Page 2 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

If Jayne made a promising match, the dear girl could fly from these crowded walls and narrow beds.

Perhaps one of these fine men who’d come to town could be right for Jayne.

Maybe it could even be the owner of the Pemberley.

A man who could give Jayne a life as grand as she deserved.

Not only was she the prettiest sight to behold, and more ready for marriage, she was worthy.

A good heart and a sweet countenance. An ideal wife for any bachelor, especially one who could give her a safe and secure life.

Had the opportunity just ridden in on the rails?

“Did you see him while you were in town?” Lizbeth asked. “The one with the train car?”

A twinkle lit Jayne’s blue eyes. “No. But I overheard him speakin’ to Pa about the mine and he sounded pleasant—”

Ma gasped. “Your pa didn’t tell me he spoke to him! Mr. Bennet! Best get yourself in here.” She tapped her spoon on the edge of a pot. “What does a wife have to do to get a man to talk about these things?”

Pa entered with his newspaper. “Just a hot cup of tea should do me.” He winked as he settled into his armchair near the window, worn smooth from use. Just beyond, mature poplars blocked the Virginia sky, sending glittering shadows across the room.

“Tell us more, Pa,” Jayne said. “About the newcomers.”

“Five of ’em to be exact.” His voice was as deep and aged as the hickory chair he sat in. “A handful of coal barons. All owners of other mines across the east.”

“And the one that all the fuss is about?”

“He’s a younger fella. Younger than all the others. Arrived here with his business associate. Fine-lookin’ boys with steady manners.”

Ma cracked open the oven door to a loaf of fragrant pumpkin bread.

“I’ve never seen such a commotion as I saw at the company store this week.

I watched two bolts of calico sell in less than ten minutes.

And today, I saw a whole mess of hair ribbons fly out the door just as quick.

You mark my words. Our girls won’t be the only ones in New River dressed up in their finest tonight.

To think of Mr. Jorgensen hosting such a fuss. ”

“Well, this is just the first step in convincin’ folks ’round here that change doesn’t always have to be bad,” Pa mused.

“Does that mean one of these men would own the town of New River?” one of Lizbeth’s sisters called from upstairs.

The others giggled.

“Not quite,” Pa answered back. “But it does seem that way.”

“I hear they’ve cleared the company’s barn from stem to stern.” Lizbeth snipped the end of her thread. “It sounds ever so pretty.”

“I’ve been told there’ll be over two dozen pies and punch sweetened with sugar.

” Jayne added another stitch to her fragrant sachet then moved Lizbeth’s embroidery hoop aside lest it get buried in stray petals.

Lizbeth had gotten so far as embroidering The night is on a square piece of linen.

A sacred sentiment that lingered far from finished.

Both on the cloth and in her understanding.

Ma wagged her head. “This’ll be somethin’ to remember!”

Pa examined the newspaper. Though he’d never been a miner by trade, he’d worked for mines in eight counties across the state before finally landing in New River to lead a quieter life when the girls were little.

His gnarled hands were stained black at the creases from over forty years of scouring the earth for minerals and uncapping ink pens to create maps and ledgers that documented his findings.

A gentle soul who taught Lizbeth how to recognize rocks and features on their walks through the woods.

Pa’s bristly brows lifted to match the amusement in his tone. “We’ll just have to wait and see, then, won’t we?”

“How do you sit there, the picture of mischief?” Ma asked.

Pa finally lowered his paper to his lap. “Do tell a fella what you’d like to hear.”

“For starters, we’re all burstin’ to hear more of this train car. I only saw it from a distance. Does it really have a glass observation dome?”

“I do believe I counted two.”

“Oh, how grand. Imagine seeing the stars at night from inside a train.” Jayne blew on a dandelion weed, scattering its delicate seeds.

Kit returned with empty kettles, her hair glistening and clean. With a sigh, she nestled a sprig of chamomile behind her ear. “Like a mansion. How could one man be so rich?”

Lizbeth tugged the stem loose, replacing it with a dainty rosebud. “You don’t even know what a mansion looks like. And off with you. The others are waiting!”

Kit fetched the kettles for the next bath. “Well, I sure hope it has runnin’ water!”

Pa chuckled.

Lizbeth pondered such luxuries as running water and blue velvet curtains.

She knew only the frayed cotton of her apron and the sun-streaked quilt that graced her tiny bed in the second story room she shared with Jayne.

A place where the floor was knobby but clean and the washbasin made of rusted tin, not porcelain.

She’d hardly know how to peer inside the window of such richness, let alone grace its aisleway.

“Does he own the engine too?” Lizbeth asked.

“Just the car.” Pa tucked his creased paper into the edge of his chair for the next time he re-read it.

“Engines are owned by railroads. Wealthy folk pay to have their private cars hauled by an engine that’s either comin’ or goin’.

It costs a pretty penny to do as much, mind you.

Hundreds of dollars for the fare alone.”

“Incredible,” Jayne breathed.

Ma sighed. “To think of it.”

Pa went on. “The depot has three tracks so there’s plenty of space for it to linger.”

“What a pity that such a shiny new train car’ll soon be covered in coal dust like the rest of the depot,” one of the younger girls called out.

Ma fanned a rag for them to hurry and fill the tub again.

Rising, Lizbeth used the edge of her apron to pull out the loaf of pumpkin bread. She felt the tin’s heat through the cotton fabric as the air warmed with nutmeg and cinnamon.

Ma checked the loaf with a practiced touch. “And to think of it parked here.” Ma often fussed and fretted that Pa had chosen to settle down in New River where the only thing separating their farm from the clatter of the mine was the glittering river from which the town gleaned its name.

“It’s the blessings of the Lord that maketh a man rich,” Maryanne called down from the stairwell.

Everyone looked up at her at once.

“So the Proverbs say,” she added.

Lizbeth smiled at her sister’s tender reminder. “Hear, hear.” Then for Jayne’s ears alone: “But you still must dance the first reel with the man.”

Jayne blushed. “He’d have to ask me, Lizzy. And there’ll be so many people there tonight. It seems the whole town is coming.”

“Yes...” Lizbeth returned to her seat. “But you’ll be the prettiest.”

Jayne shook her head. Needing to wash up next, Lizbeth rose to fetch the kettles from upstairs. Already, she could imagine the duet of a mandolin and fiddle. How welcoming and warm it would sound as couples paired up on this autumn evening. Maybe the fiddler would play a waltz or two.

Ma’s voice broke through the daydream. “I hear the young coal baron owns several mines already and other companies as well. A logging firm out west, and some sort of factory in New York.”

Lizbeth paused at the top of the stairs to listen.

Pa nodded slowly. “That’s what folks are sayin’.”

“Have you found out his name? Does the boy have kin to speak of?”

“That’s two questions at once, my dear. I don’t know about kin—don’t know the man’s story.”

“But we only need his name,” Jayne chimed in. “The owner of the Pemberley.”

Lizbeth seconded that, though she didn’t want to admit it.

Pa’s laughter danced across the room. The first note of music to be heard this evening, but certainly not the last. “From what I gather, someone as wealthy as that ought to be called by his proper title, which is Mr. Drake. But seein’ as you girls must know.

..” He winked. “I believe his name is William.”