by Unknown
Rosie nodded, frowning. “A couple times, Teacher, but mostly I walk away from him ’fore he gets too mad. Mama stands up to him. That’s what gets her in trouble.”
“Why doesn’t Mr. Bartel make him leave?” cried Liza, her heart reeling with untold misery.
The woman shrugged again, then let go a frail-sounding chuckle. “That man has no backbone. Truth be told, I think he’s scared o’ his own boy. Clement’s powerful wicked when someone sets him off, Miss Merriwether, so Angus caters to the boy, anythin’ to keep from gettin’ struck.”
“Oh, Mrs. Bartel,” Liza said.
Mrs. Bartel turned her gaze to a distant field. “Angus ain’t sech a bad man, miss.” She spoke in so soft a voice that Liza had to lean in to her to catch the words. “Oh, I know he comes across like an ornery fool, and heaven knows he ain’t good fer much, but he ain’t in bad with the law like most are up here, and that’s somethin’.
“That woman, the mother of Clement, she was a bad seed; worked at Madam Guttersnipe’s place ’til Clement was born. After that, she left for greener pastures. I thought we’d seen the last of her until she come back five years later. She left Angus’s bawlin’ kid on ar porch along with a note claimin’ she couldn’t handle the boy, nor afford ’im.
“It weren’t no secret that the boy belonged to Angus. Anyone could see it. ’Sides, I knew Angus had it bad fer her back then.”
Mrs. Bartel tossed her head back, and Liza took note of yet another small bruise hidden beneath the front flap of her fallen collar. Suddenly the woman turned her delicate face toward Liza. Deep-set, hazel-colored eyes watered at the corners. “Angus says he ain’t been back to Guttersnipe’s since, and I believe ’im.”
Liza wasn’t interested in hearing about the illicit activities that dotted Angus Bartel’s past; however, she was concerned about Rosie’s welfare in light of all she’d learned regarding the girl’s half-brother. It was not a healthy or safe situation for anyone, let alone a ten-year-old child.
“Mrs. Bartel, I’m worried about Rosie and you.”
Mrs. Bartel flipped her skinny wrist. “Don’t bother yerself about us, ma’am. We’ve made do till now. I ’spect we’ll be fine.”
“Have you talked to anyone else about this? What if I went with you to talk to the sheriff? Mr. Broughton says he’s a fair man. I’m sure if…”
“No! Angus would never stand fer that. Clement’s still his flesh and blood. I got to respect my husband’s wishes.”
“What if I was the one to report him?” Liza suggested.
Mrs. Bartel’s eyes roamed over Liza’s face in disbelief. “You ain’t got nothin’ to gain by doin’ a thing like that. You could get yer own self in a heap o’ trouble. Clement could…”
“I care about you and Rosie,” Liza interrupted, “and I don’t want anything to happen to you. By the look of those bruises, Clement has a fierce temper.”
“Yes, and he could use it on you.”
Liza ignored the retort. “If I simply walked away today and disregarded what I’ve learned, then I’d feel responsible if something even worse happened to you.”
“But it ain’t yer problem, ma’am.”
Liza smiled at the forlorn-looking mother and child. “But it is my problem. We are all God’s children, put on this earth to love Him and care for others. I would be disobeying my heavenly Father if I simply walked away and did nothing.”
A distant rustling of leaves alerted Liza to the men’s and boy’s return. Frustrated by her sudden lack of time, Liza hurried to say, “I am going to talk to Mr. Broughton about this. He will know what’s best. Don’t worry.” But Mrs. Bartel’s trembling mouth said that she would do just that. Worry. “And whatever you do, do not tell Mr. Bartel about our—ahem, discussion.”
“But Angus don’t like no secrets.”
“This isn’t really a secret. It’s simply unnecessary for you to tell him everything we discussed.”
