Loving Liza Jane

by Unknown

  Liza watched closely, not wanting to push, but concerned for the child’s safety. “Rosie, did Clement have anything to do with your falling off the porch?”

  “I tried to help Mama,” she said, her voice so low that Liza had to put her ear up close to the little girl’s mouth to hear. “Clement was beatin’ on her. Clement got fierce mad and comed runnin’ after me. He told me to…I can’t say the word, Miss Merriwether, ’cause it was bad,” she said, her large eyes turning toward Liza and filling with tears. “That’s when he pushed—I fell off the porch.”

  Liza wrapped an arm around the child and drew her close, her own stomach whirling and churning. After a minute she asked, “Is your mother all right?”

  Rosie nodded in slow motion. “She fixed my breakfast this mornin’, but she had to be careful not to move too fast.”

  “Where was your father—during…?” She knew she was asking questions that the sheriff should be asking, but it worried her that Rosie might not share the same information with Will Murdock.

  “Out in the fields. He was cuttin’ hay.”

  “I see.” Liza sat back on her heels and pondered her next words. “Did your mother tell your father?”

  Rosie accompanied her nod with a faraway look. “Papa can’t do nothin’ ’cause Clement’s bigger ’n him.”

  Suddenly, Liza knew what she had to do. “After school I am going to visit the sheriff.” Rosie’s boulder-sized eyes filled with fright. “You are not to worry, do you understand? Everything will be just fine. The sheriff will know what to do. In the meantime, I want you to do everything in your power to avoid your brother.”

  “He ain’t my brother,” Rosie said, crossing her arms in front of her.

  At the close of the school day, Liza strode down Main Street with a great sense of purpose, taking care to wave at folks along the way, but failing to stop and chat as some might have liked. She hoped they would suppose her brusqueness was due to the uncommon cold and not lack of kindliness. Regardless, she hadn’t the time to worry what folks thought. She had devised a plan of sorts, and the sooner she got to it the better.

  Dear Lord, don’t let me race ahead of You. If this plan comes from You, may it work accordingly. And if it’s not, then please turn my thoughts elsewhere.

  “I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.”

  Thank you for that blessed reminder from the Psalms, Father.

  After a satisfying visit with Sheriff Murdock, in which he’d promised to haul Clement in for questioning, Liza hurried her steps toward her next desired stop.

  Rounding the bend on Main Street, she turned down one of Little Hickman’s few cross streets, Washington Avenue. She laughed at the rather formal title and wondered if it hadn’t been Mrs. Winthrop herself who had named it. Somehow, a narrow gravel road seemed hardly worthy to carry a fancy word like avenue behind its name.

  Each house along Washington had its own character. Simply built, the tall clapboard structures boasted front porches, albeit warped in most cases, and narrow paths leading from the houses to the street. An assortment of mostly withered plants and shrubs hugged the fronts and sides of each house, a reminder of days gone by when they’d flourished in the warmth of the sun.

  The grandest house on the street stood out from the others, its white, two-story structure, green-shuttered windows, and covered front porch with four massive columns seeming to beckon passersby. Nothing warped in those fine boards, Liza mused. She gawked for several minutes at its stately presence before she set off up the heavily trampled pathway toward the porch.

  Large pots of still blooming chrysanthemums situated on either side of the wide staircase added color to the otherwise overcast day, as if to lend strength and support as she climbed the freshly painted steps. A white wicker couch with matching rocker and side table adorned the far side of the porch. Had she not known the woman inside, she might have felt welcomed enough to sit a spell and drink up the simplistic beauty.

  At the front door, Liza sucked in a breath, whispered a prayer for courage and the proper words, and lifted a gloved hand to knock on the enormous front door. Hurried steps inside produced more jitters within her.

  She recognized Clyde Winthrop as soon as he flung wide the door. He’d always been more than friendly to her whenever she’d visited Winthrop’s Dry Goods. Small boned and sporting a mostly bald head, his unsubstantial appearance gave way to his friendly smile, making his otherwise frail exterior seem inconsequential. Even now, his smile seemed to stretch from cheek to cheek.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Merriwether. Iris, come quick; it’s the teacher,” he called toward the back of the house. “Won’t you come in?”

