“I’d appreciate your getting off my land, Harper.” The man didn’t deserve to be called Mr., and Liddy couldn’t bring herself to do so. She wanted to run, but she stood firm, as Harper took a step up.
“Whose land, my dear? I think you are mistaken in calling it yours. Because, you see, I’m calling in your note. With no crop, there is no way you can pay your next installment. And I’ve given you all the leeway I can.”
“I’m paid up. And the next payment isn’t due for two more weeks.”
“Doesn’t matter. You won’t have the money then.”
Liddy lifted her chin a notch higher. “I may.”
Little Matthew had awakened and could be heard crying from inside the house. She headed back through the door but turned to Harper once more. “I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now. My son needs me. You’ll excuse me if I go see to him.”
She went inside and shut the door, hurrying to pick up Matthew. She wouldn’t rest easy until she knew Harper was off her property. The girls were in the barn, and she didn’t want them to be frightened by his presence.
But when she turned, it was to find that Harper had followed her inside.
“Liddy, my dear. You have me all wrong,” he said coming toward her. “My offer still stands. I’d like nothing more than to take care of you and your son. If you’ll marry me, you’ll never have to worry about paying off your loan.”
She gathered her son close. “Get out of my house, Harper. You know your so-called offer repulses me. I’ll lose my house and land before I’d marry you!”
“And that’s exactly what you’ll be doing, if you say no. I will call in the note tomorrow.” He advanced toward her.
“Harper.” There was no sweeter sound to Liddy’s ears than that of Calvin’s voice as he entered the house.
“Ah, McAllister.” Harper turned to face Cal. “I should have known you’d be showing up. I figured there was something going on between the two of you. Well, you can’t help Mrs. Evans this time, because I’m calling in her note first thing tomorrow.”
“No, you are not.” Cal was across the room in two strides and had the banker by the collar. “And you will apologize for speaking to my fiancée that way. Now.”
Liddy felt as if her heart somersaulted all the way to her feet and back. What was Cal doing?
“Your what? Did you say fiancée?” Harper turned first to Cal, and then back to Liddy. “Is this true?”
“I …” Liddy was at a loss for words.
Cal had no such problem. “Harper, we don’t owe you any explanations. All you need to know is that Liddy and I will be in first thing tomorrow morning to pay off her debt. No. Better yet, we’ll be in your office by closing time today.”
He gave the man a shake before letting go of his collar. “Now, apologize nicely, and get out of this house and off the property.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans,” Harper said sarcastically as he turned and headed for the door. But he tried to get in the last word. “You be there. Or I will have the sheriff deliver foreclosure papers. And I’ll have you arrested for accosting me, McAllister.”
With that, Harper slammed out the door.
Cal followed him and called, “Well, you can try, but I don’t think the sheriff will do your bidding, once he hears how you tried to blackmail a widow into marrying you.”
He watched until the banker was safely off the property before turning back to Liddy.
As soon as Harper had gone out the door, she’d dropped into her rocker, holding her son securely in her lap. She was trembling like a leaf. What had Cal been thinking to tell Harper such a thing?
“Liddy?”
She looked up to find Cal smiling down at her. “Calvin McAllister. What have you done? What are we going to do now?”
Cal lowered himself to one knee in front of her. “If you’ll have me, we’re going to get married.”
“Calvin, you can’t marry me just to get me out of debt. And the crop is nearly gone anyway. There is no money.”
“Remember, I told you I had a good crop last year? Well, I’m doing fine, Liddy. I have more than enough to pay off your loan to Harper. I don’t want him spreading talk about you, Liddy. And he will if we don’t get married. You know that.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. This was what she wanted, but it was happening for all the wrong reasons. “Cal, you can’t marry me to protect my reputation, either. And I don’t want your pity.”
Cal lifted her chin, so that her eyes met his. “Look at me, Liddy. Pity is not what I feel for you. And it’s not what you see in my eyes. What you see there is love, Liddy. Pure and simple love.”
