncing curl from the kitchen.
In the parlor, a blazing fire and a dozen voices greeted them with warmth. Listening to everyone greet Lily, watching their faces light as she entered the room, Ben wondered how she could say that they were not her friends and neighbors. Every man and woman in the parlor received joy from her arrival in their midst.
So did he. The parlor looked complete with her present, as though someone had restored a missing link to a chain. More like the clasp holding it all together.
“Come sit here, Miss Lily.” Jake Doerfel, the newspaperman, shifted to sit on the arm of the sofa and left an empty place on the cushion beside Mrs. Reeves, the pastor’s wife.
Lily shook her head. “Ben should sit down. He’s the guest of honor.”
“My great-nephew is too much a gentleman to sit down and leave you standing.” Great-Aunt Deborah thumped her cane on the floor. “You should know that by now, Lily. Now sit so we can get back to talking about Ben with him here instead of behind his back.”
“Were you really talking about me behind my back?” Ben crossed the room to perch on the edge of the windowsill beside Great-Aunt Deborah. “What were you saying?”
“That you had the good sense not to keep on leading the life your father led.” Great-Aunt Deborah scowled. “It’s no way to raise a family.”
“Or even find a wife,” said Jackson Reeves, the pastor, “so you can raise that family.”
“Hold up.” Ben held up one hand in a staying gesture, palm forward. “I have to establish myself first.”
“And meet the young ladies who aren’t taken,” Jake put in. “Kind of like Miss Lily here.” He poked a pencil-thin finger into her shoulder.
She turned the color of a ripe strawberry.
Ben grinned. “She’ll do for a start, but I’m sure Browning City has someone else to give me a choice.”
“There’s Becky Bates and Emma Kirkpatrick and Eva Gilchrist when she’s in town, and. . .” Lily rattled off a list of female names a yard long.
She spoke each name so quickly and precisely that Ben wondered if she had them memorized. Since the night he took her and Becky out to dinner at the hotel, Ben suspected that Lily intended to play matchmaker between Becky and him. With everyone watching them, he couldn’t resist teasing her a bit more about giving him a selection of young ladies from which to choose.
“I thought maybe this party was going to be a parade of ladies. I’m so disappointed.”
Everyone laughed. Everyone except Lily. She looked hurt. Ben thought her lower lip quivered a bit before she drew it between her teeth and ducked her head.
“I guess I scared them off at church last week,” Ben said, regretting having teased Lily.
“Not from what I heard.” Jackson guffawed.
“Nor I.” Jake began to sketch in the air. “I think I sold a paper to every single female in Browning City. They wanted that drawing I made of you, Ben. If I had a camera and could have taken a photograph, I could have sold those for ten times the cost of a paper.”
Laughter broke out again. With the tables turned on him, Ben joined in. He was glad to see Lily smiling.
“I did invite a few more people.” Lily glanced toward the door. “I don’t know why they haven’t come.”
“He’ll have a chance to meet everyone as the weather improves.” Mary Reeves patted Lily’s hand.
“This is quite enough of a crowd for this house for now.” Great-Aunt Deborah reached for her cup of coffee. “But you’d better take the leftover cake and pie to the church tomorrow, or we’ll both get as round as pumpkins.”
“So are you glad you settled here even without a bevy of females lined up?” Mr. Gilchrist asked.
“Quite glad.” Ben couldn’t stop himself from glancing in Lily’s direction.
She was talking with Jake Doerfel. The newspaperman was amusing her. How pretty she was when she laughed.
“Aye, she is a fine-looking girl.” Mr. Gilchrist nodded his head, his white hair catching the lamplight and glowing. “But it makes me weary to watch her. Never sits still. If this town doesn’t offer her enough excitement, she stirs it up.”
Ben grinned. “I can’t imagine this town ever having excitement, which is fine with me.”
“Oh no, we’ve had our share of thrills. Mostly because of the gold.”
“Lars, please.” Great-Aunt Deborah groaned. “Don’t bring up that subject again.”
But the others had ceased talking and turned to stare at Lars Gilchrist.
“Now, Deborah, you know it’s true about the gold being the most excitement we’ve had here in years.” Mr. Gilchrist nodded his head. “Three times now it’s brought us a thrill, first when the thieves rode through—”
“Allegedly rode through,” Great-Aunt Deborah interrupted.