  He ushered her into the parlor, where imported furniture of the finest quality filled the room. Velvet draperies covered the front and side windows, and a finely woven European rug lay atop the shiny wood flooring.

  Mr. Winthrop pointed her to a chair where she was about to sit when the lady of the house flitted in.

  “Well, my goodness…” was about all Mrs. Winthrop could offer by way of a greeting.

  Liza stifled a giggle, turning it into a puny cough instead. “Hello, Mrs. Winthrop. Mr. Winthrop. I hope I’m not intruding on your supper, but I promise you I shall only be a minute.”

  “Not at all. Please, sit.” Mr. Winthrop pointed her to the chair again, while his wife, tongue-tied, remained frozen in place. Apparently, she’d been recalling her last encounter with the teacher and marveling at the fact the young lady even had the nerve to show up on her doorstep.

  “What can we do for you?” Clyde Winthrop asked, taking up a chair across from Liza while ignoring his still standing wife.

  Liza folded her hands and put them in her lap, lifting yet another silent prayer heavenward. “Well, I would like to present you with a proposition.”

  Chapter Twenty

  What sort of proposition?” Mrs. Winthrop guided herself to a chair and dropped into its softness.

  “I was wondering if you might be open to, well, allowing someone to live with you—for a time, that is.”

  “What?” Mrs. Winthrop bristled where she sat, her pointed chin jutting out.

  “It’s a woman and her daughter,” Liza said, hurrying to get the words out before they both put her out of the house. “They are suffering untold abuse at the hands of a cruel young man, and they have nowhere else to go. At first, I thought to invite them to my own cabin, but then I realized my place is far too small.” Neither spoke a word, so she hastily carried on. “It won’t be forever, mind you, just until the sheriff can work through the details of the…”

  “The sheriff?” Mrs. Winthrop shrieked. “Now see here, young lady, I…”

  “Iris!” The little man’s sudden outburst shut the woman up on the spot, making Liza wonder how many times he’d had to resort to that particular tone. Not many, by Iris Winthrop’s stunned expression. “Let Miss Merriwether continue. I would very much like to hear about these people in dire need of help.”

  Liza proceeded to tell them about her student, filling them in on every detail but the child’s name, until Mr. Winthrop choked with tears and even Mrs. Winthrop showed a measure of emotion.

  “Sheriff Murdock agrees that they should not continue living in the same house with their offender, and when I suggested I might ask you to house them temporarily, he thought it was a fine idea.”

  “He did, did he?” Mrs. Winthrop said, giving a little sniff.

  “Yes, he pointed out that you do have the biggest and finest house in the entire town and surrounding area, and that since you have never had children of your own, perhaps you would enjoy having a little girl around.”

  To that, Mr. Winthrop’s eyes clouded even more. He turned to face his wife.

  “Well, I think the situation is one that warrants little consideration on our part. We have plenty of room and resources by which to offer our assistance.”

  “Clyde.” His wif
e’s panicked tone would have stopped any other man, but perhaps this man was so accustomed to his wife’s rantings that he’d learned to pay them little heed.

  “Iris, we have the three extra bedrooms upstairs. They are all fully furnished and well equipped. The bedding needs shaking and the furniture dusting for lack of use, but there is no reason why we should decline this very sensible suggestion.”

  “Well, I…who are these people?” Mrs. Winthrop suddenly asked.

  It was the question Liza had been waiting for. If Mrs. Winthrop were even half unconvinced, the revelation of their names would wipe away all Liza’s hopes. Was this where she should prepare herself for a fast exit?

  “It’s—Rosie Bartel and her mother.”

  “What?” Mrs. Winthrop squealed, standing to her feet. “You expect us to take in those—those unfortunate hill people?”

  Mr. Winthrop allowed his wife her minute’s worth of fury, and then he calmly said, “It matters little to us where these folks hail from, Miss Merriwether. The important thing is that they arrive at a place of safety.”

