Taming Eliza Jane

by Shannon Stacey

  The questions made her feel jittery in the pit of her stomach, so Eliza Jane grabbed Will’s broom and set about sweeping up the dirt he’d tracked in. With the lamp dimmed, she was probably doing a poor job of it, but at least her hands were as busy as her mind.

  Maybe it was the man who made the difference. If he weren’t so exhausted, Will would have shown a great deal of appreciation for the dinner. Or he’d have cooked it himself. Because Will Martinson was a man who knew all about appreciation—it was about all he received for taking care of Gardiner’s ailments. Why, just last week he’d spent half a day tending to the injuries a man had sustained during an accident at the mill, and all he’d received was a jar of preserves.

  When she’d expressed her shock at how little people rendered for his services, he’d said in that annoyingly laid back way of his, “Ah, but you’ve never had Mrs. Thurman’s preserves, darlin’.”

  She’d pressed him, and he’d confessed there were a great many families in Gardiner who paid him with something other than cash. Sure, some had money, but others plied him with baked goods or mending or the thankfully rare offering of livestock. She was watching his face when he tried to explain that when a baby’s fever broke and his or her mother looked in his eyes and said “thank you”, that gift of gratitude was the purest and truest form of payment he could receive.

  Eliza Jane tried to imagine herself in five years, waiting up and worrying about Will and then cleaning up after a midnight meal. She hadn’t minded it tonight—in fact she’d been proud to care for him—but how would she feel if it became the extent of her life?

  She leaned the broom against the wall with a sigh. It wasn’t a problem to be pondered in the middle of the night, and she had to sleep if she was going to make it through the workday tomorrow. After pressing a light kiss to his forehead and turning down the lamp, she snuck back out and crept through town, the hotel hallway and into her room.

  Will woke the next morning to a vague memory of Eliza Jane tucking him into bed and a summons from Miss Adele delivered in the form of a note slid under his door.

  He cleaned up, changed clothes and made a quick stop at the restaurant for a small breakfast and a lot of coffee. Adam had come and gone, so he ate alone, then headed for the Chicken Coop.

  He kept an eye out for Eliza Jane as he made his way down the sidewalk, but she was nowhere to be seen and the livery corral was empty. When he was finished with Miss Adele, he’d have to track her down and apologize for the previous night.

  Hellfire. He’d left one hell of a bad impression. She’d come for a little romancing, and instead she’d fed him and put him to bed. He couldn’t remember if he’d even said thank you. It was certainly no way to endear himself to a woman who thought men didn’t know how to appreciate a woman.

  But then again, it wasn’t altogether a bad thing to have happened. The fact remained there were times when this was how his life was, and maybe it was best she’d seen it now—before they started getting even more involved than they already were.

  Miss Adele was waiting for him in her room, her hair done and her face made up, as always. But there wasn’t enough paint in the entire Coop to hide the pain in her eyes and the lines around her mouth.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” He perched himself on the edge of her bed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your invitation?”

  “I’ve received a letter from my niece Rebecca.” She handed the folded paper to him. “Read it to me, William. My eyes are tired and my little chickens can’t read.”

  He unfolded it, cleared his throat and started to read. “My dearest Aunt Adele… It is with the most bittersweet of emotions I received your letter. As my father recently passed on, leaving me destitute and with no prospects, the timing seems a Godsend. While I am unclear as to the exact nature of your business, I assure you I am a quick study and adept with figures.

  “It saddens me greatly to know that this opportunity comes to me at your expense, however. I remember with great fondness your visits when I was a young girl.

  “I humbly accept your generous offer, Aunt Adele, and I shall make great haste in my preparations to leave in the hope we may be reunited before your health takes a turn for the worse. Your loving niece, Rebecca.”

  Will refolded the letter and gave Miss Adele a chiding look. “You didn’t tell her you run a whorehouse, did you?”

  “I admit to being a little vague on the details.”

