Page 4 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

“Would ya dance with me, Miss Lizzy?”

“Why certainly, Jeb.” As the band struck up a reel, Lizbeth faced the miner who lifted a well-worn hat from combed hair.

His eyes glistened dark as slate, hands roughened by ax and shovel, and his demeanor was bright.

Just like the lantern he’d taken down into the mine since he left school at age twelve.

Now grown, he’d never once called her “miss,” which made Lizbeth smile as she accepted his outstretched hand.

Just beyond him, decorations of early-autumn apples and late-summer sunflowers draped the beams of the great barn.

As they walked toward the dance floor she soaked in the sights, from slices of pie on mismatched plates and more sunflowers filling glass jars of every size.

Even the air seemed to know it graced a special night, smelling of rain and fresh cider.

Pa had already pointed out the handful of coal barons who stood in their midst. Each wore a fancy suit, all looking out of place here in New River. Most were older, with crops of silver hair and wedding bands.

Lizbeth had managed to keep to the outskirts so far, awaiting sight of Mr. Drake so she could point him out to Jayne, but the most mysterious of the coal barons was yet to arrive.

More than a few women had settled in near the barn entrance where two doors as sturdy as oak trees sat braced open to the evening air.

The moment the famed man approached, the gaggle of women would sound the alarm.

With her hand in Jeb’s, Lizbeth followed the young miner into the center of the barn.

While she’d worked hard on the blouse she wore, the seam was a mite crooked so Lizbeth kept her elbow close to her side.

Her calico skirt was scarcely a year old, so the hues of autumn gold and chestnut brown were as rich and bright as the polished rafters overhead.

She’d even wrapped a sash of ivory muslin around her waist where Jeb’s hand now rested.

Lizbeth felt the coarseness of his other hand from years shoveling coal.

She braved a look at his face. He was a nice fellow and hardworking.

Amiable qualities to be sure, but she’d never imagined she’d live in the row housing one day.

There would be no place to pasture her mules there.

No place to spread out in the grass at night and search the stars with Jayne.

For now, there remained rows of bush beans to hoe, cucumbers to pickle, and apples to preserve on a farm that she loved.

Thanks to Pa’s teaching, the pair of them alone knew the farm’s secrets.

Then there were her younger sisters to help raise.

While Ma was capable and loving, she could sometimes go into a flutter, so Lizbeth helped all she could. Life proved full, and abundantly so.

Should a man take interest in her, he would have to call louder than the voice of her responsibilities. And that, she believed, was simply too much to ask. Especially from a young man like Jeb who had enough burdens to bear.

Lizbeth’s loose bun, pulled up and fastened by two brass combs, caught a draft from the open doorway as Jeb turned her in time with the reel.

Her feet tingled as their boots tapped the wide-plank floor beneath them.

While neither she nor Jeb stayed true to the steps, it didn’t matter with the banjo’s extra notes twanging along with the lighthearted tune.

Her breath quickened as Jeb turned her alongside other couples.

She tried to spot her family, but the room spun until nothing made sense except her feet against the floorboards and the way laughter wove in harmony to the banjo.

Jeb turned her once more and Lizbeth finally caught sight of Jayne near the wall along with Kit and Lacey.

When the dance ended, Jeb thanked her. “Perhaps another one soon?”

“Certainly.” Cheeks warm, Lizbeth backed away.

The fiddler struck up the next song as she turned, trying to get her bearings, but just as the music swelled, it faded. In the doorway of the great barn stood two men in suits. One was fair-haired and grinning. The other, tall and shadowed. Could it be?

She slid behind a group of townspeople and cast another glance toward the doorway. Both men were a few years older than she, strapping and handsome yet as contrasted as night and day. One stood bright like sunrise, the other restrained like starlight. One of them had to be William Drake, but which?

Hurrying onward, Lizbeth reached Jayne alongside her other sisters who stayed silent as field mice.

Even sensible Maryanne stood in awe as she balanced a plate of buttermilk pie.

A baby fussed in the corner where a woman bounced it on her hip.

The fiddler bumped a rogue string, sending a sour note into the room’s silence.

The other coal barons stopped as well, each sizing up the newcomers as though they could gauge one another’s schemes in a single glance.

Mr. Jorgensen approached the two young men with open arms. “Welcome! Welcome!”

The fair-haired one shook his hand as though taking a quick shine to the mine’s owner. The other did the same but his brown eyes filtered across the room, then he forced a stiff smile.

Lizbeth prayed the latter one wasn’t the famed Mr. Drake. It had to be the more jovial fellow. Any man so rich as Mr. Drake would most certainly sport such a contagious grin.

The men’s voices faded into conversation as Mr. Jorgensen led them around the room. The whole town began chattering at once.

Maryanne raised her eyebrows and took another bite of buttermilk pie.

Kit elbowed her, insisting that wasn’t ladylike.

Meanwhile, Lizbeth strained to see as Mr. Jorgensen introduced the young men to a clutch of families.

With such a brimming crowd, it would take ages.

Jayne gave a wink that said there would be plenty of time for introductions later. Lizbeth smiled.

