Loving Eliza Read online

  Loving

  Eliza

  Ruth Ann Nordin

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher.

  Loving Eliza

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright 2009 Ruth Ann Nordin

  V1.0

  Cover Photo images Copyright Dreamstime. All rights reserved – used with permission.

  Cover Photo images Copyright JupiterImages Corporation. All rights reserved – used with permission.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without expressed written consent of the publisher/author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Ruth Ann Nordin Books

  http://www.ruthannnordin.com

  Dedicated to Danielle Watson. From the time we met in high school to now, you have, and always will be, one of my dearest friends.

  Chapter One

  June 1883

  Eliza stepped out of the stagecoach. She glanced at the wrinkled piece of paper in her shaky hands. She was in the right place. The southern Dakota territory was so different from Omaha. But this is what she wanted. A new start. And what better way to get that new start than to go to a small town? Some place where no one knew her or what she had done. She was safe here. Safe to be what she could never be in Omaha: a lady.

  The two women who had accompanied her on the long journey across the prairie land stood next to her. The dirt road felt wonderfully solid beneath Eliza’s feet after the endless swaying of the stagecoach. It especially was welcome after the frequent vomiting of the pretty young blond who could not tolerate the ride. Eliza was grateful her stomach maintained its strength, though she almost lost it twice from the foul odor.

  “I’ve never been so glad to be anywhere in my entire life,” the blond exclaimed as she wiped her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.

  Eliza watched Charity Grooms as her aunt, Bethany Grooms, disposed of the bag of vomit in a trash can by the small general store. Several people lounged about along the main street of the dusty town and watched the new arrivals with interest. She wondered if one of them was Melissa Peters.

  Ignoring them for a moment, Eliza pulled out a mint from her purse and handed it to the nineteen year old. “This will make your breath fresher,” she whispered.

  “Thank you, Eliza,” Charity replied, taking the mint and plopping it into her mouth. “I’m sorry I was such a burdensome companion.”

  “It was better than going through the wilderness alone.”

  “Well, you are a dear friend in this unfamiliar place.” Charity reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “You must come to my new home sometime. My intended promised he’d let me entertain guests. It’s the only part of being back east that I’d miss, and it’s the only reason I agreed to be a mail-order bride.”

  Eliza nodded, though she honestly didn’t think they had anything in common. Charity was born and raised a lady. She’d never put one foot in a godforsaken place.

  A man who was probably close to thirty approached the blond.

  Eliza stepped back. This must be Ralph Custer who sent for Charity. Her eyes drifted to his badge. So he was the marshal in town.

  He took his hat off. “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you Miss Grooms?”

  While Charity’s face glowed, Eliza turned her attention back to the paper in her hand. It was good that Charity had a handsome, respectable man to wed. Eliza was happy for her, and by the way Charity’s aunt gushed, she was obviously happy with the match too.

  Eliza needed to find Melissa Peters. Preacher Bill Peters promised that Melissa would be expecting her. All Eliza had to do was go to the address written on the paper. Aware of the way the onlookers watched her, she straightened her hat and picked up her travel bag. It wasn’t anything fancy. Nothing like the large trunk Charity and her aunt brought with them.

  Eliza shook her head. She wouldn’t compare herself to them. It did her no good to do so. Just as Preacher Peters said, she needed to find out who she was and to be content with that. God had forgiven her. That was enough. So why did she feel a pit of despair well up in her chest? And why did she feel more alone than she ever had in her entire life? She wasn’t fourteen when her parents died. She was twenty-seven. Well past her prime.

  Charity’s laughter drifted along the breeze. Eliza shouldn’t begrudge the young woman. Charity was nineteen. She was at a good age, and she was such a nice person. Eliza turned and headed down the street. She was used to people staring at her. It came with being a prostitute for twelve years. But she wasn’t one anymore. She’d been redeemed. She came here for a new start.

  The past remained in Omaha. No one would ever find out about her background. Ever.

  Repeating the words in her mind, she passed by the bank when someone stepped in front of her. She gasped and stumbled back.

  A strong hand caught her by the arm and steadied her so she didn’t end up on the ground.

  She quickly regained her composure and looked into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. She blinked in surprise, for they were beautiful. The man in front of her stood a foot taller than her and had dark brown hair with bangs that fell neatly over his forehead. The man had dressed in a clean blue shirt and black slacks. He even wore a tie and a nice black vest.

  Considering that he was better dressed than the other men she’d seen in town, she found him to be a strange curiosity. “You look pretty fancy. Are you getting hitched?” As soon as she said the words, she wished she hadn’t. She needed to learn to bite her tongue. “Sorry, Mister. I meant no disrespect.”

  She tried to move around him but he blocked her. She frowned and gave him a good look. She’d had her share of difficult men in her time. She placed a hand on her hip. She didn’t care if he was built like a tower. He wouldn’t intimidate her.

