Page 21 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

“But I want a new sash.” Lacey framed her narrow hips with both hands as they passed over the bridge into town. “It’ll be the death of me to visit that train car tomorrow wearin’ my old things.” The sixteen-year-old twirled in a circle, sending her mud-splattered hem and pinafore swirling as well.

“You’ve got a sash. A fine linen one that Ma dyed for you,” Lizbeth countered. The sunny yellow was lovely—all thanks to a generous field of goldenrod last autumn. “It’ll pair with your best dress nicely. Besides, you don’t have any money for somethin’ new.”

“I’ve got ten cents still. Could’ve sworn I had more.” Lacey clutched her slate to her chest, smearing last night’s arithmetic work and too busy pouting to notice. “It seems to vanish in dribs and drabs. Won’t one of ya lend me some money?”

Lizbeth nipped the slate lest the distracted girl need to begin again. Beside her, Jayne accepted the slate and its chalky sums for safekeeping.

“Will you lend me somethin’, Maryanne?”

Maryanne tipped her nose skyward, nearly bumping into Kit. “No, ma’am.”

“How is it that you’ve got nearly three dollars?” Lacey wailed.

Maryanne tugged at a wool sweater wrapped snug around her sensible dress. “’Cause I’ve saved everythin’ I’ve ever gotten. Every Christmas penny. Every extra chore.”

Behind them, children laughed as they skipped toward the schoolhouse.

“You’ll just have to make do with what you have, Lacey.

” Lizbeth touched the waist of her own plain skirt.

She too saved most coins that crossed her palm, preserving even a little more than Maryanne in an old jam jar beneath her bed.

“I’m not about to part with any of my savings over your fancies, Lacey.

And what does it matter about having something new?

It’s going to be a lovely day regardless.

” All Lizbeth cared about was the small library Mr. Brydolf would show them.

Her heart puddled with a mixture of trepidation and excitement.

All those books. Along with an afternoon in the company of Mr. Drake.

“It’s going to be splendid.” Jayne sighed.

“And so many books,” Lizbeth added.

Jayne laughed. “Yes, books,” she teased.

“Oh, who cares about that!” Lacey twirled in another circle then stilled at sight of a trio of men standing on the shop steps. Miners, by their clothing that was grayed with coal dust and countless washings. The most handsome of the men was watching Lacey.

The girl giggled and flounced over a puddle in the road.

“And I still want a new sash. ’Sides, my old one is the same kind as yours, Jayne, and we can’t go like that!

” Lacey snagged her slate from Jayne then skipped ahead, catching up with Kit, who recited her own schoolwork for their coming exam.

“Can we just stop in at the mercantile? It’s right there.

” Lacey pointed across the street to the shop with its tall false front and household staples within.

Her focus drifted across to the handsome man again.

“Won’t hardly be out of anyone’s way. For just a moment?

School doesn’t start for a while yet seein’ as we walked here so fast.”

Lizbeth silently beseeched Jayne for help.

“Only for a few minutes.” Jayne patted Lizbeth’s shoulder. “Lizzy, maybe you can show me the new writing desk you saw last week. I’d like to see it too. We are early and Reverend Coburn said he’d come along to meet us and I don’t see him yet. We might as well get warm as we wait.”

“Fair.” Lizbeth followed them toward the mercantile.

While Ma insisted they make Reverend Coburn feel welcome, Lizbeth wouldn’t for one moment lead the man on to think that she’d taken a shine to him.

Not with his fragile constitution and stuttering words.

It would be unfair. She felt no spark of affection for the man.

Instead, a different man’s face flashed through her mind.

The thought of a quiet coal baron who had sparked new sensations.

“Not exactly pleasant ones,” Lizbeth whispered to herself.

She blinked quickly to settle her nerves, startled by a growing fear that the thoughts she harbored for Mr. Drake were more than just dislike.

That something more akin to intrigue was churning inside her.

Impossible.

The worry was stomped into oblivion as Lacey dashed up the steps of the company store.

The place where workers and their families purchased anything from salt to sewing needles, giving not only their lives to the company, but their meager wages as well.

Light brightened the windows as Lizbeth trailed up the steps next, all too aware of the men who stood watching their approach.

Lizbeth slowed her pace. The tallest of the men on the porch, who had been watching Lacey, shoved a hand through thick blond hair.

The man had both youth and attractiveness on his side with his face clean and handsomely carved.

His blue eyes landed on Lacey before moving to Lizbeth where his gaze stayed.

