by Unknown
“Oh, absolutely,” Jon said. Then to Liza, “You get well, darlin’.”
“Thank you,” she managed, confused as to Ben’s request for privacy.
Next, Doc laid a gentle hand to her forehead. “I’ll return later to check her vital signs,” he said to Ben.
When the room fell silent, Ben pulled his chair closer, leaning in until she felt his breath caress her face. He studied everything about her until she felt near blushing. “You scared me nearly to death, do you realize that, young lady?” His words came out on a tender whisper.
She shook her head in reply.
“Well, you did. I thought I’d lost you. When I heard there was a fire in the schoolhouse, I grew wings and flew there.”
To this, she managed a weak smile, trying to picture the whole episode.
“The place was so smoke-filled that I had to feel my way along,” he said. “Thank God He led me straight to you. I picked you up chair and all.”
“I thought you were the angel Gabriel, ushering me into heaven,” she admitted.
He grinned. “It wasn’t your time for going home yet, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? His words were like warm honey traveling the length of her.
“How is Clement?” she decided to ask. So far, no one had mentioned where or how he was.
The blue of Ben’s eyes seemed to go a shade darker with her question, his answer taking so long in coming that Liza wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it after all. “Clement—didn’t make it out of the fire, Liza. After I got you out, I went back in for Rufus. I never did see Clement. It would have been impossible to get him, though, because the roof collapsed after I pulled Rufus to safety. They found Clement’s body under one of the rafters.”
Liza shook from the veracity of his words. “I’m glad you didn’t risk your life by going in a third time, Ben.”
Although her heart broke for Clement and all the poor choices he’d made along the way, she had to let it go, had to remember that the choices he’d made were not her responsibility. And something she could be thankful for was the change she’d witnessed in Rufus. Truly, God had brought something good out of the whole mess.
“Where will we hold school?” she asked, suddenly concerned for her students.
“The school will have to close until we build a new one in the spring,” Ben said, soothing her with the way he gently rubbed her hand.
“I don’t have a job.” Reality struck her square between the eyes.
“No, I don’t suppose you do.” His voice took on a tranquil quality.
“But that means I will have to move back to Boston. Without a job I can hardly continue living in the cabin, expecting the town to pay my salary, supply my needs, and…”
Ben silenced her with a gentle kiss on the mouth. “You’re not going back to Boston.”
Ripples of pleasure ran from head to toe. “I’m not?”
He shook his head and gave her a slanted grin. “No, you’re not.”
“But where will I go, what will I…”
“You’re moving in with me,” he said, simple as you please, touching his lips to her forehead now.
A picture of Ben and the beauty she’d spotted him with by the stagecoach rematerialized in her head. “But I saw you with a very lovely lady.”
“Yes, Lili told me all about that, how you watched from the classroom. My, my! Curious little bunch, aren’t you?” His eyes shone with humor. “For the record, that was Sarah Woodward.”
“I knew it,” Liza said, gritting her teeth, bracing herself for what would come next.
“Jealous, Teacher?”
She simmered internally. “So you sent for her after all?” she asked, ignoring his taunt.
“She never got the message that I’d changed my mind about the marriage bargain. I offered her money to send her back East, but so far, she’s declined.”
“So you’re forced to marry her after all?” she asked, unnerved.
Suddenly sober, he replied, “Actually, I’m marrying someone else altogether, if she’ll have me.”
The way his eyes traveled over her face as if to drink in everything about her made her tremble all over again.
Dear Father, what is he saying?
“Would you have me, Liza?”
“Me?” she asked. Even her toes quivered under the covers when she glanced down at them.
“Would you make me happy by becoming my wife and a mother to my daughters?”
The idea tempted her. A wife? A mother? “But I thought you weren’t interested in me…I thought…”
“Forget what you thought. I was a fool to think you’d fallen in love with Jon Atkins.”
“Jon? I appreciate him as a dear friend.”
