Loving Liza Jane Read online

  “Hello there! Yoo-hoo, Mr. Brackett, is that you?”

  Mr. Brackett was just crossing the dirt road when a tall, portly woman, finely appareled, approached him briskly from the opposite sidewalk, her full skirts dragging along behind her as she held to her wide-brimmed, feathery bonnet. She carried a dainty parasol in her other hand, and Liza quickly decided that the woman’s fancy getup did not seem to mesh with the backdrop of falling-down buildings and dirt-packed roads. Nor did it blend in with the woman’s coarse features. However, it did make Liza mourn the loss of her own beautiful hat lying facedown in a mud hole some miles back. She had the distinct notion that this woman would have placed a great deal of importance on Liza’s new hat. Hastily, she stood to her feet awaiting introductions.

  “Just the person I was lookin’ for,” Mr. Brackett said, failing to sound pleased.

  Hurrying across the road, the woman dismissed Mr. Brackett with a curt nod and immediately turned her attention to Liza. “Well, I declare, would this little mite be Miss Merriwether?”

  “That it would,” answered Mr. Brackett, coming alongside Liza.

  “Why, you’re no taller than some of your prospective students, Miss Merriwether. I had hoped, I mean I expected…” The woman looked her up and down with worried eyes, then took two full steps backward as if to gain a better perspective. Liza squared her shoulders and stretched to her fullest height. But what was the use? She was all of five feet two inches tall in her Sunday-go-to-meetin’ shoes.

  “Is there a problem?” Liza faltered.

  “Oh, begging your pardon, young lady. What foul manners I have.” To this, she tittered nervously, her owl-like eyes drilling holes into nearly every inch of Liza’s petite frame. Then, offering her gloved hand, she said, “Iris Winthrop. You will remember me as the president of Little Hickman’s Board of Education.”

  Liza smiled as best she could and fought down nervous butterflies. “Of course. So nice to finally make your acquaintance, ma’am,” she said, taking the offered hand and wincing under its firm, hot squeeze and vigorous shake.

  After having spotted a public notice in one of Boston’s newspapers advertising the need for a teacher in beautiful Kentucky, Liza had put the matter to prayer. Within the week, she’d applied for the position, asking God to close doors as He saw fit. Since then she’d received exactly three letters of correspondence from Mrs. Winthrop, the final one containing an offer of employment, the teaching contract, a payment schedule, meager as it was, and information pertaining to her arranged housing. It appeared every door had opened wide for the new teacher’s entrance.

  Although Liza had jumped with joy at the opportunity, her aunt had seemed to view it more as a death sentence. “Kentucky?” Aunt Hettie had cried, “but it’s so desolate and uncivilized there. I’m afraid you’ll be taking on a mission project instead of a respectable teaching position.”

  “Aunt Hettie, I’ve prayed about this, and I truly believe this is where God wants me to go. You must look at this as an opportunity for me to spread my wings.”

  To that, her aunt had frowned sorrowfully. “If your parents were alive I know they would agree that you should think this through more logically.”

  “Trust the Lord, Auntie. He will take care of me. Remember Mark 5:36 says, ‘Be not afraid, only believe.’ We must claim that verse as ours.”

  Now, looking about the town of Little Hickman Creek, Liza couldn’t have explained for the world why she’d been so all-fired determined to fill the position as teacher. Had she misinterpreted God’s leading? The place looked as unproductive as a wobbly pump handle. Even the lazy, scrawny dog meandering across Main Street affirmed her worst fears. Aunt Hettie had been right; Kentucky was an uncivilized place.

  Even so, she couldn’t ignore the yearning she’d had to set herself free of Aunt Hettie’s loving, yet constrictive, apron strings and Uncle Gideon’s watchful eyes. Oh, they’d been wonderful guardians to her, taking her in so willingly after she’d lost both her parents to a house fire that she had survived thanks to an alert neighbor. But now, at twenty-one years old, she was ready to experience life on her own. If living in this town didn’t help accomplish that, she didn’t know what would.

  “Well, my dear, you must be exhausted. How was your train ride from Boston?”

