“And maybe we should ask only a certain number of questions.” Lily thought the game sounded like a good way to avoid talking about more personal matters with Ben. “Whoever guesses correctly, wins. You start, Mrs. Twining.”
“I have it.” She wrapped her cane on the floor like a starting gun for a race. “Ben, first question to you.”
“Is it in this room?”
“Yes.”
“Is it warm?” Lily asked.
“Yes.”
“Can it ever be cold?” Ben tossed in his question.
“Yes.”
“Fireplace!” Lily and Ben cried together.
Mrs. Twining laughed. “No.”
They took turns asking questions, neither of them guessing again.
“Is it bigger than the ceiling?” from Ben.
“No.”
“Smaller than the lamp?” from Lily.
“No.”
“Does it ever leave this room?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Twining gave one bang with the cane. “Your questions are up. Any guesses?”
Ben and Lily shook their heads.
“It’s the two of you.” Mrs. Twining smiled. “The two people I love best.”
“Oh. Well. . . Thank you.” Lily blinked, but fearing she might cry, she leaped from her chair and raced to the kitchen.
The bread was finished. She rolled up her cuffs to protect the sleeves of her second-best dress, removed the loaves from the oven, and gave the stew a stir. Fragrant steam wafted into the room. She tasted the concoction, added a pinch more salt and a dash of pepper. Voices drifted to her from the parlor, the words indistinct, their nearness a comfort.
She wouldn’t have that in the city. She would be alone, which was why she had believed she could persuade Matt to move to the city, as well. She didn’t want to be alone again as she had been on the farm after her family died.
“But you won’t be.” She gave herself a quiet scolding. “You will have people all around you all the time. It’s what you want.”
But Mrs. Twining was old and had lost all but one member of her real family. She had taken Lily in. Lily knew the older woman would not stop her, yet leaving her felt a little like betrayal. Mrs. Twining cared enough to understand Lily’s restlessness, her need for activities Browning City couldn’t provide.
And Ben? He would keep her there because he cared about her.
Unable to face him across the parlor again, catch him gazing at her, smiling at her, reaching his hand out to her, Lily chose to remain in the kitchen. She could make a sweet to go with the stew and bread.
She entered the pantry to inspect the shelves. The previous autumn, she had preserved jars of wild berries. With those, she could make a cobbler or jellyrolls, or she could spread them warm on a plain cake. She would think of something to make from the ingredients at hand. No eggs. That meant a cobbler. Maybe she should use apples if they had any left.
Standing on tiptoe, she reached for the highest shelf where she had stowed last year’s apples. Her fingertips brushed against the wrinkled side of a fruit. She could get a chair, but with a little more height, she could reach it now. . . .
She grasped the edge of the preserves shelf for balance.
And it collapsed.
Lily screamed. Wood cracked. Jars shattered, spraying the walls, floor, and Lily with shards of glass and rivers of sticky fruit. Blackberry juice ran down the front of her second-best dress, staining it, ruining it.
Lily burst into tears.
“Are you all right?” Ben bolted into the kitchen and drew Lily away from the glass. “Lily, are you hurt? Where? Oh, my dear, I can’t see where you’re cut.”
“I’m not.” Lily found herself sobbing against his chest, and his arms holding her close. “It’s the mess. The fruit. My dress.”
“Is that all?” He nudged her chin up and smiled down at her. “I was sure you received a mortal wound. But it’s just some fruit and a dress.”
“Just? Why you, you—oh.”
Ben kissed her, driving distress, annoyance, and everything but love for him out of her head.
Nine
“I–I’m sorry.” Ben leaped back a step but kept his gaze on Lily’s face.
Her flushed face.
“I mean, I’m not sorry for my sake, but you—uh. . .” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No.” Lily pressed her fingers to her lips and closed her eyes. “We scarcely know each other. We—I. . . Oh.” Her hand still against her mouth, she fled from the kitchen.