“He set me straight, believe me. Anyway, will you?” he asked again, visibly on edge.
“But who will teach the children come fall?”
The students would have lost an entire semester of learning. They would require someone patient and kind, someone with a great deal of compassion and understanding.
Ben gave a sheepish look. “It won’t be you. I’ve already told Mrs. Winthrop I intend to marry you—if you’ll have me,” he added.
A gasp hurried past her mouth. “Oh my, that must have thrown her.”
“Will you?” he asked a third time.
Something like joy welled up inside her. And suddenly everything seemed to fall into its proper place. The words from John 14, “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid,” held new meaning, seeming to wash over her as a gentle reminder that God was in control. He had His plan worked out well in advance, even down to why she should give up her life in Boston and take up residency in a scant town known as Little Hickman Creek, Kentucky. What if she had failed to listen to His still, small voice?
Yes, she’d served as the town’s teacher, but she wasn’t the only qualified person for the job. Bess Barrington had proven as much. To say Liza had come to Hickman for one reason only, to be the teacher, was to put God in a box, to place limits on all that He’d intended for her—and for Ben and his girls.
“Yes!” she said with joy and gladness. “I will!”
To that, Ben’s face lit with relief as he bent close to drop another tender kiss on her lips.
He embraced her, careful of the open wounds she’d suffered at the hands of Clement Bartel. The shadow of those attacks would linger, fading only with time, but the memory of God’s generous gift of love and grace in the midst of cruelty and despair would forever live on.
To everything, there was a purpose, even to the burning down of the town’s precious schoolhouse. In some way, God would make even that catastrophe work for the good of all.
After a minute, Liza tried to pull herself into a sitting position. Ben put his arm around her back and drew her up, then stacked a few pillows behind her. “How’s that, honey? Comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s wonderful.” The fresh use of endearments had her swooning with pleasure.
He tipped his face at her and smiled. “Have I told you that I love you, Miss Merriwether?”
She settled back into the pillows and sighed. “No, but you may at any time.”
“I love you, Miss Merriwether,” he supplied, placing a kiss on either cheek.
She giggled with sheer giddiness. “And I love you, Mr. Broughton.”
And then he leaned forward to kiss her again. When he pulled back, he whispered close to her mouth, “What say we change that to Mrs. Broughton in the next couple of weeks?”
“A Christmas wedding?” she asked, drinking in the comfort of his nearness.
His big hands took her face and held gently. “I can’t think of a better time to make you my bride, and since my house is big enough to invite several guests, we’ll do it there, with Jon officiating, of course.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I want to invite Rufus and his family.” Ben looked only slightly curious. “He tried to save my life, Ben. With time
, perhaps we can convince the family of their need for the Lord.” Now he rewarded her with a full-mouthed smile.
“I think it’s a great idea, sweetheart. In fact, I really don’t mind if you invite the entire town—just as long as you agree to become my wife.”
Shivers of delight scrambled through her veins. “Oh, Ben, I love you so much. I don’t think I can wait two weeks.”
He kissed the tip of her nose and chuckled. “Patience is a virtue. Ever hear that?”
She brought her hand up to stifle a giggle. “Yes, I believe you’ll find it in the Bible.”
Now their laughter combined, and with the fusing of two hearts, they soared as one.
Sarah Woodward has come to Kentucky as a mail-order bride. But when she steps off the stage coach, the man who contacted her through the Marriage Made in Heaven Agency informs her that he has fallen in love with and wed another woman. Sarah is disappointed, but she feels that God led her to Little Hickman Creek for a reason. With her usual stubborn determination, she refuses to leave until she finds out what that reason is.
Rocky Calahan’s sister has died, leaving him with two young children to take care of. When he meets the fiery Sarah Woodward, he proposes the answer to both their problems—a marriage in name only. Sarah soon comes to love the children, but Rocky is afraid that she’ll never survive as a farmer’s wife with her privileged upbringing.