  Liza sighed with relief that she’d at least managed to bring Mr. Winthrop over to her side.

  “Clyde.” The woman’s voice had dropped considerably, perhaps from shock.

  “Now, how shall we go about making the arrangements?” the kindly man asked, approaching Liza and offering her his arm.

  Taken aback, Liza stood to her feet and followed his lead to the door. “I believe Sheriff Murdock will be in touch with you. He intends to pay the family a visit tonight or early tomorrow morning. I suppose you could expect them as early as tomorrow. This is providing that Mrs. Bartel even agrees to leave.”

  “Let us pray that she will,” Clyde whispered.

  “Thank you, Mr. Winthrop. I hardly know what to say.”

  “No words are necessary, my dear. In fact, I should thank you for thinking of us. I’ve wanted a little excitement around this house. It’s too quiet around here most times.” He winked at her and gave her arm a little squeeze. “I know it’s hard to believe.”

  Liza glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Winthrop, who now held a kerchief to her mouth. Was the woman crying?

  “Mrs. Winthrop. Will she be all right?”

  He nodded and released a low chuckle. “Most don’t know that underneath that tough façade is a warmhearted woman. Perhaps this Mrs. Bartel and her daughter will be just the ticket for drawing out a little of that warmth.”

  “Good night, Mr. Winthrop.”

  “Good night, my dear.”

  ***

  She had done it again. It was well past dusk, and Liza had not arrived home from school. Ben mucked out the stalls, calling himself every name in the book for caring so deeply. Two stalls over, Charlie, one of the draft horses, snorted, as if to respond to Ben’s mutterings. If it weren’t for the fact that Tanner wasn’t in his stall, he might well have taken himself to bed and forgotten Liza altogether. But even as he nurtured the thought, he knew it wasn’t true. He wouldn’t sleep until he knew the schoolteacher was safe.

  The clip-clop of approaching horses had him tossing his pitchfork in the air, picking up a lantern, and walking to the barn door. In the distance, he distinguished the silhouettes of two horses and their riders, one Tanner and Liza, and the other—he discharged a heavy breath and fought down the hostility that naturally rose—Jon Atkins, who else? She’d spent the supper hour with him.

  “Ben, is that you?” Jon’s voice carried over the still night air, awakening a distant owl.

  Ben leaned heavily into the doorway and crossed his arms, allowing the lantern to dangle from one arm. “Who else would it be?” Ben asked. It was too late to hide his impatience. It came out clear as could be in the tone of his voice.

  Jon laughed his usual good-natured laugh, obviously ignoring Ben’s jibe.

  “Look who I ran into on Main Street. I didn’t think it safe to allow her to ride back from town unaccompanied.”

  Ben took a moment to study Liza. Her hair had come undone, and she looked nothing like the prim and proper schoolteacher she claimed to be.

  “It’s late—and dark,” Ben mumbled, his eyes trailing a path back to Jon.

  Jon’s gaze tipped upward. “So it is. Sky is black as coal. Would you have a look at that harvest moon?”

  Ben kept his gaze pinned on Jon. He’d be hornswoggled before he’d look at the moon at Jon’s suggestion. However, he did notice Liza sigh in wonder when she caught a glimpse of it. “It’s absolutely beautiful, Jon.”

  The three wrapped themselves in a fifteen-second blanket of silence until Jon poked a hole through it. “Liza had quite a day today. She went to see Sheriff Murdock after school and…”

  “What? Why did you go to the sheriff? Did Clement Bartel…” Every nerve ending jumped to life as Ben lurched forward, spooking Tanner with his sudden movement. Liza steadied the untamed brute like a regular pro.

  “Why don’t you let her tell you?” Jon suggested, dismounting and leading his horse toward Ben’s house. “And since I’ve already heard the story, I’ll just go inside and help myself to your coffeepot, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fine. But keep the noise down. My girls are sleeping.” Where had all this gruffness come from? But he should have known the answer to that without asking.

  He was jealous, plain and simple.

  ***

  Ben loosened Tanner’s belly strap.