A moment later, a door closed with a decided bang.
“What was I thinking?” Ben raked his fingers through his hair.
He wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. He’d let his natural instincts take over his good sense and given in to temptation. He would consider himself a blessed man if Lily so much as looked at him again, let alone talked to him.
Now that the storm had ceased save for the wind, he figured he should go home. Yet he didn’t want to face Great-Aunt Deborah at the moment, and he couldn’t fetch his coat without going through the parlor. Besides, he couldn’t leave the mess on the floor. Cleaning it up would take some hard labor.
Just what he needed.
He stepped over the glass and preserves to fetch a broom. Behind him, he heard the thump, thump, thump of Great-Aunt Deborah’s cane.
“What happened—aah.”
Slowly Ben turned to face Great-Aunt Deborah. “It’s worse than this.” He felt his face heat. “I—uh—kissed her.”
“Did you?” Great-Aunt Deborah’s faded blue eyes brightened with a twinkle. “Imprudent, but understandable.”
“She doesn’t understand.” Ben decided the mess was too sticky for the broom and stooped to gather glass fragments and dump them onto an old newspaper. “It’s bound to push her away.”
“It may.” Great-Aunt Deborah lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. “And you’ll have to let her go. But it might bring her back if things don’t work out the way she wants them.”
“Might.” Ben flung a large chunk of glass onto the pile, scattering the smaller slivers. “It only took me five weeks to realize I’m in love with her. Why should it take another man longer?”
“She’s lived here for three years without marrying.”
“Because no one wanted her for his wife?”
Great-Aunt Deborah sighed. “Probably not. She’s made it so clear all along that Browning City is merely a stopping place for a while that most young men keep their relationships with her as friendships.”
“Wise of them.” Ben gathered up the glass and stalked to the back door. “I should have listened to you about Lily. But I thought. . .” He allowed his words to die as he shoved into the frigid night and deposited the splintered jars in the trash bin.
He was a fool to think he could change Lily’s mind. Of course he could not. He had too little to offer her. Yes, he worked in a good position, but he had no real home. Yes, in five years or so, he could save enough money to afford a farm and a few years after that, provided the harvests remained strong, a house worthy of a wife and family. In the event he won the plowing contest, he might shave off a year or two of that waiting time or build a house right away instead of waiting another half a decade after purchasing a farm. Either way, he could never give Lily the life she wanted, never provide her with pretty things and travel nor a host of people around her and occasional adventures.
All he had to offer her was his love.
Unless he found the gold.
He returned to the house to find Great-Aunt Deborah pouring water into a pot to heat.
“Only hot water and strong soap will get that up. I’ll let you do the scrubbing. It’s not men’s work, and Lily made the mess, but it’ll be good for you.”
“It’s the least I can do for her.” Ben took the dipper from her. “I’ll finish this up, and when I’m done, I’ll return to the livery for good.”
“As much as I appr
eciate your being here, I think that’s wise.” Great-Aunt Deborah returned to her chair. “The less you see of her for a while, the better.”
“I’ll do what I can to avoid her, but it won’t be easy in this town.” He thought about how the lack of a variety of people was one of Lily’s objections to Browning City and laughed. “I’ll wait for her to come to me, if she ever does.”
He would also pray a great deal. A great deal more than he already had been praying about Lily, about obtaining money faster, about keeping safe.
He’d added the latter after finding his quarters unlocked. He knew he had locked them, yet wondered if the lock had failed. It was old, the wood around the hasp, worn. Possibly the mechanism sprang under pressure of rain and wind. Possibly.
But not likely.
He’d found an even more secure hiding place for his savings and planned to open an account at each bank the next day. Unfortunately the weather had prevented him from doing so. But it would also keep a thief out. Even so, he worried with the livery empty of his presence except for when he fed the animals. Upon reaching his quarters, he checked on his hiding place first. All appeared well, so he proceeded to feed the horses and mule.