Can Rocky let go of the pain in his past and trust God’s plan for his life? Will Sarah leave him or will they actually find a marriage made in heaven?
An excerpt from Sharlene MacLaren’s next novel:
Sarah, My Beloved
Second in the Little Hickman Creek Series
~ Chapter One ~
January 1896
It was the nicest, pertiest weddin’ I ever did see.” The woman’s high-pitched voice soared across the room like an overzealous blue jay.
“You’re right, Mrs. Warner. Never saw a sweeter couple,” another woman chirped in reply.
“And so in love,” someone twittered.
“Why, the bride fairly glowed.”
“Hmm, indeed.”
The ceaseless nattering of female voices forced twenty-seven-year-old Sarah Woodward to find a hiding place in a far corner behind a bolt of purple gingham in Winthrop’s Dry Goods, her presence in the store yet unknown since she’d entered ahead of the others and while the owner was in the back room. Too embarrassed to show her face now, she longed to slump to the floor and disappear between the slats in the worn wood. After all, the aforementioned bride should have been her.
It seemed a cruel twist of fate that the man she’d agreed to wed by means of the Marriage Made in Heaven Agency out east, and had traveled halfway across the country to meet up with, had fallen in love with the town’s schoolteacher before Sarah had even had the chance to lay eyes on him. She should have known better than to seek the assistance of a mail-order bride service for the sake of adventure, never mind that she’d felt certain God had led the way.
Of course, the man had been a gentleman about it, apologizing profusely for the mix-up in communication, his message to halt the
proceedings not reaching her in time, and offering to pay her for her trouble, namely sending her back to where she’d come from, Winchester, Massachusetts.
Naturally, she’d refused his offer for compensation. She didn’t want his money. Besides, she wouldn’t go back to Winchester—not as long as Stephen Alden, Attorney at Law, lived there. The man seemed bent on marrying her, and it was truly the last thing Sarah wanted.
It wasn’t as if her heart had broken over the news of Benjamin Broughton’s plans to wed another. She scarcely knew the man. No, it was more regret than heartbreak, regret that her plans had failed. After all, without the benefits of a marriage license, Stephen would still consider her open territory—might even chase her down—and she couldn’t have that.
Lord, there has to be another way, she’d prayed in earnest that first night she’d arrived in Little Hickman, Kentucky, and learned of her fate—that her trip to Kentucky had been in vain. But if there was, He had yet to reveal it to her.
“And to think that poor Woodward woman traveled all the way from Massachusetts to marry Benjamin,” someone tittered.
Sarah’s throat went dry as she covered herself more fully with the bolt of cloth, praying no one would notice her. So far, her luck had held, but if the women didn’t vacate the place soon, she felt certain she was in for more humiliation. As if she hadn’t already taken the prize in that department.
The ring of the cash register’s drawer opening and closing floated through the air.
“Yes, it’s a shame she made the wasted trip,” said one woman. “Of course, what would one expect? Imagine! Calling on a marriage service to procure a husband. It’s beyond me why any woman would resort to such measures. It makes one wonder.”
A round of concurrence rose up amongst all the yammering.
“Mighty pretty thing, she is. Looks like she comes from wealth,” said Mrs. Warner, the only woman whose voice Sarah recognized.
“Yes, doesn’t she,” agreed one. “She wears such fine clothing.”
“But that hair,” rattled another. “Seems to me she ought to do something about that awful mass of red curls!”
Sarah instinctively seized a fistful of hair and silently rebuked her mother for having passed it down to her. It was true. Her thick, unruly, garnet-colored mane had been akin to a curse. For once, she would like to walk into a room and not feel the stares of countless eyes—as if she’d grown two heads and three arms.
“I agree. It looks like a ball of fire most of the time. Even hats don’t seem to cover the worst of it.” Sarah recognized that particular voice as belonging to the proprietor, Mrs. Winthrop, a woman seemingly determined to discover everyone’s biggest fault.