“I know I’ve done this all wrong,” Cal continued. “I meant to give you more time to get over losing Matthew. But, Liddy, if there’s even a chance that, one day, you could learn to love me, I’ll settle for that. I promise I’ll try to be a good husband to you, and a good father to young Matthew.”
“Shh … shh,” she said, her fingers coming up to still his words. Her heart sang with the realization that Calvin did love her. She had never known this man to lie, and she knew he wouldn’t lie to her about something as important as this.
“I’ve been falling in love with you for weeks, Calvin McAllister. If you mean what you say, then my answer is yes. I’ll marry you. And I’ll happily spend the rest of my days trying to be a good wife to you and mother to our children. Yours, mine, and ours, if the good Lord wills it.”
Cal lifted her fingers from his lips and kissed her palm. Standing, he pulled Liddy and her son into his embrace and hugged them tightly.
Tipping her chin, he lowered his lips to hers and captured them in the kiss he’d only dreamed of until now. Tentative at first, he deepened the kiss to seal the promise of their love for each other.
It was still light when they returned from town. They had to go from one bank to the other, but before the afternoon was over, Liddy and Cal left Harper’s bank with her note stamped paid in full and the knowledge that he would never be able to take her place away from her.
They celebrated with supper at Emma’s. Once she found out they were going to be married, nothing would do her but to help plan the wedding.
By the time Cal pulled his wagon into Liddy’s yard, there were only a few hot spots still smoldering in the field.
Thrilled that Matthew would soon be their baby brother, Amy and Grace happily took him inside, while Cal and Liddy walked hand in hand to the edge of the field.
Liddy sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving—thanking God that only the crop had burned, that the Lord had kept Cal safe, and that His will for her and Cal and their children was for them to become a family.
Cal turned her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “You know, if this field hadn’t caught on fire today, I’d probably still be wondering how much longer I needed to wait until I could ask you to marry me. But I think the Lord had plans for us all along, even before you agreed to let me lease your land.”
Loving the feel of being in the circle of Cal’s arms, Liddy smiled and nodded. “He planted the seeds of love in each of our hearts, when all we thought we were doing was helping each other out.”
“We’ll harvest this field over and over again,” Cal said. “But the Lord intends for our love to last through all the harvests of our lives. I love you, Liddy, today, tomorrow, and forever.” Cal bent his head toward her.
Their lips met, and the lingering kiss they shared convinced Liddy that Calvin McAllister did indeed love her … every bit as much as she loved him.
JANET LEE BARTON
Born in New Mexico, Janet has lived all over the South, but she and her husband plan to stay put in southern Mississippi, where they have made their home for the past six years. With three daughters and six grandchildren between them, they feel blessed to have at least one daughter, Nicole, her husband, Darren, and two precious granddaughters, Mariah and Paige, living in the same town. Janet loves being able to share her faith through her writ
ing. Happily married to her very own hero, she is ever thankful that the Lord brought Dan into her life, and she wants to write stories that show that the love between a man and a woman is at its best when the relationship is built with God at the center. She’s very happy that the kind of romances the Lord has called her to write can be read by and shared with women of all ages, from teenagers to grandmothers alike.
Hope’s Dwelling Place
by Connie Stevens
Dedication
To my nieces and nephews: Kris, Brad, Matt, and Esther.
You are all so precious to me.
Chapter 1
Near Fredericksburg, Texas February 1897
Amelia Bachman braced herself against the jarring ride of the stagecoach and peered out the window. The stage was scheduled to arrive in Fredericksburg before dark, but the deepening purple, gold, and magenta streaks in the western sky hinted the sun might be in deep slumber by the time she reached her destination. She’d had no way to notify Mr. Lamar Richter, chairman of the Fredericksburg school board, that her arrival was delayed by a broken wheel. She hoped he didn’t interpret her tardiness as a change of mind.
