Loving Liza Jane

by Unknown

  So you’re safe then,” Jon said, eyes on Liza as he stood in the pouring rain.

  “Of course she’s safe. What are you doing here?” Ben asked as he pulled his friend inside and quickly closed the door. Water fell from Jon’s clothing to form little pools that refused to soak into the oil-treated wood floor.

  “Hello, Mr. Atkins,” Lili said, looking up when she heard the commotion.

  “Hello there, Lili. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? What do you think of this storm?”

  “I think it’s fun,” she replied happily.

  Jon laughed then bent down and tousled Lili’s blond head before he looked at Ben and Liza. “Mrs. Winthrop sent me to tell Liza there’d be no school tomorrow.”

  “I figured as much,” Ben said. “How’s the creek faring? I’m surprised you made it across.”

  “The creek’s swelling fast. The bridge won’t last much longer.”

  “You had best stay here for the night,” Ben suggested.

  Jon smiled. “I was hoping you’d invite me.” Then to Liza, “I stopped at your cabin to pass along the message and was alarmed to find your place dark.” Throwing Ben a hasty glance, he added, “I might have known Ben here would take good care of you.”

  Ben shifted his weight, eager to right the awkward situation. Instinctively he wondered if Jon had seen him through the rain-spattered windowpane when he’d touched Liza’s hair. If so, the man would never let him live it down.

  “I had to pick up Molly at Emma’s place, and so I stopped at the school to bring Lili and Liz—Miss Merriwether—home as well. The storm was raging by the time school let out.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Jon said with an even tone, his eyes flickering with suspicion.

  “It wasn’t safe to be walking in those conditions,” Ben added.

  “Of course it wasn’t.” He clasped his long fingers together in front of him and rocked back on his heels.

  “I knew Lili would be frightened,” Ben maintained, searching for the right words.

  “I wasn’t scared, Papa,” she chimed in, “—not until you nearly drowned us.”

  At that, Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Drowned?”

  “We were in no real danger,” Ben assured.

  Jon heaved an imaginary sigh. “Ah, well, that’s good. It would be difficult to explain yourself to the school board if you drowned the teacher after the first day of school.”

  Ben forced a smile. “It was nothing like that.” He failed to see the humor that Jon apparently saw. “The horses were—unsure, that’s all. But as you can see, we made it safely across in one piece.”

  “Yes. I can see that, and it’s good that you brought Liza here—where you could keep an eye on her,” Jon answered, eyes twinkling.

  Moments lapsed before Liza broke the silence with a cough. “Well, I really should be going up the hill.”

  “Nonsense,” Jon said. “No need to leave on my account.”

  “Oh, but I’ve been here…” A blast of thunder blotted out her next words and Ben considered it providential.

  “I’ll walk you,” Ben quickly offered, his eyes fastened on Liza.

  But Jon swiftly countered. “I won’t hear of it. Look at me. I’m already as wet as a skunk. Why should you subject yourself to this weather, my friend, when it would be just as easy for me to see the lady home?”

  “I am quite capable of seeing myself home,” Liza said with a trace of stubbornness. “I don’t need coddling.”

  “You’re not walking up that hill alone,” Ben announced, “coddling or no.”

  “You are absolutely right,” Jon said. “And that is exactly why I insist on taking her.” With that, he extended a looped arm, inviting Liza to put her hand there.

  Hesitating only briefly, she gave Ben a hasty look before accepting Jon’s offer. “Well, all right then.” Her eyes moved to Lili next. “Goodnight, Lili,” she said, avoiding Ben altogether. “If it’s not raining tomorrow, you may pay me a visit. That is, if your father doesn’t mind.”

  Lili squealed with delight.

  Moments later, the door closed behind the pair, and Ben heard them set off on a run up the hill. He watched from the window until their shadowy figures vanished from view. He could do with less of Jon’s gallantry, he mulled.

  “Do you think Mr. Atkins likes her, Papa?”