  The trip had been anything but pleasant, the long hours grueling, the heat sweltering, but she wouldn’t let Mrs. Winthrop believe she was unaccustomed to a little hardship.

  “Everything went very smoothly, thank you,” she said, praying the woman wouldn’t detect her fabrication of the truth.

  Foolishly, she’d thought that her twenty-five-mile ride from the train depot with Mr. Brackett would be a blessing in comparison, but riding atop the mud wagon’s buckboard alongside the sweaty, unkempt man had been just as excruciatingly uncomfortable as the overcrowded train ride, if not more so.

  All she wanted to do now was settle into her new surroundings, unpack her large trunk and satchel, and finally take advantage of the opportunity to relax. A cool bath would suit her fine, she decided, wiping beads of sweat from her brow even as she hurriedly scanned her surroundings. Indeed, she was anxious to explore the school, but sheer exhaustion dictated tomorrow would be soon enough.

  “Well, fine then,” Mrs. Winthrop said, continuing to peer down her nose at Liza before favoring her with a puny smile. “Where is your luggage?”

  “My trunk is on the back of the wagon.”

  “Mr. Brackett, do get Miss Merriwether’s bags,” she ordered.

  “You got my pay—Ma’am?”

  Liza noted Mr. Brackett took pains to draw out that last word, his obvious distaste for the woman seeming to seep from his pores.

  “Begging your pardon?”

  He gave a churlish grin, yanked a filthy handkerchief from his hip pocket, and mopped his equally filthy forehead. “You heard me. I been on the trail for more hours ’n I care to count. I’d appreciate my pay first.”

  Liza squirmed where she stood, uncomfortable witnessing their private squabble.

  “Oh, for goodness sakes, Mr. Brackett, you are about as restrained as a cornered rooster.”

  “And you are a toffee-nosed, highfalutin’ hen.”

  “What?” The question came out in a squawking fashion. “Well, I never! You have the manners of a—a contemptible varmint.”

  “Please,” Liza cut in, feeling the fool. “Mrs. Winthrop, would you please pay the man—if that was indeed the arrangement?”

  Mrs. Winthrop and Mr. Brackett glared at one another until Mrs. Winthrop finally reached into her small beaded bag and withdrew a folded envelope. Handing it over, she scolded. “I should think you’d have considered carting Miss Merriwether from Lexington an honor, Mr. Brackett. She is, after all, Hickman’s new schoolteacher.”

  “Oh, it was an honor all right, but that don’t mean I don’t need money for puttin’ food on the table for my little Eloise,” he said, tucking the envelope into his shirt pocket.

  “Humph,” the woman said. “You shouldn’t be raising that poor child without a mother. Clyde and I would gladly have…”

  “I know what’s best for my Eloise, and you best remember that.”

  Turning his back to both women, he climbed into the rear of the wagon. Emerging moments later with Liza’s huge trunk, he let it drop to the hard earth. Liza watched as a puff of dirt and dust rose on all sides and winced at the thought of her precious china teapot shattering into a million little pieces.

  To that, he bounded off the back of the wagon, tipped his hat at Liza, spat on the ground at Mrs. Winthrop’s feet, and sauntered away. “Say hello to poor ole Clyde,” he called as an afterthought.

  “I’ll do no such thing,” she retorted under her breath, brushing her skirts with her gloved hand, as if to sweep away the germs that remained from the unpleasant encounter. “What an uncouth man he is. I do apologize for his terrible behavior.” Eliza noticed that she didn’t mention her part in the fight. “I would imagi
ne your journey with him was most unpleasant, but I couldn’t seem to find another man that wasn’t caught up with his harvesting and whatnot. Of course, there was Benjamin Broughton; I might have called on his services, but no, that would not have been appropriate. Besides, I’m told he has his hands full out at his place. No, I’m afraid Mr. Brackett was my only option. My poor sister, God rest her soul, never should have married that frothy, ill-mannered man.”

  “Is Mr. Brackett your brother-in-law?” Liza asked, mystified.

  “Unfortunately, yes, and now that uncivilized man is trying to raise my sister’s daughter. Imagine! Since Clyde and I have no children, we would serve as fine guardians to that forlorn child.”