Amelia pulled two letters from her reticule and held them up to the waning sunlight. The well-worn edges and bent corners testified to the number of times she’d unfolded and refolded each one. She’d nearly memorized the first, from her father. His disapproving frown the day she left home to attend Normal School in Austin lingered in her mind. He couldn’t understand how she could ignore the opportunity to marry a prosperous rancher in favor of becoming a schoolteacher—a menial occupation at best, and one where she would be required to remain single. Her throat tightened as she read his berating words once again. If she’d followed the same path as her parents, she might live a comfortable life in a fine house with servants to do her bidding. But she couldn’t erase the images from her childhood of the misery etched on her mother’s face, trapped in a loveless marriage. She’d long ago promised herself she’d never marry for the sake of social status.
She folded the letter and stuffed it resolutely back into her reticule and opened the second letter. The words scrawled in this letter brought a smile to her face.
Dear Miss Bachman,
We school board of Fredericksburg, Texas, offer to you teach der school to end of der school year.
Amelia shifted her position on the hard, dusty seat, thinking of the teacher she was replacing. Mr. Richter had stated in a previous letter that their teacher had turned in her resignation just after Christmas. Seemed the woman was getting married and didn’t want to wait until the end of the term. Well, Mr. Richter wouldn’t have to worry about Amelia doing such a thing. She squinted at the rumpled paper once again.
You must stay at der Richter family Sunday haus. There is a place for schlafen up der stairs side. Stagecoach bring you and der town familys is glad.
A tiny smile tweaked Amelia’s lips when she remembered struggling to recall the little bit of German she knew, relieved to translate schlafen to mean there were private sleeping quarters for her. She cast another glance out the window at the quickly disappearing sun and imagined Mr. Richter growing weary of waiting for her stage to arrive.
As she feared, darkness shrouded the town when the stage finally drew to a halt amid swirling dust. Amelia brushed the gritty film from her skirt and smoothed her hair the best she could. The driver grunted as he climbed down and opened the door, kicking a wooden crate over for her to step on. He didn’t wait to help her down, but rather climbed back up to retrieve the luggage. She unfolded her stiff muscles, closing her lips to stifle an unladylike groan, and disembarked the conveyance. Lanterns flickered on either side of the depot, casting ghostly shadows across the boardwalk. Amelia glanced around but only the stage driver was within sight.
Where was Mr. Richter?
“Oh dear.”
The driver lowered her trunk to the ground. “Beg your pardon, miss?”
She turned. “Do you know Mr. Lamar Richter?”
“Nope.”
She bit her lip. “I wonder where I might inquire after him.”
Her carpetbag plunked at her feet as the driver jumped down. “Iffen you can rattle the depot door loud enough, the old German fella that runs the place might can help ya. Name’s Humble, Hurmole, Hummerol …” The man knocked his hat askew scratching his head. “It’s somethin’ like that.”
He climbed over the wheel and collected the reins. His sharp whistle made the horses snort in protest, but they lurched forward, leaving Amelia standing alone in the chilled February night air.
She scanned up and down the street. The whole town seemed to have retired for the night. She longed to do so as well, but first she had to find this Sunday house of which Mr. Richter wrote.
She drew her thin shawl tighter and tapped at the depot door. No lights glimmered from within. She knocked harder, rattling the glass in the door window. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
A faint glow spilled from a back room and moved slowly toward the door. Candlelight never looked friendlier. A wizened old man clad only in a nightshirt shuffled to the door, holding the candlestick aloft.
“Wer gibt es?”
Wer? Amelia prodded her brain…. Who. No doubt he was asking who was knocking on his door in the middle of the night.
“My name is … um, ich bin Amelia Bachman.” What was the German word for teacher? “Mr. Richter was supposed to meet me.”
“Richter, ja.” The man set the candlestick down, gripped Amelia’s hand, and pumped it. “Fraulein Bachman. You am … uh, teacher, ja?
Relief rippled through her. “Yes! I mean, ja.”