  “Running a house full of women who have sex with men for money is not the kind of business you spring on a young lady who’s done nothing but care for her father for the last fifteen or so years.”

  “You read it yourself, William. What other choices does she have? Giving herself to a husband she doesn’t love just to keep a roof over her head? That’s not the life I want for my niece.”

  “And being a whorehouse madam is?”

  “It’s done fine by me.” She coughed—a horrible, wracking cough that left bloody flecks in her fancy handkerchief. Will’s gut clenched. She was getting worse in a hurry and he feared she had little time left.

  “Before my sister passed on,” Miss Adele continued, “Rebecca was a little firecracker after my own heart. She was a feisty one, very forward-thinking and adventurous. But after… I’ve kept tabs on her, you know, through friends. Living with that gloomy, boring son of a bitch has buried her spark. And if she has to turn around and marry somebody else just like him in order to survive, that little spark will just die out completely.

  “I’m not saying the Coop won’t come as a shock. But maybe that spark will come to life and she’ll be the woman she was meant to be. Maybe she’ll walk away from the whole thing. Maybe she’ll sell it and use the money to find a new life. But this way she’ll have a chance, William. She’ll have a choice.”

  He squeezed her hand, though not as tightly as the sadness was squeezing his heart. “Sounds like she used to be just like you, darlin’.”

  She laughed softly, then had to wait for another coughing fit to pass. “Oh, she was. If she gets her temper up, she’ll turn this little town on its ear.”

  “Well, ain’t that just dandy. Just what Gardiner needs—another strong-minded woman raising hell.”

  Of course she knew exactly who he was talking about. “Whew, that Eliza Jane sure is a pistol, ain’t she? She’d make a mighty fine wife for you, William.”

  “Now you know pink isn’t flattering to my handsome complexion,” he teased, but in his mind he was picturing a tangle of naked limbs. Candlelight reflecting in pale blue eyes.

  Tell me how it feels, darlin’.

  It feels so…right.

  Miss Adele tapped a fingernail against the back of his hand. “I do believe she would be the perfect friend for my Rebecca, too.”

  “Eliza Jane will be moving on soon, and it’s best everybody remember that.” Especially himself.

  “Oh, that girl’s not going anywhere.”

  “Have you taken up tea reading, woman?”

  “I don’t need to read dregs in the bottom of a cup when the writing’s on the wall for anybody smart enough to open his eyes and see it.” More coughing. “I sure would like to see you married before I die, William.”

  “I adore you with all my heart, Miss Adele, and you know it. But if you’re even thinking about making my marrying Eliza Jane Carter your deathbed last wish, I’ll smother you with a pillow. Now you think about what that will do to that fancy face paint of yours before you say another word.”

  She didn’t have the strength to laugh again, but she squeezed his fingers. “Now, William, you know I want to look pretty when I die.”

  He had to strain to hear her now, and the ache burned like turned cider in his belly. “You need to rest, darlin’.”

  “That I do. I’m just going to drink this medicinal thing you made me and then close my eyes.” She was whispering to avoid triggering another spell. “Be kind to Eliza Jane and make my Rebecca welcome. Watch over my sweet chickens.”


  With a certainty that made his throat close up, Will knew she’d made that drink a lot more medicinal than he’d given her instructions for. I want to look pretty when I die.

  He made himself stand up and kiss her cheek like always. She was burning with fever. “I love you, Adele.”

  “I love you, too, William, as if you were my own son. Now you go on and let a lady get her beauty sleep.”

  Will left her door open. He didn’t want her to be alone for too long.

  Chapter Ten

  A knock on her door woke Eliza Jane from a deep sleep. Utterly exhausted after the previous night and the day’s work, she’d fallen into bed in just her robe and had been asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  “Who is it?” she called, trying to shake off the grogginess. She was honestly too tired to even hope it was Will.

  “It’s Fiona, Miss Carter. From the Chicken Coop.”