After spending the past two nights with Lily, Great-Aunt Deborah, and himself gathered around the parlor or kitchen fires, he felt the stillness and quiet closing in on him like fog. Outside, the wind howled. Inside, even the animals seemed motionless.
“I used to like this.” He spoke aloud to dispel the silence. “I could always feel Your presence better, Lord.”
The four walls confined him, made him restless. He needed open air, a view, the smell of earth warmed from the sun or wet after rain.
Or maybe he simply missed companionship.
“Lord, give me the means by which I can win this woman as my wife.”
If he could win her.
The latter thought crept unbidden into his head. He shoved it away. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that Lily would never be a part of his life.
Yet that apprehension nagged at his mind in wakeful moments during the night and throughout a Sunday that saw few people attending church.
Lily and Great-Aunt Deborah were two of those who did not arrive at the service.
Concerned, Ben stopped at the house on his way home.
Lily answered the door. “I know. We weren’t at church.” She offered him a wan smile. “Mrs. Twining didn’t think she could walk through this snow and ice, and I didn’t want to leave her here alone. You know her. She would try to build up the fire and hurt herself carrying too many logs.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of her.” Ben glanced around him, seeking something else to say. “And you’re all right?”
“Yes, thank you. I just want to get back to work.” She gripped the edge of the door. “I’d invite you in, but Mrs. Twining is asleep.”
“I understand. I’ll pray the wires are up and running for you soon.”
So she could earn more money that would take her away from him? What was he thinking?
“Thank you.” She started to close the door. “The only good thing about a March storm is the snow doesn’t last long.”
“I hope not. This isn’t good for the livery business, either.” He grinned. “Maybe Mr. Gilchrist should buy a sleigh.”
He left her smiling in the doorway. His heart rejoiced for that little blessing—he could still make her smile.
❧
Taking Great-Aunt Deborah’s advice, Ben steered clear of Lily. With all the businesses closed due to continued ice and snow on the streets in town and the roads leading to Browning City, as well as the railroad, he kept himself busy shoveling, scraping, and hacking ice away from walkways and roofs. In return, the residents kept him supplied with baked goods and dinner invitations.
He saw Lily once in the next three days. Bundled against the cold, she chopped at an icicle hanging from the eave of Great-Aunt Deborah’s house.
“Lily.” He removed the shovel from her gloved hand. “You’re going to send that thing crashing down on your head.”
“But it’s making the eaves sag.” She gestured upward. “Look. I’m afraid we’ll get leaks inside.”
“You should have asked me to help.”
“I didn’t know. . . .” She hugged herself. “You haven’t been by to see us.”
He looked into her eyes. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me.”
“I don’t. I didn’t. I mean. . .” She shoved her hands up her coat sleeves and stared past his shoulder. “We’ve missed you.”
“We?” He grinned, unable to resist teasing her. “You don’t look half big enough for one person, let alone big enough to be two or more.”
“Oh, you.” She let out a shaky laugh. “You know I meant Mrs. Twining and me.”
“Yes, I did, but I wanted to hear you say it. . .Lily.” Speaking her name made his insides quiver. Her sudden smile melted him.
“I value you, Ben.”
“Thank you.”
Not quite what he wanted from her, but a start.
“I heard you were entering the plowing contest and that someone broke into the livery last week.” She blurted all the news in a rush. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
He shrugged. “I only told one person—Lars Gilchrist. It didn’t seem important enough, since nothing was taken.”
“But it affected you, so—I mean, we’re family.” Color tinted her cheeks. “That is, Mrs. Twining is family.”
“You were right the first time.” He reached out his hand, stopped short of touching her. “Remember? We included you in our little family.”
“That was kind of Mrs. Twining and you, but I’m afraid. . .” Her hands knotted inside her sleeves. “I need to get inside. My feet are freezing. May I offer you coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’m having dinner with the Gilchrists tonight and need to go get on some clean clothes.”