He drew his shoulders back and clapped his hand to his chest. “I is Humbert Schmidt.” A beaming smile accompanied Mr. Schmidt’s broken English.
“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Schmidt.” She pulled the school board chairman’s letter from her pocket. “Mr. Richter says I’m supposed to stay in the Sunday house, er, Sonntag haus. Can you tell me—” She furrowed her brow trying to think around the headache that had weaseled its way behind her eyes. “Wo ist das haus?”
“Ja, ja—” He pointed and gave her directions, half in English and half in German, but she caught the words gelb haus, so at least she knew the house she was looking for was yellow.
“Sie brauchen—” Candlelight danced against the elderly man’s thick gray eyebrows as he shook his head. “Bah! Englisch, Schmidt!” An apologetic smile wobbled across his countenance. “You need lantern. Hier ist.” He scurried to a cabinet and returned with a lantern, lighting the wick with his candle.
“Thank you, uh, dank, Mr. Schmidt. I’ll bring your lantern back in the morning.” She picked up her satchel and pointed to the larger trunk. “I will send someone for the trunk tomorrow—morgen, all right?”
He nodded. “Morgen ist fein. Gute nacht.”
“Good night.” Clutching her bag in one hand, she looped her small cloth purse over her arm and picked up the lantern. Its flaming wick cast a swath of light before her.
Unfamiliar with her surroundings and weary from the hours of travel, she couldn’t be sure if the shiver that ran through her was from the cold or the eerie shadows. Either way, all she wanted was a warm bed behind a sturdy door.
Mr. Schmidt had told her to take the second street—that much she understood. She held the lantern higher to get a better look at the tiny houses that lined up for her perusal. She trudged on, her carpetbag growing heavier by the minute. Finally, the lantern light fell on a small yellow house. Amelia ventured closer and shone the light on the door. Above the lintel was an ornate sign that read: RICHTER HAUS.
Fatigue wilted her shoulders. “Thank goodness.”
She climbed the steps to the narrow porch, but hesitated at the door. It didn’t seem fitting to enter the house without knocking. Was the Richter family sleeping inside? She held the lantern up to one window. The light glared off the wavy glass.
She rapped on the door but there was no response. For go
od measure, she knocked again and listened for stirring from within. Satisfied the house was empty, she gripped the door latch and pushed.
“It’s locked!”
Her arrival was expected. Why would Mr. Richter tell her she would stay here, and then lock the door without providing her a key? She worked the doorknob again to no avail.
The frustration of the day crawled up from her gut and she clenched her jaw. Leaving her satchel and reticule by the door, she tried the two front windows. Neither of them budged. She huffed out a breath of annoyance and took the lantern around the side of the house. She held the lantern high and continued to make her way along the side of the house.
Near the back corner, she stumbled into a pile of firewood stacked against the house. “Oh!” Pieces of split stove wood tumbled down with a noisy clatter. A yowling screech split the air as a cat scrambled off the unstable woodpile.
An involuntary scream strangled in Amelia’s throat and a stabbing pain shot through her foot. She managed to hang on to the lantern as she hopped on one foot and leaned against the corner of the house.
Her breath heaved in and out as she waited for the pain to subside. Between the stagecoach’s delayed journey and the turbulent ride, Mr. Richter’s absence, struggling to communicate with Mr. Schmidt, and finding she couldn’t gain access to her promised living quarters, seething tears burned behind her eyelids. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the tears to retreat.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she hobbled around the scattered firewood and found another window on the back wall of the house. She set the lantern on the ground and pushed at the window. It gave a piercing squeak as wood scraped against wood, but at least it opened.
“Wer sind sie und was machen sie?” The deep, masculine voice boomed through the still night air.
Amelia squawked and spun around. She understood the first part of the challenge: Who are you? “I’m Miss Amelia Bachman, the new schoolteacher. Mr. Richter?”
Love Is Patient Romance Collection Page 50