  Ben made an abrupt turn toward Lili. “What? Well, I wouldn’t know, sugar. I suppose he might.”

  Lili sighed loud enough for Ben to hear. “If she marries him, she won’t be my teacher anymore.”

  “Lili, you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

  Ben stared out over the dark expanse wondering if they’d made it to the top of Shannon’s Peak yet.

  “You could always marry her first!”

  Smothering a groan at his child’s outspokenness, he asked, “Where do you come up with such things?”

  “It just popped into my head.”

  He laughed lightly, suddenly wondering what she would think if she knew about his plans to marry one Sarah Woodward.

  “Well, you best think of other things—like popping into bed!”

  Lili stood up, leaving the incomplete puzzle on the floor. “But what if Mr. Atkins marries her before you get the chance?” Her question came out on a high-pitched whine.

  “If I decide to remarry, it will be to a woman of my own choosing.”

  “Don’t I get to help you choose?” she asked, her blue eyes round with hope and longing.

  In spite of himself, Ben laughed aloud, then bent to tickle his daughter. She shrieked with pleasure. “Shh, you’ll wake your sister, and neither of us wants that.”

  With that, he pushed her gently in the direction of her room.

  More than two hours passed before Jonathan Atkins reentered the Broughton house. Constant pacing and peering up at the well-lit cabin on Shannon’s Peak had Ben’s nerves stretched taut as a drum. “Where on earth have you been?” he bellowed when Jon casually entered, hung his coat on a hook by the door, and headed for Ben’s fine leather chair, the one he’d ordered from Philadelphia and waited four long months to receive by freight.

  “Had you worried, did I?” he asked, a self-satisfied look on his face. Incessant rain still pounded against the roof. “Got any coffee?”

  “I thought you were just going to walk her up the hill. You’ve been gone for two hours!” Ben cried, ignoring the request, agitated for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  Jon lifted a wet sleeve to peruse his wristwatch. “Hmm, I guess I have. Time flies in the presence of fine company. Especially the company of a pretty Easterner.”

  “What have you been doing?” Ben persisted.

  Amusement flickered in Jon’s eyes, his mouth quirking at one corner. “Talking. I guess you don’t have any coffee.”

  “What about?”

  A deep-timbred chuckle rolled out of Jon’s chest. “Ben Broughton, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were jealous, which makes no sense considering you’re soon to be married.”

  Ben sat down on a straight-back chair across from his friend, the reminder of his impending marriage taking the wind right out of his sails.

  Jon steepled the fingers of both hands and fixed his eyes on Ben. “We talked and sipped on cider, if you must know. She’s a wonderful conversationalist, asked me about college and seminary, my hopes for taking a church parish, my family—or lack thereof—my friends out East. She spoke of Boston, her acquaintances, the unfortunate passing of her parents, and a number of other things. We even discussed spiritual matters. She’s quite a beautiful woman, and dedicated to serving the Lord.”

  What if Mr. Atkins marries her before you get the chance?

  “You look as if you’ve swallowed a toad, Ben. Anything wrong?”

  Irritated, Ben asked, “What do you think Mrs. Winthrop would say if she discovered how long you lingered at the teacher’s house?”

  The notion that Liza and Jon had reached a level of familiarity in so s
hort a time riled him. Jon always had been an affable communicator. Never mind that most women swooned at his good looks. Undoubtedly, Liza was just as taken.

  “I doubt Iris Winthrop is overly concerned about a man with a preacher’s license breaking any laws of propriety. You might better worry what she’d say if she learned the teacher had supper with you—a widower.” Jon reclined even further into the leather chair. A wide smile curved his lips. “Now, that would make for fine dinner conversation, Ben Broughton.”

  “Don’t be smart,” Ben said, shifting in the chair, his long legs stretching out until they reached the middle of the room, hands clasped across his thick chest. “Nothing happened.”

  “No? I saw you standing close to her, touching the side of her face just before I knocked.”

  Ben’s gut lurched. He’d been afraid of that. “I might have known.”