  Eliza Jane retied her sash before opening the door. The pretty woman’s eye makeup was smeared, and her eyes and nose were red from crying. “I’m sorry to disturb you this late, but Miss Adele has passed on earlier today.”

  Will. He’d be devastated. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Fiona. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Well, us chickens, we got each other. But Doc Martinson, he’s bad off about it. He’s in his office and…there ain’t nothing we can do for him. I thought maybe you’d go.”

  “Isn’t Sheriff Caldwell with him? They’re good friends and —”

  “No disrespect, ma’am, but when a man’s grieving that bad, he don’t need a friend. He needs his woman.”

  “I’m not…” …his woman. “I’ll get dressed and go right over. And thank you, Fiona, for coming. You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do for you or the other ladies?”

  “You’re a good friend to us, Miss Carter. That’s already more than most will do,” Fiona said sadly, and she closed the door behind her when she left.

  Eliza Jane slipped out of her robe and into a blouse and skirt, not bothering with anything else. It was late and nobody would see her out on the street. She just needed to get to Will.

  Her heart broke when she stepped inside his office, dropping the bar across the door behind her.

  In the glow of one dim lamp, she could see the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Tears flowed unchecked from his red and raw eyes, and hoarse sobs occasionally caught in his chest. The grief was almost palpable, as if the entire room had been draped in a blanket of sorrow.

  She went to him without speaking and wrapped her arms around his shoulder, pulling his head to her stomach. He nuzzled his face against her, his fingertips digging into her hips. The muscles of his back quivered under her hands and she kneaded them, trying to ease the tension she felt in him.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  She wore only the thin, white blouse, so she felt his face press against her skin, hot and damp. She realized his fingers were pulling at her skirt, bunching it up into his fists.

  He needs his woman. Eliza Jane started at her collar, unfastening the row of tiny buttons she’d just barely finished fastening. When she reached his head, she paused to run her fingers through his hair. He pulled back enough to look up at her, his blue eyes full of sorrow.

  He stood, knocking over his chair. Tucking his hands under her arms, he lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his hips. He carried her into the back, into the exam room, and lowered her to the narrow bed.

  Since she’d forgone undergarments in her haste—and perhaps her knowledge of what comfort he’d seek—he settled between her thighs and fumbled with his fly. She raised her hips to accommodate him.

  Will groaned as he entered her, pressing his face into her neck. She ran her hands over his back and into his hair, soothing him and urging him on. His pace quickened and Eliza Jane wrapped her arms around him.

  With a broken sob, Will thrust harder, his body letting out the raw emotions he couldn’t express. She held him as his body shuddered, twitched, and then fell still. A few moments later he rolled off her, pulling her into his embrace even in his sleep.

  Eliza Jane stared up at the ceiling. She’d just let a man use her body for his own comfort, with no regard to pleasure. And coming after last night, it should have offended her to her very bones. Instead she was as content as if she’d been the one to find release.

  She was beginning to fear it was more than friendship and his character that made her not resent his need for her. Maybe it was love that made a woman not mind when there was a little more giving on her part and a little more taking on his.

  Will’s hand twitched on her breast, his sleep light and restless. She stroked his hair and started to hum. She avoided hymns and popular standards he may associate with the war and hummed instead an old lullaby she vaguely remembered from childhood.

  As she stroked his hair, he stilled and started to snore softly. She held him for another hour before she silently slipped away.

  Late the following morning, Eliza Jane took a bracing breath and knocked on the door of the grandest house in Gardiner. Beth Ann opened the door, as always looking as pretty as a peach. Her creamy complexion paled slightly, and Eliza Jane realized the girl might misconstrue this visit as being about that Joey fellow she believed herself in love with.

  “Is Mrs. Barnes receiving guests?” Eliza Jane asked when the girl only gaped at her.

  “I…I’m sorry. Yes, please come in.”

