Miss Lizzy's Legacy (13 page)

Callie's fingers tightened on the book's faded leather covers as she realized the stories Papa had told her about his mother running off with a man to the Oklahoma Territory were true. She swallowed back the sense of dread and made herself read on.

January 15, 1890:

Ethan worries so about my safety and my health, although I assure him I feel fine. He even suggested I return home, promising to send for me later. But the birth of our child is months away, and I am sure we'll reach the Oklahoma Territory in ample time to prepare for the arrival.

She was pregnant when she left home! Anxious to find the details of Papa's birth, Callie flipped pages, skimming ahead.

February 19, 1890:

I try very hard not to worry, but I am afraid I fail miserably at the task. Ethan assures me that when we reach St. Louis, he will send a wire to his bank and request they transfer his funds to him there. In the meantime, my reticule grows lighter and lighter.

He's using her for her money, Callie thought with a stab of anger. No wonder her parents didn't approve of Ethan. She'd fallen in love with the lowest form of man...a gigolo.

March 20, 1890:

My heart feels unusually heavy today, for I had to sell Mother's pearls. They were given to Mother on her sixteenth birthday and in turn she gave them to me on mine. I had always thought I would pass them down to my daughter. But I must not think such forlorn thoughts! I am here, traveling across the country with the man I love. And Ethan has promised to buy me a hundred strings of pearls to replace the ones we sold. That is what I shall focus on. A gift from Ethan. A string of pearls. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the weight of them around my neck.

April 23, 1890:

Almost three months have passed since we first left Boston. I sometimes wonder about my family, what they are doing, whether or not they miss me. Silly thoughts, really, for I know that when I left, they closed the book on my life, just as they threatened if I persisted in seeing Ethan.

The train ride, though thrilling, is grueling on my back. I suppose it is all the sitting required of me. As I pen this, Ethan is in the lounge playing a game of cards with some gentlemen he met earlier. I wish I were there with him. Anything to escape this suffocating car with the windows blowing cinders in my face.

Angered by the woman's blind loyalty to a man not worth the ground she walked on, Callie flipped pages.

June 9, 1890:

Ethan's absence is distressing, at best. I cannot bear to think what might have delayed him. Mrs. Grindel continues to look at me with suspicion, always inquiring about Ethan's return. Oh, Ethan, please come soon and take me away from this horrid house.

June 14, 1890:

I'm writing by lamplight, which I'm sure Mrs. Grindel will complain about tomorrow when she discovers the oil is low. I cannot sleep for the pain keeps me awake. My back again, lower and much more intense than ever before. I am so frightened! I fear the baby will come before Ethan's return. If so, who will assist at the birth? With whom shall I share the glorious arrival of the birth of our child?

June 17, 1890:

My heart is shredded into a thousand pieces. Our child is dead. A son. Ethan would have been so proud to have a son carry on his name. Mrs. Grindel and her sister Lucinda attended the birth. They said the cord was wrapped around his neck and there was nothing they could do to save him. My heart grieves for him, for I never even saw his face or held him in my arms. Mr. Grindel buried him properly and has promised to take me to his grave as soon as I'm able to travel.

Writing is difficult, for my hand shakes uncontrollably and my head swims in confusion. The medicine Mrs. Grindel gives me makes me sleep and dulls my thoughts. Oh, Ethan, please come soon. I need you so. How will I ever find the strength to tell you our son is gone from us?

Callie closed the book and dropped it to the floor, tears streaming down her face. Lizzy hadn't sent her child away. She'd really thought he'd died. She'd loved him, grieved for him...and she'd done it alone, without her precious Ethan or her parents' comfort and support.

Standing, she swiped the tears from her cheeks and crossed to her workroom. She bent to pick up the knife from the floor, then scooted the stool close to the table and sat before the figure. With her eyes flooded with tears, her heart filled with the emotions transported through time by words, she lifted the sculpting knife.

* * *

Judd closed the door behind the last customer, twisted the dead bolt in place, then turned and ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He'd given Callie the time alone he'd thought she needed. He'd worked all day with one ear tuned to the noises upstairs. He'd heard the reluctant scrape of her shoes on the floor overhead and the squeak of cushions when she'd flopped down on the old sofa. He'd suspected she'd given in enough to at least read the book. For hours he'd paced, listening, waiting on customers, making himself stay away. He'd heard the book hit the floor, and the first strangled sob. He was almost to the foot of the stairs when he'd heard the hurried patter of her shoes as she crossed back overhead to her workroom.