“That’s good of them to invite you.” She turned toward the door, showing him only her profile. “Eva is as nice as she is pretty.”
“Yes, she is.”
Ben wanted to shout with joy at Lily’s reaction to the news he was having dinner with Eva and Lars Gilchrist. Every tense line of her body proclaimed how little she liked the image of him across a table from the lovely blond.
She did care for him.
But he couldn’t leave her thinking he and Eva might end up courting. Lily might leave town sooner.
“Tom Bailyn will be there, too,” he added.
“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed. Her chin line softened. “I’m sure you will enjoy yourself. They have a housekeeper since Mrs. Gilchrist died last year. She’s a wonderful cook.”
“I doubt she makes bread as good as yours.”
She smiled at him. It kept him warm on the walk home.
He would have jogged if ice didn’t still create treacherous patches along the route.
Instead, he whistled while feeding and grooming the stock, hummed as he cleaned up and changed into fresh clothes, and sang aloud as he locked both doors of the livery and, lantern in hand, trudged through the night to the largest house in Browning City, that of Lars Gilchrist.
Fog rolled up from the river a mile away and across the land to meet him by the time he reached the Gilchrists’. Cold and damp, it was nonetheless a good sign.
“Temperature’s rising,” he said as he greeted his hostess.
“And by July, we’ll be thinking fondly of this cold.” Eva smiled. “Come on in, Ben. Rising temperatures or not, it’s still chilly out there.”
She led him into a parlor twice the size of Great-Aunt Deborah’s and containing heavy mahogany furnishings and cushions in a dark red. To Ben, it looked like the lobby of a city hotel, not a home. For a moment, his mind snapped back to those hours spent with Lily and Great-Aunt Deborah, and he wanted to return there. Knowing that was impossible, he settled in to endure the evening.
Good food and dialogue helped. Mostly th
ey discussed business. Being business rivals didn’t seem to matter to Gilchrist and Bailyn. They shared frustrations over getting supplies, the quality of those goods they received, and a lack of variety in the products they could offer their customers.
“If I don’t get more fabrics in,” Bailyn confided, “every lady in Browning City will be wearing the same new spring dresses to the Easter egg hunt and spring bazaar.”
“That’s why I quit selling dry goods.” Gilchrist forked up potatoes as fluffy as thistledown. “I was tired of the ladies complaining.”
“And your daughter,” Eva said as she handed Ben a plate of sliced bread still warm from the oven. “I think most of us send for fabrics ourselves.”
“But it would be so much cheaper if we could purchase it in quantity,” Bailyn said.
“Why don’t you start selling more dry goods than grocery stuffs?” Ben suggested. “Then Mr. Gilchrist could carry the grocery stuffs.”
The other three stared at him.
He gave them a sheepish grin. “My pa was a peddler. We only sold dry goods, so were able to carry a fair bit of choice for good prices.”
“It’s something to think about.” Eva gazed into space and tapped her spoon on the table. “If you hired a seamstress, the ladies who can afford it wouldn’t be going into Davenport or out to Des Moines to have their clothes made.”
“And men their shirts,” Gilchrist pointed out. “Nothing wrong with a seamstress making a man’s shirts. I didn’t know you had such business sense, Eva.”
“I had you as a teacher, Papa.”
Gilchrist blushed with obvious pleasure.
Everyone laughed.
“And we didn’t know about Ben’s knowledge of the dry goods business,” Bailyn added in a moment. “You and I should have dinner at the hotel soon and talk more about it.”
“Be glad to.”
Ben’s heart sang with the joy of finding a place where people wanted him, needed him.
His steps jaunty, he left the Gilchrists’ house and strode home through fog so thick that moving through it felt like swimming. His lantern swung from his hand and set the mist sparkling like spangles on a circus costume. Despite the chill, he thought he smelled spring’s approach in the air.
Better Than Gold Page 9