  “What are you thinking, Ben?” Jon’s face sobered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not seriously considering marrying that woman you sent for, are you?”

  A moan shoved past Ben’s throat. “I’ve already told you, my daughters need a woman in their lives. The mail-order bride seemed like a good solution.”

  “That’s hooey. You’ve managed fine for the last year and a half.”

  “You haven’t walked in my shoes,” Ben blurted.

  “True.” Jon readjusted his lanky body, the leather squeaking and whining under his weight. “But I saw something tonight that I hadn’t noticed in you since Miranda was alive.”

  Ben bit down on the wall of his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

  “You watch her in a particular way. I see something light up in your eyes when you look at her.”

  Ben guffawed. “Now who’s talking hooey?”

  “You better think long and hard about what you’re doing, Ben. And then you best pray even harder.”

  The words hit Ben right where Jon intended—square between the eyes. What was he suggesting, that Ben had feelings for Miss Merriwether, feelings that went beyond friendship? Horse hockey! He’d as much as proposed to another woman! Blazing bluefish! She could arrive any day.

  ***

  Talk of the big thunderstorm filled every store, the post office, the little bank, and the main street. It was unheard of that the school doors would close after just one day of school, but close they did for three more days.

  Days of nonstop rain drenched the walkways to and from school, making passage for even horses nearly impossible. Little Hickman Creek swelled to levels higher than even the old-timers could remember.

  The bridge went out sometime during that first night, but the men and boys joined efforts and erected two new bridges in record time, one in its original spot, and a brand new one directly off the Broughton’s property. Fortunately, as soon as the rain stopped, the creek leveled off, making bridge construction more manageable.

  While the men worked, the women prepared food and drink, using Liza’s cabin as a central point for food preparation and serving. Long tables with makeshift benches made from unused wood from the bridges, draped with red and white checked tablecloths, sat in the beating sun. Fresh lemonade and cider flowed aplenty, as did cold well water. Cold-cut sandwiches, fried chicken, roast beef, and a variety of salads kept the men charged with bounteous energy.

  In the late evenings, rather than head for home, many folks, including the children, lingered for a time of singing and dancing, laughing and joking, and pleasant conversation. It was a treasured time for Liza, as it gave her the opportunity to connect with people that she might never have had the chance to meet otherwise.

  On Friday, the last day of August, school resumed, but it wasn’t until the following Monday that the students seemed ready to jump into their lessons. Liza was just as weary of the stop-and-start launch to the school year, and so she understood the lethargy that resulted. It would take a few days for the students to re-acclimate to the school routine.

  With the sturdy new bridge in place, Liza found herself walking to town in record time and well ahead of her students, thankful that she did not need to rely on Ben Broughton for transportation after all.

  Benjamin Broughton, the man she’d now come to think of secretly as Ben, had had little to say to her over the past days, even though he had sat at her table and eaten the food provided by the women. Only on occasion had he glanced her way, and then with looks that seemed filled with petulance and irritation. Was he angry with her? If she hadn’t been so busy running back and forth to refill containers and platters, she might have asked him what it was that had him so rankled.

  Just when it seemed they’d reached a plateau in their friendship, a kind of common ground on which to converse, he had to grow as cantankerous as a tiger with a toothache. To make matters worse, whenever Jonathan Atkins came near, charming the other ladies, as well as herself, with his tomfoolery, Ben’s sullenness seemed only to multiply. She’d thought they were such good chums, Ben and Jon, but if that were the case, why did Ben allow the man to bother him so?

  The church service the Sunday after the storm had been full of praise and thanksgiving, the singing exceptionally enthusiastic, and the people particularly friendly. As guest speaker, Jon Atkins had delivered a fervent message about righteous living. He was well versed, highly animated, and passionate in his delivery. Liza thought she could easily listen to him preach every Sunday and saw by the way folks received him afterward that they all felt the same.