Stopping with his hand on the worn bannister, he had turned back to the bar and his customers, knowing he had to give her the time and the privacy to conquer her demons herself.

But now the bar was closed, the customers gone, and it had been hours since he'd heard a peep from upstairs. He had to check on her, see that she was all right.

He hit the top step running, then slowed to cross quietly to the far corner where her workroom was situated. The light was on, its rays spinning to silver the fine coat of dust on the main room's floor. He saw her through the open doorway, her rear end jutting off the stool, her heels hooked over the rung. One arm pillowed her head on the table, while her hand limply held a knife.

He tiptoed closer and peeked over her shoulder to find her eyes closed. He eased the knife from her hand, laid it aside and stooped, intending to pick her up. But then he saw it. The statue's face. The sight of it stole the breath from his lungs and the strength from his knees. He sagged against the table, flattening his hands on its top to support himself, his eyes riveted on the mesmerizing face.

The eyes were soft, full of warmth and love, and carried the sheen of unshed tears. The lips curved slightly in the barest hint of a smile as she looked down upon the babe in her arms, her eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and love. A tender finger lay gently on the cheek of the babe suckling at her breast.

Sweetness. Gentleness. Femininity. All woven together with an inner strength and pride. Callie had accomplished all she'd hoped for and more.

Turning to her, Judd scraped back a feathering of hair from her face and pressed a kiss on her cheek. Bending close, he eased her into his arms. She complained only slightly as he lifted her to his chest, but then she wound her arms around his neck, turned her cheek against his and nestled close.

His heart pounding with his love for the woman in his arms, he hit the light switch with his elbow, throwing the room into darkness.

Bless you both.

Judd stopped and glanced back. Moonlight streaked through the window, spotlighting the statue of the mother and her babe in its heavenly glow. A slow smile curled one corner of his lips as he whispered in return, “And bless you, Miss Lizzy.”

C
allie didn't stir again until Judd attempted to lay her on the bed in her hotel room, then it was only to tighten her arms around his neck when he started to withdraw. Touched by her unconscious need for him, he sank a knee into the cushiony mattress and laid down beside her, gathering her close to his heart.

She slept while he kept watch.

* * *

Hours later when she awakened, his gaze was still on her.

She never questioned his presence in her bed or how she'd arrived there. The fact that he was there with her was enough. She smiled sleepily up at him. “I did it,” she murmured.

Because he was an artist of sorts, he understood the satisfaction in that accomplishment. He squeezed her against him. “I know. I saw.”

“I couldn't have done it without your help. Thank you.”

“Miss Lizzy is the one to thank.”

Callie smiled wistfully, remembering. “Yes, but without your insistence, I wouldn't have read her journal and discovered the truth.”

Sure that she'd found something in the book he'd missed when he'd read it over a year ago, Judd lifted his head. “The truth? You mean about the grave?”

“No. I'll probably never know that. But I discovered something more important. Mary Elizabeth Sawyer wasn't the person her family portrayed her to be. I found her to be loving and generous to a fault. And I truly believe that she thought her son died at birth. When she wrote of it, I felt her grief as strongly as if it were my own.”

“So the mystery is solved?”

“For me it is. So much time has passed that it really doesn't matter why Papa was sent away to Boston. What matters is that his mother didn't do the sending.”

Her satisfaction in resolving the mystery surrounding her great-grandfather's mother was obvious. Although Judd wanted to share her happiness, he couldn't, for with the resolution came an end to her reason for remaining in Guthrie. “I guess you'll be going back to Dallas, then,” he said quietly.

Callie tipped her face up to his and saw the trace of uncertainty in his eyes. Theirs was a tremulous relationship, based more on emotion than time, both reluctant to voice their feelings, unsure whether they were offering too much too soon. Wanting to ease his uncertainties—and in doing so, hopefully a few of her own by buying more time with him—she laid a fingertip against his lips. “Tracing my great-great-grandmother's past wasn't the only reason I came to Guthrie,” she said helpfully.

His lips curved beneath her finger in the beginnings of a smile. His gaze on hers, he caught her finger between his teeth. “Why else did you come?” he asked, then closed his lips around the slender appendage and drew it deep into his mouth.

The sensation was so seductive, Callie could barely breathe much less think. “A vacation,” she murmured absently, her eyes riveted to his. “I needed a vacation.”

Slowly, achingly, he drew her finger from between his lips. He released it with a soft, moist plop. “I don't think you've had much of a vacation, do you?” he asked, then let her hand fall limply to his chest.