  “But I’m sure Mr. Brackett loves his daughter dearly.”

  “In these parts, love isn’t enough. Besides, we have the wherewithal to see to her future needs what with Clyde’s bountiful inheritance.”

  “You can still offer financial help, can’t you?”

  The woman threw her a look that said Liza had overstepped her boundary.

  “Sour puss won’t accept any support from us,” she said in a huff, moving toward the back of the wagon where Liza’s trunk lay on one side. Liza found herself picking up her skirts and hurrying after the woman.

  Staring down at the oversized crate that carried all of Liza’s belongings, Mrs. Winthrop heaved a sigh. “Well, I suppose we best try to…”

  “You get off my porch, you scalawag!” The shrill-sounding order came from across the street.

  Curious, both women turned their gazes in the direction of the commotion.

  The same scruffy man Liza had observed just moments ago emptying the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk was having words with a tall, slender woman holding a long-handled broom in one hand and a frying pan in the other.

  “You despicable, tobacco chewin’, boot-lickin’ loon! O’course you can’t have a room in my hotel. I am trying my best to run a respectable business here. You go hang yer fiddle back up at Miz Guttersnipe’s place. You fit in right well over there!”

  “But M-Miz Guttersnipe ain’t near the c-cook that you are,” the man stammered, his glazed-over eyes revealing his confusion.

  “Get!” the woman insisted, pounding him on the head with the iron pan and forcing him off her porch with the broom.

  “I’m gittin’, I’m gittin’,” he cried, covering his head with his arms as if that would protect him from the beating he was taking. Losing his footing, he stumbled, then fell, on his way down the steps.

  “Get up, you ole fool,” she hollered, battering his head with the straw end of the broom.

  Staggering to his feet, he wobbled away, cursing as he went, his bloodshot eyes looking dazed and uncertain.

  Once the lady was sure he was gone, she laid the frying pan on a nearby rocker and took to sweeping off the porch, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Who is that?” Liza asked with awed wonder.

  “That, my dear, is Miss Emma Browning. She runs the town’s only boardinghouse. Miss Guttersnipe, on the other hand, runs a—well, a hotel of ill repute, if you will. It’s over yonder. ”

  “And who was…?” Liza pointed at the swaying figure heading up the street.

  “That despicable man was her father, Ezra Browning, the town drunk. Or, might I say, one of them.”

  “Her—father?”

  “That’s correct. Now, shall we see what we can do about moving this trunk?”

  Confounded, Liza bent to grip the trunk on one end by its handle while Mrs. Winthrop took the other.

  “You ladies needin’ some help there?” asked a kindly voice from behind.

  “Oh, Mr. Collins, how very nice of you.”

  Although the scrawny man didn’t look much stronger than the two of them put together, Liza welcomed his offer of assistance.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  Mrs. Winthrop turned and pointed a finger at the hotel. “Miss Browning’s establishment.”

  “Oh, but I thought I was to have a place of my own,” Liza hastily put in, bending to share the handle with Mrs. Winthrop while Mr. Collins took the other end. “The contract clearly stated…”

  “I’m afraid the old Broughton place is not quite ready yet. You’ll have to stay at Miss Browning’s in the interim.”

  “I see.”

  Sighing, Liza did her best to lift her end of the trunk and move in the direction of the boardinghouse. Her spirits suddenly fallen, she fought down tears of frustration.

  Lord, whatever have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Two

  Papa, I found two eggs!” Seven-year-old Lili Broughton rushed through the door all smiles, her little hands each carefully holding out a warm egg.

  Early rays of sunlight stretched their spindly fingers through the dusty windowpane and came to rest on the red and white checkered tablecloth. August warmth penetrated the walls of the sturdy cabin, making standing by a heated cook stove all the more laborious.

  “Now that’s a good girl,” Benjamin Broughton said, bending to take the eggs from his daughter and giving her a loving smile. “Did the old girl give them up willingly?”

  “Soon’s I walked in the coop she moved aside for me, Papa, as if she was pure delighted to be rid of those uncomfortable lumps beneath her belly.”