Lizbeth ducked her head to ease past.

But the stranger moved to the door and, with a rattle of the brass bell, opened it for them. “Mornin’, ladies.”

Lacey giggled as she clutched Kit’s arm. Maryanne went petrified as she scuttled past. Jayne lagged behind, distracted by a mewling kitten beneath the step. Lizbeth’s heart beat quicker as she crossed the porch alone. She reached the door that the man held with his outstretched arm.

“Mornin’,” she said softly and tried not to brush against him.

He offered her no smile, but his gaze held amusement.

She tried to ignore the attention as she entered.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee and beeswax candles greeted them today.

Lacey and Kit made a beeline to the shelves with bolts of cloth.

Maryanne tiptoed toward a display of pens beneath a glass case.

Abandoned by Jayne, Lizbeth worked her way to a crate filled with fresh writing tablets.

She pretended to examine the lined ledgers as she noticed the man on the porch through the nearest shop window.

He spoke to his comrades then punched one amiably on the shoulder and entered the shop himself.

The whole space dimmed as he passed through the doorway.

The stranger wore dark pants and a shirt of the same hue, his waist cinched by a leather belt like the other miners in the region.

His scuffed boots were coated in coal dust. The only difference from his uniform and those of the local miners was a three-digit number embroidered on his chest pocket in gold thread.

Every employee had a number that marked his presence in and out of the mine, but those in New River simply had a brass token that they placed on a peg board to mark their descent below the earth.

None of them had uniforms like this. A stranger indeed.

His footfalls crossed the store and within mere strides, he reached Lacey’s side. He spoke softly, garnering more giggles from the girl.

Lizbeth narrowed her gaze. Lacey was too young for male attention at just sixteen and the girl was too foolish to recognize true sincerity.

While it was too soon to judge this stranger, Lizbeth knew to err on the side of caution.

Yet like a squirrel on a branch that didn’t know when to quiet, Lacey chattered away with him as though he were an old friend.

The spirited girl had little to no sense so Lizbeth finally broke her pretend reverie with a writing tablet and worked her way to that end of the shop.

“Lacey, we should be on our way again.” Lizbeth absently picked up a spool of her favorite lace, hoping to appear natural. “School bell’s about to ring.”

“Nonsense! Lizzy, this is Mr. Westgard.” She giggled. “He said we should call him West . He was just askin’ us about the town.”

The miner squared his shoulders and angled to Lizbeth, as though Lacey were a mere shadow against the wall and not an enchanted girl peering up at him.

“A pleasure, Miss...?”

“That’s Lizzy.” Lacey thrust a bolt of cloth onto the shelf for someone else to straighten. “She’s my older sister. Not nearly as much fun, if I do say so myself.”

“Interesting.” The miner—Mr. Westgard—gave Lacey his full attention for a long enough breath that she lost her own.

Then he angled back to Lizbeth. “Are you here for some fabric as well?”

“We’re just browsin’.” Lizbeth returned the spool of lace to the shelf.

Amusement flashed in Mr. Westgard’s eyes.

“Have you seen that shiny train car parked in the depot yard?” Lacey pulled a length of velvet ribbon from a paper box.

“It belongs to a Mr. what’s-his-name and we’ve been invited to tea.

” She beamed at Mr. Westgard—a schoolgirl’s efforts at making a fellow jealous.

“So that’s what the necessities are for. ”

“Ah.” Mr. Westgard’s gaze shifted between them both, and to Lizbeth’s surprise, she sensed a note of envy in his voice. “I see.”

Lacey tugged another bolt of fabric down and cast a look of longing at the stranger.

He was handsome, yes, but Lizbeth would speak to her sister about prudence. A comely face gave no reason to be overly familiar. Perhaps it was more cause not to, in case beauty and vanity went hand in hand.

“Come along, Lacey,” she whispered.

“Have you known Mr. Drake for some time now?” The man fingered a paper price tag.

“Only recently.” Lizbeth brushed Lacey’s arm to get her attention. Where was Jayne?

Mr. Westgard moved to the other side of the display so Lizbeth’s eyes were forced to meet his again.

“I myself have known him for some years. I’ve just travelled down from Pennsylvania where he owns a mine known as Chess Creek.

I’ve never seen a place such as this. A curious plot of land, your New River. Is it always this musty?”

“Always,” Lacey groaned. “Though we live out a ways where the air’s fresher. The haze is from the mine. Have you seen it?”