Through heavy lids, Callie watched the tip of her finger disappear in the mat of dark hair there. “No,” she replied, hypnotized by the sight. “I don't guess I have.”

“Seems a shame, doesn't it?” he said. “To leave before you have a chance to see all the sights?”

“Yes,” she replied, lifting her gaze to his. “It does.”

“You have, what, two weeks before the presentation in Houston?”

“Yes. But there's Thanksgiving.”

“Do you have plans?”

“No.”

“Good, then you can finish out your vacation, spend Thanksgiving with my family. If you want, you can even stay out at my place.”

“Your place?” she asked, startled by the offer.

“Yeah.”

“And where is that?”

“In the country, about ten miles north of town.”

Shivers of anticipation raced through her at the thought of spending two weeks alone with him in the country. “Any neighbors?” she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager.

“None to speak of.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“If we're lucky.”

She propped her elbow on her pillow and leaned her head against her palm. “I'm feeling lucky,” she said, lowering her voice suggestively.

Grinning, Judd threw his arm around her waist and hauled her to him. “Me, too.”

* * *

“Where are we going first?” Callie asked, her eyes as charged with excitement as a second grader out on a school holiday.

Judd couldn't help but laugh as he tossed her suitcase in the back of his truck. “I thought we'd ride the trolley, get the official tour, see what interests you, then take my truck and backtrack.”

Callie slipped her hand in his. “Sounds like a winner.”

Judd handed her up on the trolley, then followed her to a seat. The bell clanged and the trolley eased from the curb and into traffic. Callie immediately pressed her nose to the window and listened as the guide began his spiel. Judd settled back, stretching his legs out in the narrow aisle, and watched Callie watch Guthrie, convinced he had the better view.

The tour lasted forty-five minutes, and by the time Callie stepped off the trolley she had scribbled a page full of sights she wanted to revisit.

“What's your pleasure?” Judd asked after they'd climbed back into his truck.

She looked at her list, then turned a hopeful eye to Judd. “Everything?” she asked, timidly.

Chuckling, he shifted into gear. “Everything it is.” He retraced the trolley's route, his first stop the Logan County Courthouse where three weeks before Callie had found the records of Miss Lizzy's marriage. He parked the truck opposite the building. “Guthrie was born in a single day, April 22, 1889, when the government officially opened the Territory to settlement. People came from all over to take part in the run. Farmers, businessmen, speculators and profiteers.” He chuckled, then added, “And the occasional riffraff.

“Guthrie was established as the Territorial capitol. Everyone assumed that once Oklahoma became a state, the capitol would remain here. Land was set aside for the future site and later a building was constructed. Everything was going as planned until June 11, 1910.” He leaned across the seat and nodded up at the courthouse. “On that night the state seal was stolen from this building and taken to Oklahoma City. It was a shock, both emotionally and financially, to the people here who had invested so much on the supposition that the capitol of Oklahoma would be in Guthrie. In many ways, the community never recovered.”

Callie heard the pride in his voice as much as the regret. “You love it here, don't you?”

“It's home.”

“No, it's more than that,” she insisted.

He shrugged, then chuckled ruefully. “There was a time when I was younger that I considered Guthrie the armpit of America. Couldn't wait to get out of here. I wanted the big city and a chance at fame that Guthrie couldn't offer me. At twenty-one, I threw my guitar and what belongings I could call my own in the back of an old truck, headed for Nashville and never looked back.”

He sat a moment, one arm hooked over the steering wheel, lost in the memories. “Funny,” he said, voicing his thoughts aloud. “But during the trial, all I could think about was getting back here. Where I could walk down the street without people staring and whispering. Where my family and friends were. Where a man's word is as good as gold. That's what kept me going.”

He shook his head to clear the melancholy thoughts. “Anyway, after the trial, I did come back. The folks here accepted me with no questions asked. They've respected my privacy, protected it like it was their own.” His lips thinned in determination. “I owe the folks in this town a big debt. Some day I hope to repay them by giving them back what they lost.”

“But how? You can't possibly change the site of the state capitol back to Guthrie.”

He shifted into gear. “No, but I can give them back their pride.”

Easing off the clutch, he drove on while Callie stared at his profile, wondering if he realized that he, too, had been stripped of his pride. Not by political shenanigans as Guthrie had been, but by false accusations and a public that thrived on whatever dirt the media fed them. She suspected it was that loss of pride that had brought him home to Guthrie and forced him to give up his music career.