“Oh.” That seemed to clear the matter up, for Mrs. Bartel’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
“You womenfolk done with yer yappin’?” Angus called out, chomping on a blade of grass while he approached, his gnarled, bearded face a picture of outright tension.
“We are.” Liza looked Ben over carefully, thankful to discover he looked no worse for the wear. Clement, however, wore self-absorption like a coat of many colors, his usual brash manner standing out in the way he sauntered toward her, as if he owned the universe, giving her a cocky half-grin.
“Good,” Ben said in a curt tone, “because it’s time we headed back.”
***
“Why didn’t you let me do the talking?” Ben asked, gripping the reins to keep from strangling the little woman sitting beside him.
“We didn’t actually agree to that—did we?” Her voice faltered.
He gave her an incredulous stare. “It was the last thing we discussed before we reached the house.”
“I thought we decided I would do the talking and you would cut in if necessary.”
“I notice you were stingy on your end of the bargain, then,” he said. “I told you it was time to leave and you balked.”
“But I wanted to talk to Clement’s mother,” she argued.
“You—it—oh, what’s the point; it’s done, and you’re not going back there.” Ben wasn’t sure which emotion had him most riled, anger that she’d been so stubborn, or relief that they were both in one piece. The tour of Angus’s farm had turned up no evidence of bootlegging that Ben could see, but fifteen minutes of keeping company with him and that foulmouthed son of his had him convinced that Clement’s middle name was Evil.
Liza’s shoulders straightened. “We have to go to the sheriff, you know.”
“What?”
Liza turned blue, moist eyes on him, and Ben’s insides nearly fell in a heap at his feet. She was really something.
“It’s our Christian duty,” she pressed.
“Liza, did you see the rifle? It was cocked. Do you know what that means?” He felt his patience dwindling.
“Of course I know. I’m not entirely brainless. But it was just there to scare us. Mr. Bartel wouldn’t have used it on us. His wife told me Angus is not in bad with the law,” Liza said in a rush.
At the bottom of the mountain, Ben pulled the horses to a halt under a shady patch of trees and shifted in the seat in order to look into her eyes, taking care to breathe normally, praying at the same time for patience and a gentle spirit, even though his blood seemed at the boiling point.
“You don’t know these people the way I do. They’re not to be reasoned with—or trusted,” he managed.
“Don’t you see? Mrs. Bartel said Angus never laid a hand to her. All those bruises came from Clement. She said that Clement roughs up his own father when his temper goes sour because Angus is getting too old to defend himself. She said…”
Ben put a hand to Liza’s mouth and kept it there. Her blue eyes bulged at the act, but at least it was enough to silence her. “And you believed her?”
He waited to remove his hand until she gave a slow nod. Several strands of golden hair blew into her face, blocking her vision. It took a great deal of restraint on his part not to remove them. He wanted to take the silky strands between his fingers and roll them around, test them for their smoothness. Fortunately, she tucked them out of the way before he had the chance. “She also told me Clement is not her son.”
Ben sat back. “Really.”
“Apparently, Angus met some woman at Madam Guttersnipe’s place and, well, you know.”
Ben groaned. He did know, and the knowledge turned his gut inside out. “I don’t know why the people of Little Hickman don’t run that woman and her evil establishment out of town.”
“That’s beside the point,” Liza cried. “What’s important is that we report what we know to the sheriff.”
“I’m not sure Will can do anything,” Ben replied.
“Why not? You saw the bruises.”
“I did, L
iza, but without Mrs. Bartel’s cooperation, I doubt there’s much the sheriff can do. He’ll need solid proof.”
“But we saw the proof with our own eyes.”
“Will Mrs. Bartel back you up on that?” he asked.
Liza’s face held instant panic. “Don’t you see? She wouldn’t have told me about Clement if she wasn’t afraid and desperate. If you could have seen how she trembled while she was talking about it, well, you’d understand. Something else, I spotted another bruise beneath her collar.” Ben’s stomach clenched. Another bruise. “If we don’t do something to help them, who will?”