  “What do you want with me?” she demanded.

  He motioned to the letter in his hand.

  She rolled her eyes. Great. The strong silent type. “Look, I don’t have time for this, Mister. I came to find Melissa Peters.”

  When she took another step to the side, he moved with her.

  She took a deep breath. “You are annoying me.”

  He winced.

  Her face softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be harsh. What is it you want me to do? Read that letter?”

  He nodded and handed it to her.

  “You could just tell me what’s in it.”

  He shook his head and pointed to his throat.

  “Oh. You’re sick. I see.” Not that she believed him. He didn’t look ill. “It’s a good thing I know how to read.”

  He smiled.

  She hesitantly returned his smile before she read the letter. As she did, it became clear to her that he thought she was the woman who had agreed to come out west to marry him. No wonder he wouldn’t let her go around him. He assumed that she was his mail-order bride. Well, now that was easy enough. She’d set him straight. “I hate to break this to you, Mister, but I’m not Daphne O’Conner. My name is Eliza.” She paused. She couldn’t recall her last name. It’d been so long ago since she used it. “I’m not your bride.”

  He frowned as she handed the paper back to him.

  “I’m sorry. I realize she was due to come in on the same stagecoach that I did, but my only traveling companions are over there.” She motioned to a very happy looking Charity and her aunt. The marshal looked just as pleased. As well they should, she reckoned. They all seemed nice enough.
Turning back to him, she shrugged. “I’m sorry. Maybe she’ll come in on the next ride.”

  He folded the paper in slow, methodical motions.

  There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so she took a step around him and headed for the houses lining the next road. Wilkins Pike was the name of it, and that was the name of the road she needed.

  To her surprise, he tapped her on the shoulder.

  She stopped and stared at him, wondering what in the world he could possibly want now.

  He motioned to her and then himself and pointed to the small white building.

  She nearly dropped her luggage when she realized the building was a church. She shook her head. “I am not Daphne. I’m Eliza. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  Now she was more confused than ever. “Then what do you want with me?”

  He pointed to the church again.

  It was official. The poor man was delusional if he thought she could be anyone’s wife. “Mister, you’d do much better waiting for that fine young lady who wrote that letter to come off the stagecoach.”

  He shook his head and tore the letter.

  Gasping, she set down her bag and grabbed his hands to stop him. “Now look here. There’s no sense in assuming the worst. Something probably delayed her. You just need to be patient.”

  He touched his throat and shook his head.

  She had no idea what he was trying to tell her. “Can’t you write down what you want to say?” She picked up her purse and searched through it. “I thought I brought a pencil.”

  His hand rested on top of hers. When she looked up at him, he shook his head again.

  “You can’t write?”

  He nodded.

  She should have been prepared for that. After all, not everyone had formal schooling. She didn’t either, but she’d been lucky enough to have a male customer who taught her to read and write in exchange for her services. She sighed, pushing back the instant shame that heated her face. Did it matter how she learned to read and write? The point was she learned it. And she couldn’t change the past. Certainly, no one ever had to know about it.

  The man’s gentle touch on her arm broke her out of her thoughts. He motioned again to the church.

  If he knew...If he only knew her past, then he wouldn’t even suggest this. “Mister, I can’t. You seem like a really nice man, a good man. At least you let a woman get a word in edgewise. But I’m not meant to be a wife.” She smoothed out the piece of paper Preacher Peters had given her. “I am here to find Melissa Peters. She’s supposed to live down that way.”

  He nodded and motioned to a little white house that looked comfortably settled between a green house and a brown one.

  Well, this was good information. “Yes. I’m here to do housework in exchange for room and board. It’s all been arranged. So you see, I already have something I need to do here.”

  He shook his head at her.

  She set her hands on her hips. “I don’t care if you like it or not. She’s expecting me.” Ignoring the fact that he waved his arms and shook his head again, she picked up her bag. “I don’t care what you think. You’re not telling me what to do.”

  She pushed past him and stormed down the road. He had a lot of nerve! She’d been nice to him, but she could only handle so much. If he didn’t want to wait for Daphne, then that was his problem—not hers. She never agreed to come out here to marry anyone. And the unexpected wave of guilt that rose from her gut shocked her. She had no reason to feel guilty. It must have been because she spent all of her life trying to please others and doing what they wanted. Still, his sad eyes...No. She wouldn’t give it another thought. He’d be very happy when Daphne finally came. Daphne, she was sure, was a lady, the kind of woman a man could take home to meet his mother, the kind of woman who could give him a house full of children to carry on his name. She couldn’t be either woman for him. Yes, he was much better off without the likes of her.

  To her dismay, he followed her. She gave him credit for persistence. Oh well. Let him follow. When she arrived at Melissa’s house, Melissa could explain the situation to him. Maybe then he’d pay attention.