“This area is known as Capitol Hill,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

Forcing herself to pay attention to what he was saying, she listened while Judd pointed to a block of land and a cluster of buildings. “And that was Government Acre, land set aside for the capitol building. The building covering the square is the world's largest Scottish Rite Masonic Temple. The temple was built back in the 1920s with a price tag of over two million dollars. It has a ballroom, reading salons and two theaters that they rent out to the public. In fact, the Historical Society is having a concert there next month to raise money for future renovations.”

“Will you be singing?”

He shook his head and shifted into gear. “Nope,” he replied as he pulled away. “I don't sing anymore.”

She felt his withdrawal as strongly as she felt the beat of her heart. And he was lying. He did sing. Maybe not for the public, but she'd heard him singing down in the Blue Bell when he'd thought he was alone. To confront him would be useless. She could see that.

He traversed residential and business streets alike, elaborating on the information the tour guide had shared. By the time they neared the old Masonic Children's Home, she was once again caught up in the history of Guthrie and stretched out a hand, motioning for him to stop.

Judd eased to the curb opposite the group of buildings, wondering what she found of interest here.

Once home for children sponsored by the Masons, the buildings had been vacant for years and decay had set in. The brick wall surrounding the property had crumbled, windows were broken, weeds and vegetation had taken over the landscape. It's haunted look gave substance to the scary stories children shared about the place. Despite the No Trespassing signs posted, teenagers used it as a meeting place to sneak a beer or a passionate ride in the back seat of their car with their sweetheart.

Callie was enchanted.

“Prudy would love this,” she said, her gaze darting from one building to the next.

“Prudy?”

“A friend of mine in Dallas.”

Judd leaned around her to look out the window, trying to see what she saw. “What's there to love?”

Callie looked at him in surprise. “Where is your vision? Your sense of adventure?” She turned back to the window. “Imagine how this must have looked when it was inhabited. How it could look with a little work.”

“A
little
work?”

“Okay, a lot of work. But just imagine if the grounds were cleaned up, the building restored. It would be magnificent!”

“For what?”

Callie looked at him with an impatient frown. “I don't know! But something.” She turned back to the window. “Prudy would know. She has vision.”

Judd cranked the ignition, biting back a smile. “Right. Now what else would you like to see?”

She heaved a sigh as she continued to stare out at the abandoned buildings. “Your bedroom ceiling.”

Judd whipped his head around. She turned and smiled sweetly at him. “You asked.”

* * *

His place, as he'd called it that morning when he'd invited her to stay with him, consisted of acres and acres of rolling pastures sectioned off by black creosote fencing. Embedded in the limestone pillars flanking the entrance, black wrought-iron twisted to form the brand JB. Horses lifted their heads from their grazing as the truck passed, their ears pricked, watching. Delighted by the pastoral setting, Callie pressed her nose to the window.

Judd drove over a cattle guard, then the dam of a small lake where geese took flight at Baby's welcoming bark from the back of the truck. From there, the asphalt drive snaked its way up a small rise to end at a limestone ranch house.

Judd had bought the place when his career had first taken off. He'd remodeled the original house, added a wing that held a music room and a small theater. He'd cleared the land, built fences and barns, all for his own pleasure. Although he'd spent most of his time at his home in Nashville, through the years he'd always returned here to rest and regroup. It was his secret hideaway and to him this was home.

He stopped the truck in the circle drive in front and turned off the ignition. “Well, this is it.” He threw an arm along the back of the seat, watching for Callie's reaction. He'd brought women here before, but he'd never particularly cared whether they'd like it or not. The tangle of nerves in his stomach told him that Callie's opinion was important.

Her face remained turned to the window, her gaze fixed on the long front porch where a willow porch swing moved gently in the wind. “I know this probably sounds silly,” she said, embarrassed by the admission. “But I feel as if I've come home.”

The knots in Judd's stomach slowly unraveled. He shifted to squeeze her shoulder. “You have. For as long as you like.”

Callie twisted in the seat and met the warmth of his gaze. Unable to contain the happiness swelling in her heart, she threw her arms around his neck. “Judd Barker, you might regret saying that to me.”

Closing his eyes against the sting of emotion, he hugged her back. “Not by a long shot, darlin'.”

* * *

That first quick tour of Guthrie was the only glimpse of the town Callie saw for almost a week. Two people, holed up in a house with only each other for company, might have grown bored after a few days. Not Callie. And certainly not Judd. Their time together took on the quality of a honeymoon. Long nights of loving. Sleeping late of a morning. Relaxing strolls through the pastures with Baby trotting at their sides. Long, lazy soaks in Judd's hot tub. Meals shared across the kitchen table with Callie no farther away than the stretch of a bare toe.