  Ben Broughton gave a hearty laugh before pointing at the open door. Adept at reading her father’s silent commands, Lili ran to the door and shut it with a none-too-quiet approach. She twisted her lip guiltily at his reproachful gaze. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “We need to keep our voices down, sugar. Molly is still sleeping, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “She sure cried a lot last night.”

  “She’s growing more teeth.”

  “Again? Ain’t she always doin’ that?”

  “You know better than to say ain’t. It is not a part of our everyday language, Lili. And, no, Molly is not always growing teeth. It just seems that way.”

  “When’s she gonna quit?”

  “I don’t know. I imagine once she gets a mouthful.”

  “Well, she can’t keep growing teeth forever. I didn’t.”

  “Lili…”

  Ben stretched taut muscles where he stood and mindlessly massaged the back of his neck with one hand while cracking an egg with the other. Lack of sleep had taken its toll on his body, never mind the fact that he was only twenty-nine years old and should be able to handle it. Raising two youngsters, one in diapers, and the other a rambunctious, precocious seven year old, was no easy task, particularly when he had a farm to operate.

  Dropping a hunk of grease on the hot fry pan, he watched it sizzle. “You only found two then?”

  “Two?”

  “Eggs.”

  “I din’t look for more, Papa. You said you needed two more eggs to add to the rest, so that’s all I got.”

  He grinned into the pan. “We’ll go out after breakfast and fetch the rest, pumpkin, providing Molly continues sleeping.”

  Few moments passed before Lili started up again. “Freddie Hogsworth says it all the time.”

  “What?”

  “Ain’t. Among other things, of course.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want you going around repeating anything Freddie Hogsworth says,” he told her, hiding a grin beneath his yet unshaven face. “I don’t think I’d trust that boy as far as I could pitch him.”

  “You could pitch him far, Papa. You got muscles that are bigger than any man I know.”

  Ben laughed again. “And you have a tongue that loves to waggle, young lady.”

  Lili giggled and turned three circles on the planked floor. Ben heard the grit beneath her high-topped shoes and winced at the idea of having to sweep it yet again. The cabin had always shone like a whistle when Miranda was alive. Something twisted in his gut with the simple reminder of sweeter days. Best not to dwell too long in that dark place, he told himself.

  “What we gonna do today, Papa?�
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  “You and Molly are going to Mrs. Granger’s house later so I can work the fields till dusk.”

  Without looking, Ben knew his daughter’s shoulders slumped where she stood. “Why can’t I never come with you?”

  “Ever—why can’t you ever?” he corrected, sprinkling salt, pepper, and a bit of milk into the egg mixture, then using a long wooden spoon to combine the ingredients. “And we’ve been over this before. The fields are no place for a little girl. I’d be worried the entire time.” Turning briefly to study his daughter’s sullen expression, he added, “And that would slow me up.”

  “But Papa, Mrs. Granger don’t have no little girls.”

  “Any…She doesn’t have any little girls,” he corrected again. “But she has Charles.”

  “He’s a boy. ’Sides, he’s too old to play with. All her other kids is long gone.”

  “Well, true. She has all those barn cats and that poor excuse of a dog, though. You like them, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but they ain’t kids.” He fixed her with a scowl.

  “Aren’t,” she corrected.

  “Well, before you know it school will be starting. Then you’ll have lots of friends to play with.”

  “Is she here yet?” Lili asked.

  “Who?”

  “The new teacher.”

  Keeping up with Lili’s chatter was always a chore. “I wouldn’t know. I imagine she’ll be arriving any day now.”

  “Is she still gonna stay in Grandpa Broughton’s old place?”

  “If I ever find time to fix the roof, mend the porch steps, and buy new windows, yes.” The list of things to do to the tumbledown place to make it livable seemed endless. A body would have to be desperate to want to live in it. Still, his was the only farm near town that included a vacant cabin, and so he’d felt obligated to offer it since his daughter attended the school and required an education. Unfortunately, his offer included volunteering to make it fit for human habitation. The place hadn’t been lived in for nearly ten years, unless you counted all the critters and varmints that had willingly taken it over.