Sarah swallowed hard and adjusted her feet, still ice-cold from her jaunt over from Emma Browning’s Boardinghouse, while awaiting the dispersing of the small gathering of gossipy women, taking care to keep her head down and her eyes on her leather tie-up boots.
About the time she thought the last woman had made her purchase, the bell on the door tinkled softly, indicating the arrival of a new customer. At the door’s gaping, a blast of cold winter air skittered past Sarah’s legs, generating an unexpected shiver that ran the length of her five-foot, five-inch slender frame.
Voices stilled at the newest customer’s arrival, making Sarah crane her neck from curiosity. Ever so carefully, noiselessly, she peered past aisles and shelves crammed with stitching supplies, everything from embroidered tapestry to threads, scissors to needles, and luxurious velvet to sensible cotton. With interest, she surveyed the source of the women’s sudden hush, thankful that the Winthrop’s large inventory made hiding easy.
Skulking in the doorway, looking uncomfortable if not overtly out of place, was the man Sarah instantly recognized as the uncle of the two young children she’d come into town on the stage with three weeks ago. Alone and forlorn looking, the poor little urchins had lost their mother to some fatal lung disease and been shipped to an uncle that, she’d learned later, didn’t want them. Her heart had gone out to them almost immediately, for she knew how feelings of rejection could play upon the psyche of a small child.
Although she didn’t know the man, and certainly didn’t care to, she’d surely wanted to give him a piece of her mind. How could anyone deny small children the affection due them, particularly when the subjects were family members who had just lost a loved one?
Her blood had boiled then, and it fairly simmered even now. Lord, forgive me for despising someone I don’t even know.
“Afternoon, ladies,” came the cavernous voice of the powerfully built man, his shoulders so broad it surprised her that he’d passed through the door without having to shift sideways.
A woolen cap pulled low over his head shaded his eyes, making their color imperceptible, but failing to conceal his granite-like stare. Black hair,
gleaming in the light, wavy and unkempt, hung beneath the cap’s line, skimming the top of his collar. A muscle clenched along his beardless, square-set jaw, automatically triggering a response from Sarah to recoil. What exactly were his intentions for coming into the dry goods store?
“Why, Mr. Callahan, I don’t believe you’ve ever graced our store with your presence,” said Mrs. Winthrop, her buttery tone making Sarah grimace. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m lookin’ for some fabric for my niece, Rachel,” was his curt reply. “She needs a new dress or two; warm, serviceable ones mind you. I’m also needin’ someone to sew them. I was hopin’ you could make a recommendation.”
“Oh my, well, I do believe a seamstress for hire is something we dearly lack in this town. Most make do with their own meager talents.”
“Well, I don’t happen to be too handy in that department,” Mr. Callahan snapped, his tenor indicating his lack of humor at the situation.
“Yes, well, I have a few ready-made dresses in stock if you’d care to look. Or you could place an order if you’d like to glance through a catalog. What size would your niece…?”
“I could have gone to Johansson’s Mercantile if I’d wanted a ready-made dress,” he cut in, fingering a piece of woolen material under Mrs. Winthrop’s nose. “But I’m not of a mind to pay for such an unnecessary extravagance. That’s why I came here—seeing as you have so much cloth in stock.” His eyes scanned the place, and for a heart-stopping instant, Sarah feared he’d spotted her lurking in the gingham. But then his gaze traveled back to Mrs. Winthrop.
“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Winthrop’s hand went to her throat, no doubt offended by the mention of her competitor, Eldred Johansson. The other women each took a step back, feigning disinterest, but Sarah knew better. They wouldn’t be leaving the premises until Mr. Callahan did, for fear of missing the excitement. And neither would they be offering their help by the look of them.
“How are your niece and nephew?” Mrs. Winthrop asked, folding her hands at her waist, her chin protruding.
“Rachel and Seth are surviving just fine,” he replied in a gruff tone.