He turned his gaze outward, watching tall blades of grass dance to the gentle breezes. An unexpected chill in the air warned of changing temperatures once the sun settled into the horizon. He bit unconsciously at his lower lip, contemplating what he’d learned.
“You’re right about one thing,” Ben confessed.
“What?”
“It is our Christian duty. We can’t pretend nothing is going on in that house.”
Liza’s shoulders dropped in relief. “I’m glad you see it that way. When should we go see the sheriff?”
He gave her a thorough look. “We are not going to go to the sheriff.”
“What? But you said…”
He put a hand to her mouth again. It seemed the only way to quiet her. “I will go see Will Murdock. You will sit tight and mind your manners, Miss Merriwether.”
She slapped at his hand. “I will not. I have just as much right…”
“You’re the town’s one and only teacher. You have your safety and that of your students to consider.”
“I don’t see how my going to the sheriff is going to endanger…”
“Listen to me. If Clement ever got wind that you went to the sheriff on Rosie’s and Mrs. Bartel’s behalf there could be real trouble in store.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.” There went her stubborn little chin again.
“Well, I’m not,” he stated.
“You have no say in the matter.” Now her lip went out in a pout, and suddenly he wanted to kiss it. The realization threw him for a loop.
“You are a pigheaded woman. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Only a hint of a smile revealed itself. “Aunt Hettie, I suppose, but not in those precise words,” she relented.
“And how would your aunt feel about your getting involved in a potentially dangerous situation?”
Now she crossed her arms and leaned against the straight, hard back of the wagon seat. “That’s not a fair question.”
He sighed. “Liza, you know I’m right.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, go to the sheriff without me, then, but I expect you to tell me how he plans to handle the matter.” Her stubborn look told him she wasn’t one to concede defeat, but this time common sense overruled.
He touched a finger to her chin and guided it around until her gaze met up with his. For a change, she sat mute, her large, round eyes full of curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite decipher. Uncertainty? Trepidation?
He carefully cupped her perfectly designed face with both his hands, readjusted himself on the seat so that he faced her more squarely, and then slowly moved in, deliberately, drawing her closer. When their lips first met, it was with feather-lightness, a tentative kind of touch, unsure, wobbly. After all, she was the first woman he’d even looked at, let alone touched, since Miranda.
He moved his hands from her warm cheeks to her shoulders and then up and down her arms. Finally, he went to the small of her back to pull her closer. There his hands temporarily rested while he continued to taste her sweetness, lose himself in the moment.
She seemed to do the same as her own arms moved to the back of him, his bulk making it difficult for her to reach around, her breathing snagging and catching with each intake.
His heart thumped out a rhythm that rumbled through his head, drowning out the sounds of testy whip-poor-wills and scolding chipmunks from the tree overhead, the earthy creatures obviously angered by their invasion of privacy.
Her softness so mesmerized him that it wasn’t until she pushed away from him, gasping for air, that he came to his senses in one fell swoop.
“What did you do that for?” she cried.
“Pardon me?”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she insisted, looking at her lap.
He grinned. “Why not?”
She scooted to the far side of the seat, as if that would keep him from snatching her up into his arms once more.
“You know why not,” she insisted.
“Refresh my memory.”
Her blue eyes narrowed into mere slits and her slender arms went into their usual stubborn cross. “It wasn’t proper or fitting.”
Now he chuckled outright. “You seemed to enjoy it.”
“Be serious,” she said, her lower lip extending just enough to resemble the beginnings of another pout.
He had never been more serious about anything in his life. “Liza…”
“What happened to your—bride?” The pointed question stabbed him in the side like a pitchfork. “I thought you were betrothed. How could you—you kiss me like that—when you’re devoted to another?”
“I am not devoted. For your information, I won’t be marrying Miss Sarah Woodward after all,” he announced, knowing it to be true the second he spoke the words. He would contact the agency first thing in the morning.