  As soon as she made it to Melissa’s house, she banged on the door. She didn’t mean to be so hard on the poor door, but the man was getting on her nerves with his insistent gesturing.

  When the door opened, Eliza cleared her throat and quickly adjusted her hat. But as soon as her gaze passed the forty-year-old woman with swollen red eyes to the stack of boxes scattered throughout the parlor, her heart sank. This wasn’t going to be good news.

  “Hello, John,” the woman said before she wiped her nose with a dishtowel. “Is this a friend of yours?”

  Eliza glanced at the man—John—and decided to speak for him. “No, ma’am. I don’t know him. Not really. I mean, I just met him.” She set her travel bag down by her feet and rummaged through her purse. “My name is Eliza. I know a man in Omaha. His name is Preacher Bill Peters, and he told me that he wrote to his cousin, Melissa Peters.” She finally retrieved the preacher’s letter. She paused and looked at the woman. “You don’t match Melissa Peters’ description. Do I have the right house?”

  “Yes, she mentioned you. We sent a letter to Bill two days ago. Melissa had a terrible fall down the steps, and—” She pressed the towel to her mouth and sobbed.

  For a moment, Eliza stood in silence, mostly in shock but partly in sympathy. Turning to John, she saw him nod. He even waved toward a section of land further out of town. She had to squint, but it quickly became clear that he had been pointing to the cemetery during their walk to this house. She released a shaky breath. This definitely wasn’t good...for either her or for Melissa. But she gathered that between the two of them, she fared much better.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Eliza softly spoke. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  The woman shook her head. “No thank you.” She wiped her eyes again. “My name is Addy Garrison. I was Melissa’s friend. We were practically sisters.”

  Eliza simply nodded. Grief from men she was used to, but she had no idea how to comfort a woman. She shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Take care. John will be good to you.”

  Her eyes widened as the woman gently shut the door. Then she looked at John. He didn’t have to speak for her to understand his remorse. Sighing, she picked up her travel bag and dragged her feet back to the business district of the town, as small as it was. She figured it consisted of a store for grocery items, a barber shop, a workshop to repair wagons and buggies or to care for horseshoes, a church, an auditorium, the one room jail, and a hotel. At least that was the main street. Perhaps there were more businesses spread throughout. A glance down a side street showed her the small post office and bank that were in the same building. Another good look showed her a house with a doctor’s name on it.

  So there was more in this town than she originally thought. But still, it was very different from Omaha. She didn’t know if she liked that or not. Her options would be limited here. She didn’t want to return to Omaha. She could never make a fresh start there. No one would take her seriously as an employee. Her shoulders slumped. This was why most women married as soon as they could. Finding work seemed like a frightening prospect.

  John reached out and took her elbow in his hand.

  Why was he still following her? Couldn’t he tell that she needed time to be alone and think? But then, he knew the town and the people in it. Maybe he could help her. “Do you know where I can find a job?”

  He shook his head and pointed behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder and groaned. “No. I’m not your mail-order bride. I will not go into that church except to worship the Good Lord on Sundays.”

  His countenance fell.

  She couldn’t allow the jab of guilt to overtake her good judgment. It was insane to want to marry a man just because he looked hurt. “You’ll thank me when
your Daphne comes.” She could only pray that this woman would indeed come. She didn’t know John, but he struck her as a good man, just as Addy had said. “Do you know of anyone who’s hiring?”

  To her surprise, his eyes lit up and he tapped his chest.

  “How many times do I have to say no? I’m not marrying you.”

  He quickly shook his head.

  “Right. Now you’re catching on.”

  She proceeded down the dirt road, wondering why a group of men had congregated outside the building across the road to stare at them. Was it so unusual for an unmarried woman to be seen with an unmarried man? Or maybe it was because she was a stranger? Yes. That was probably it. They didn’t recognize her, so naturally, they were curious.

  Next to her, John pointed to the church and shook his head.

  “Is that all you can do? Nod, shake your head and point?” she asked.

  She was starting to tire of this game, if that’s what he was doing. He seemed sincere, but she sensed something odd about him. Of course, it didn’t have be a bad kind of odd. She’d met men who were odd but good-hearted souls. They had been much easier to understand than this stranger who had insisted on attaching himself to her like a shadow.

  The men across the street laughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she realized they were laughing at John. She wondered why.

  John, however, didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he pointed to her, formed the word ‘work’ on his lips and then tapped his chest again.

  “You’re talking about a job? Not marriage? You need someone to work for you?” she asked.

  He smiled and nodded with the enthusiasm of a little boy in a candy shop.

  She stopped and turned to him. “What kind of job?”

  He furrowed his eyebrows and frowned, as if debating what to say. Then he snapped his fingers and led her to the general store.

  Now she was speechless. What was he doing? Surely, a man as...odd...as him didn’t own the general store, especially since store owners needed to actually talk to their customers. John didn’t strike her as the social type at all.