  She’d also thought the service a perfect example of the way a community pulls together in the face of adversity, counts their blessings, and realizes anew what truly matters in life. Thankfully, the only mishap anyone suffered from the storm was the loss of a rickety bridge. And because of the rain, families stayed in their homes and became reacquainted, played games, ate, and enjoyed the fellowship of friends and neighbors. As soon as the rain subsided, men and boys seemed to come from out of the woodwork to begin the work of building the bridges. It was community at its best.

  By the end of the first week of September, Liza had learned the names of all of her students, picked out which ones she could count on to give her their best effort, which ones lagged behind, even though their efforts seemed unsurpassed, and which did not begin to reach their potential. Her primary focus became meeting the individual needs of all of her students and challenging them to go beyond the mediocre.

  It was Wednesday afternoon. More than a week had passed since the storm. Life seemed finally to have reached a level of sameness—that is, until Liza heard quiet whimpering coming from somewhere in the front of the classroom.

  “Miss Merriwether, Eloise Brackett is crying,” Lili informed her. She might have told her she could see that, but she appreciated the concern in Lili’s voice, so she kept the remark to herself.

  “Eloise, come up to my desk, please,” she said softly. Liza had been correcting essays by the older students while the class worked independently on various morning assignments. As soon as the forlorn-looking child stood to her feet, a round of snickers came from the back of the room. Liza’s senses awakened as she scanned the faces of each boy. Rufus Baxter and Clement Bartel sat in their usual slumped-over positions, their lazy grins in place.

  Ever since the noon recess incident in which she’d learned the identities of the culprits behind the outhouse lock-in, there’d been no real unpleasantness for her to deal with. In fact, she’d thought the waters far too calm, and Eloise’s tears proved her theory right. She mentally geared up for what would come next.

  When the child drew near, an offensive odor overtook Liza so that she had all she could do not to turn her face away. It was evident the child had not bathed in days nor changed her underthings.

  “Can you tell me why you’re crying?” she quietly asked, subconsciously holding her breath, then breathing only when necessary.

  The child’s wet gaze turned downward as her lower lip trembled. Head shaking from side to side, it was obvious she didn’t i
ntend to talk. It was then Liza noticed a piece of paper sticking out of Eloise’s tight little fist. Liza reached down and pried her fingers open so that she could seize the note.

  Unwrapping the small wad, she smoothed out the wrinkles and read:

  Hey littel girl—you ever here of a bathtub or don’t yer old man own one? In plane werds—you stink!

  Liza closed her eyes to fight back her own batch of tears. Words could sometimes wound more deeply than physical hurts. Hastily, she silently prayed for wisdom.

  “I’m sorry you were hurt by this note, Eloise,” she whispered, drawing the child into a warm hug, suddenly unconcerned about her offensive odor. “Try to ignore it if you can.”

  Eloise’s eyes welled up even more as she fought to stay brave. Then, speaking loud enough for the classroom to hear her, Liza added, “If it will make you feel any better, Eloise, the person who wrote this note is a terrible speller. And the handwriting is nothing to brag about.”

  That brought snickers from several students, particularly those who recognized themselves as innocent. A quick scan of the back of the room helped her narrow down the guilty party.

  Neither Rufus nor Clement saw any humor in her comment.

  Liza made a point to give them both a stern look.

  At the close of the day, Liza packed up her schoolbag, which contained uncorrected essays, arithmetic problems written by the younger children, and algebraic equations by the older. On top of that stack of papers, she packed her class registry book, her grading book, and, last of all, her lesson book. By the time she pulled the strap over her shoulder, she heaved a sigh under its weight. It was still better than hauling a tall stack of slates, she told herself. Ever since the mass production of paper, the need for slates had greatly decreased, even though the children still enjoyed scribbling on them every chance they got.

  Once outside, she closed the door behind her and locked it, pulling on the knob to assure herself she’d done the job. Then she headed for Sam’s livery to see about obtaining a rig for her ride out to the Brackett farm.

  It was time she paid Mr. Brackett a visit.