“Oh? And why not?” She kept her gaze straight ahead, her crossed arms rigid.
“Because I have feelings for you.”
Suddenly she turned shocked eyes on him. “But that’s impossible.”
He smiled down at her. “Why is that impossible, Liza?”
“Because you barely know me.”
“I think I’m off to a good start.”
“Besides, I’ve just begun my teaching job,” she said, breathless. “Mrs. Winthrop would never approve. My contract clearly states I am to have no inappropriate contact with anyone of the opposite gender. Apparently, she considers Jon Atkins safe since he’s a preacher, but no one else.”
“She doesn’t know Jon Atkins,” he mumbled between his teeth.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She worried both sides of her lower lip with her bright, polished teeth, and then threw him one of her determined looks. “We must never look upon each other’s faces again, do you understand?”
Now he laughed straight from his belly. “That will be hard to do, considering you are my daughter’s teacher—and, don’t forget, my neighbor.”
She stiffened. “Then I shall move back to town.”
“No, you won’t.” This time, his back went up.
“I will.”
“Not after all the work the men and I put into that place. You’re staying put.”
“You cannot order me around, Benjamin Broughton.”
He attempted steady breathing. “No, I’m beginning to see that about you.”
Lord, what is it in this woman that draws me? She is nothing like my mild-mannered Miranda—steady, compliant, meek and gentle Miranda.
With Miranda, life had always been simple, uncomplicated... Liza, on the other hand…
“For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.” He’d read the passage from Hebrews just that morning. Why now was God bringing it to mind? What promise? And what was this about patience?
“—not a child.” Somehow, in his quiet meanderings, he’d missed what she’d said.
“What?” he asked.
“Never mind.”
Choosing not to push, he asked, “Anyway, what would people think if you moved back to town?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wouldn’t folks turn suspicious if you simply up and left the cabin? Someone is bound to put two and two together, Teacher.”
She looked thoughtful. “I see what you mean
. Well then, we’ll simply forget about this—this entire episode.”
“We will?”
“Yes, we will. We will forget that—that ridiculous kiss ever happened.”
To this, he chuckled and picked up the reins, suddenly jerking the horses and, in turn, the wagon, into motion.
“Sorry, Miss Merriwether,” he said quietly, turning his gaze on her. “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting that kiss anytime soon.”
Chapter Sixteen
When Liza determined to forget about the kiss, she hadn’t planned for it to be so difficult. Necessary as it was to blot it from her thoughts, the reminiscence kept returning each time she spotted Ben walking out to his barn on a cool, crisp morning, milk pail or egg basket in one hand, lantern in the other. He never failed to lift his head to gaze toward her cabin, but she kept herself hidden in the shadows, always taking care to light her own lamps after he’d made it safely inside the dark barn.
Three times, he’d stopped her on her early morning trek into town to offer her a ride, but each time she’d refused. “Do you plan to buy a horse or at least rent one?” he’d asked one particular frosty morning. “I heard Sam got in a couple of nags. This walk will be cumbersome once winter sets in. I’ve an extra stall, if you’ve a mind to use it.”
She’d managed to keep her eyes trained on the path ahead, her chin high, her shoulders straight. “I’ve put too much money into furnishing my cabin to purchase a horse just yet. Maybe I’ll be ready in the springtime. Until then, the walk is good for me.”
“I’m thinking I’ll drive you when the freezing temperatures arrive.”
“And I’m thinking I’d just as soon walk,” she’d replied.
“Stubborn woman,” he’d muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to hear, however. Piloting his rig alongside her, he’d added, “I talked to Will Murdock about the Bartels.”
Liza’s ears had perked at that, and so she’d turned her gaze upward, hopeful. “What did he say?”
“As I suspected, there’s not much he can do unless Mrs. Bartel is willing to press charges against Clement.”
“She won’t do that. She said Clement is still Angus’s flesh and blood.”