  She’d been counting on good manners getting her in the door, so she was a bit surprised when a shrill voice demanded, “What are you doing in my house?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Barnes.”

  “Beth Ann, you go on to your room. I don’t want you anywhere near this woman.”

  The girl fled, but not without casting a curious glance over her shoulder. Of course, she wasn’t really a girl. She was a nineteen-year-old woman being totally stifled by her mother. But that was an observation for another day—her business was far more pressing than that.

  “You,” that mother hissed when her daughter was gone. “How dare you come here? I don’t want you in my home.”

  Another deep breath. “You and I are going to come to an understanding, Lucy Barnes. And then I’ll not darken your doorstep again.”

  Lucy crossed her arms and said nothing, which Eliza Jane took as a reluctant invitation to speak her piece. “I’m sure you’ve heard Miss Adele passed on yesterday.”

  “The death of an unrepentant sinner brings me no sorrow, Mrs. Carter.”

  Well, Mrs. Carter was better than Jezebel as far as names went. A glass of lemonade was probably still out of the question, though. “I would imagine so. She meant a great deal to Doctor Martinson, however, and he means a great deal to this town.”

  “I won’t permit a service for that woman in our church, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Miss Adele often spoke of her wish to be buried in the church cemetery, under the trees.” The chickens had told her as much when she’d stopped by to check on them that morning.

  But Lucy was having none of it. “She belongs out behind the blacksmith’s with the other sinners.”

  Eliza Jane blew out an exasperated breath. “As a favor to the doctor who serves this town selflessly, we’d like for the church to offer a plot. I’m not asking the congregation or the reverend to come and shed false tears over her grave—just to be allowed to bury her behind the church.”

  “Have you spoken to Reverend Phillips about the matter?” Lucy demanded, her eyes narrowed.

  “You and I both know you’ll be the one to make the decision, Mrs. Barnes.”

  The woman got a little gleam in her eye at Eliza Jane’s acknowledgment of her power in Gardiner. “Give me one good reason why I should allow a fallen woman to rest eternally among our good Christian dead.”

  There were undoubtedly some good passages in Lucy Barnes’s Bible about forgiveness and mercy, but Eliza Jane didn’t care to swap scriptures with the woman.

&
nbsp; “Because if you allow Miss Adele to be buried in the church cemetery, Sheriff Adam Caldwell will escort Beth Ann to the town social in two weeks.”

  “You’re lying,” Lucy breathed, but the shrewd look in her eye turned hopeful.

  “Sheriff Caldwell is a particular friend of Doctor Martinson’s, as you well know. I spoke to him not an hour ago, and he said he’d be pleased to escort Beth Ann to the social if you’d do his best friend this one good turn.”

  Pleased was a slight exaggeration. In fact, the sheriff had threatened to shoot her, Lucy Barnes, Will and himself before she wore him down enough to listen to reason. Woe to anybody who thought to make trouble in Gardiner today. His trigger finger had still been twitching when she left his office.

  “Let me pour some lemonade,” Lucy offered, gesturing toward the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

  The negotiations took nearly an hour, fueled by the most incredibly over-sweetened lemonade Eliza Jane had ever had the misfortune to drink. The reverend would not conduct a service nor would the Bible Brigade attend—the hypocrisy of such a showing would have angered Will, anyway. The chickens would be allowed inside the white picket fence to say their final goodbyes. Future visits were a sticking point, but they’d finally agreed on the plot being closest to the fence so the chickens could reach through the pickets should they want to leave flowers in the future.

  So Miss Adele would be buried in well-tended earth under some of the few pretty trees in town. And Beth Ann Barnes would be escorted by Sheriff Adam Caldwell to the town social.

  Four days later, Will had to do some fancy bargaining, but he managed to finagle enough flowers from the chickens to make a presentable bouquet. And since Eliza Jane had been busy helping the chickens with the funeral, working, holding meetings and doing God only knew what else, he went straight to the livery stable to deliver them.