“Or stayed, I understand.” Jake stood as though intending to give a speech.
“No evidence of that.” Jackson Reeves looked as thin-lipped as Great-Aunt Deborah did.
“But we have had government men and young women alike seeking that gold.” Mary smiled. “Andrew and Tara Nichols and Constance and Hans Van de Kieft looked. None of them found it, but they found their life mates.”
“A much richer haul than gold no one is sure exists.” Great-Aunt Deborah sounded positively sharp-tongued.
“I don’t know much about it.” Despite his aunt’s disapproval of the subject, Ben wanted details.
He wanted gold. Gold would buy him land, provide him with permanence—a house, a wife, children—far sooner than would working and saving every penny possible.
“Theo did mention something about it when I arrived,” he added.
“Theo talks too much.” Great-Aunt Deborah held out her coffee cup. “Lily, may I have some more?”
“Of course.” Lily sprang to her feet.
“I’ll get it,” Ben offered.
Lily fetched the cup. “No, Ben, I’ll get it. You stay here and talk with your guests.”
“It was stolen from the Union at the end of the war.” Jake shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Taken right out from under the noses of some Pinkertons, or so the story goes. They were identified, and some folk in these parts swore they recognized them from drawings. Some said one of the farmers in these parts was involved. But nothing was ever proved or found, and that farmer skedaddled out of here not too long after.”
“How much gold?” Ben persisted.
“Too much for a couple of men on horseback to carry,” Great-Aunt Deborah snapped.
“Most folk think Jim Mitchell buried it on his farm,” Gilchrist said. “But if he did, don’t know why he’d’ve sold all his equipment to me before he left town.”
“Constance and Hans live there now,” Mary added. “They’ve never found a thing, and not for lack of trying.”
“But the government is still offering a reward for it,” Jake said. “A big reward. So the story must be true at least in part, and getting the reward would be worth the try.”
“But how does one try in this vast land?” Ben glanced toward the windows, where darkness and the town curtained millions of acres possibly concealing his key to having everything for which he had yearned and prayed since a child.
I’m going to find it, L
ord.
❧
Great-Aunt Deborah would not talk about the gold. Ben tried to get more information out of her after the party, but she gave him the same answer every time. “Concentrate on working hard and seeking the Lord’s will for your life.”
Ben thought, but refrained from saying, that he saw nothing wrong with God wanting him to find the gold. At least he didn’t think seeking it would do any harm.
So Monday, with the horses, mule, and both buggies rented out, he left a sign on the livery door that said he would be back shortly. Mr. Gilchrist had told him he could take breaks during the day, especially if everything was rented or if the weather made business slow. Taking advantage of this generosity, Ben strode down Main Street and entered the newspaper office.
“Not surprised to see you.” Jake Doerfel grinned at him. “You seemed mighty interested in that gold. Just getting around to sorting out the old issues.”
“Did the previous editor keep back issues?” Ben asked.
“Not very regular, and some are water damaged. You’re welcome to look.” Jake opened a door behind his paper-strewn desk. “Wish I could make copies of those pages. I could sell them for ten times what a paper costs and make my fortune.”
“Do you think that many people would be interested?”
The instant he asked the question, Ben knew it was foolish. From what he had learned, over the past ten years, two young women had come hundreds of miles to find the gold because they had read of it somewhere.
“I’ll see what I can learn.” Ben circled the desk and entered the back room.
It smelled of mice and dampness, ink and paper. For several moments, he simply stood and stared at the papers stacked from floor to ceiling. Years’ worth. Sometimes several copies from the same week, he realized on closer inspection. It appeared as though no one ever threw out an extra paper. He plucked a stack of papers from the pile Jake indicated. War news of the gold disappearing. He began to hunt through the stacks in search of more information. Dust and mildew rose like swamp gas. He began to sneeze. At the end of the half hour he had allowed himself, however, he knew that two men rode through town, put their horses up at the livery, rode on to Jim Mitchell’s farm, then disappeared. Only suspicion and speculation tied the men to the vanished gold, especially when Jim Mitchell sold out and disappeared himself. Other than mentions of Miss Constance Miller and Mrs. Tara Nichols coming to town to seek the gold at two different times after the war, the story vanished from the news. Locating further information about the gold appeared as difficult as discovering the treasure itself.
Better Than Gold Page 5