  “I could do that, you know,” Liza said, nervous in Ben’s company, particularly when he seemed so hot under the collar.

  “I’m here, I’ll do it,” he muttered. “Tell me what this visit to Sheriff Murdock was all about.”

  Liza stood at Tanner’s head, rubbing his velvet muzzle, while Ben worked. “I spotted a bad bruise on the side of Rosie’s neck today.”

  Ben’s head shot up. “Clement?”

  She nodded.

  A cussing man would have inserted an emphatic expletive at that particular point, but instead Ben issued a silent prayer for protection over anyone that came across Clement Bartel’s path.

  “So you reported the incident to Will?” he asked, hauling the saddle off of Tanner and heaving it on the tack box.

  “I did. He intends to pay the Bartels a visit tonight.”

  “Good. I hope he throws that boy in jail.”

  Liza shivered at Ben’s acidic tone. “I agree he deserves punishment.”

  “But?” Ben pinned her with his midnight eyes, and she went as still as death itself, forgetting even to breathe.

  “Nothing. It’s just that you sound so, I don’t know, cold and unforgiving.”

  “You want me to forgive all that Clement’s done to Rosie and her mother?”

  “Well, we should all have it in our hearts to forgive. Ephesians 4:32 says, ‘And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.’”

  Ben lifted his gaze to the rafters, then directed it back to her. “That was good, Teacher. Was that verse situated anywhere close to ‘Patience is a virtue’?”

  She stepped around Tanner and slapped Ben playfully on the forearm, knowing he toyed with her. “You will never let me forget that, will you?”

  “Not if I can help it,” he said, adding a chuckle.

  “Want to know what else happened?” she asked. When he nodded, she spilled the entire story about her visit to the Winthrop home, how Mr. Winthrop had been eager to help Rosie and her mother, and even how Mr. Winthrop had craftily put his wife in her place.

  Ben laughed. “Well, what do you know? The man does have a way of getting through to that hard-nosed lady, after all.”

  Liza giggled shamelessly. “He claims that under her tough façade there is a soft-hearted woman, and I think that once she finds there is joy in helping others, we will all begin to see a different Mrs. Winthrop.”

  “Ah, so your plan was twofold.” Ben looked around Tanner and caught Liza up with his dark eyes. “You’re something.”
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  He’d told her that before, and she never did quite know how to take the remark.

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “So—you and Jon…”

  “What about me?” asked Jon, entering the barn at the mention of his name, tin cup in hand, steam emitting from the top.

  Ben looked up, his face suddenly serious again. “Nothing. I see you found the coffee.”

  “This stuff is so strong it almost walked to me when I called its name. Did you make this yesterday?” Jon asked, tipping the cup up to take another drink.

  “Nope. I believe it was three days ago.”

  Jon spat, and the black liquid flew across the barn, leaving a wet trail on the opposite wall.

  ***

  As Liza began to tick off the days of December, she sensed an underlying current of excitement among her students with the approach of Christmas. Although the citizens of Little Hickman were mostly plain in appearance and lifestyle, there was certainly room in their hearts for the tradition of gift-giving and holiday joy.

  “Can we make a paper chain to hang across the doorway, Miss Merriwether?” Lili asked over lunch one Tuesday.

  Liza looked up from her desk to see more than a dozen pairs of eyes awaiting her reply. She laughed. “We’ll start this afternoon.”

  “What color shall it be?” asked Samuel Thompson.

  “All colors. Christmas doesn’t have to be just green,” answered Eloise Brackett, her braids still holding from when Liza had fashioned them three hours ago. Without fail, Mr. Brackett continued to drop his daughter off ten minutes before the start of each day so that Liza could see to her long brown hair. True to his word, he’d even seen that she was clean most days.

  “Who’s going to hang the chain?” asked Rufus from his place in the back. Now that Clement was gone, Rufus had been slowly inching his desk forward. But now he’d reached his limit as he butted desks with Andrew Warner.

  Liza picked up her cold beef sandwich and took a bite. “I would think someone tall. Why not you, Rufus?”

  “Me?”