As conversation rose louder than ever, so did the band. The banjo and dulcimer twanged out a brand-new jig as Lizbeth whispered to Jayne, “I’ll fetch us something to drink.”

Jayne froze as Mr. Jorgensen approached them.

Lizbeth stepped away so her sister could take center stage, hastening to a large kettle in the far corner next to the bowl of punch.

A quick sip of the drink tasted too sweet, so she opted for cider and filled two tin cups.

Would Mr. Jorgensen and the young men have reached Jayne by now?

Lizbeth turned and to her surprise, it wasn’t her sister she found first, but Hattie, her closest friend and Mr. Jorgensen’s own daughter.

“Lizzy!” Hattie nabbed one of the cups and swallowed a gulp. “Come see! You gotta see Jayne!” She pulled Lizbeth through the press of people.

Lizbeth struggled to balance the cup. “Slower or I’ll spill.”

Hattie tugged her to the other side of the dance floor. There Jayne stood speaking to one of the wealthy young men.

The man’s fair hair lay slicked neatly to the side and his blue eyes sparkled as they talked.

Jayne moved her delicate hands in conversation, the gesture so lovely that the gentleman peering down on her didn’t waver.

Curiosity lit Lizbeth’s heart, just as it seemed to light the stranger’s face as he studied the young woman before him.

“Oh, do you think that could be Mr. Drake?” Lizbeth asked.

“That one? Lands no.” Hattie polished off her cider and set the cup aside.

“No?” Lizbeth studied the figure in the lantern light.

“That’s his business partner. A Callum Brydolf, who Pa says is a lawyer. Rather handsome, ain’t he?”

Lizbeth nodded absently. The wrong man, then? Still, she couldn’t help but notice how much Jayne admired the stranger, and he her, as they made small talk amidst the jostling crowd.

“I say she’s caught his eye for a dance,” Hattie called over the music. “I sure hope he asks her.”

“I daresay he has.” Lizbeth laughed as Callum Brydolf led Jayne onto the floor.

She and Hattie exchanged wide-eyed gazes then melted into giggles that they had to hide. How Lizbeth would look forward to hearing about Jayne’s first dance come midnight when they climbed into their bunks and whispered about it until dawn.

Not wanting to stand and stare, Lizbeth glanced toward the open doorway and the wagons parked just beyond. “I best take a moment and go check on Sassafras.”

“Nonsense. That old mule will be fine.” Hattie tugged on her arm. “My pa’s introducin’ folk and I don’t wanna be standin’ here alone.”

“Oh. But no—”

“Hattie, my girl!” a deep voice bellowed.

At the sound of Mr. Jorgensen’s voice, both Lizbeth and Hattie spun around.

There neared the mine owner. And just behind him—the famed Mr. Drake.

The elegant gentleman stood nearly a head taller than Mr. Jorgensen and a far reach more handsome. But Mr. Drake’s brown eyes were more intent on the floor than the merriment all around. So tense was his jaw that it would take a key to loosen the lock.

A key Lizbeth wouldn’t begin to know how to search for.

Then his gaze lifted and, for one fleeting moment, met hers. At first glance, she found cool disinterest in his eyes, yet with a second blink, his gaze roved her face. The man shifted quickly, studying the room, the soaring ceiling, anything but her.

Mr. Jorgensen cleared his throat. “Mr. Drake. I’d like to introduce you to one of my daughters, Hattie. She’s also the bookkeeper for the company. The girl computes sums faster than any man in my employment.”

Mr. Drake nodded.

Hattie, never shy, continued the story. “If there’s anythin’ you need, Mr. Drake—any sums you need figured out about the mine—I’ll be glad to help.”

“Thank you,” he said stiffly.

Hattie blushed. “Though now I recall Pa sayin’ you went to Harvard with a degree in mathematics. Top of your class, was it? I doubt there’s sums you’d need help with.”

The man gave a thin smile.

Embarrassment deepened the flush in Hattie’s cheeks and she glanced to Lizbeth as though needing to be rescued. “And oh, I’m sorry.” Hattie inched Lizbeth forward. “This is Lizbeth Bennet. Her pa owns the Bennet farm. But most folks ’round here call it Bennet Hollow.”

Mr. Drake’s gaze filtered over Lizbeth’s face as though he were startled by that last detail.

“Pleased to meet you.” Lizbeth set aside her cup of cider and extended a hand.

His eyes found hers again. This time, they were filled with curiosity as he locked gazes with her. “Good evening.” He took hold of her hand, formal and firm.

She envisioned the train car he owned. A stately presence. A rigid exterior. And soon to leave.

This man seemed one and the same.

Lizbeth lowered her hand as Mr. Jorgensen clapped Mr. Drake on the shoulder. A muted sound against his wool coat. Never had Lizbeth seen such finery. His jaw, cleanly shaven, bespoke an elegance far beyond her imagining.

“What do we need to do to get you out on that dance floor, William? Why not take a turn with one of these young ladies?” Mr. Jorgensen angled toward Hattie, but Hattie nudged Lizbeth nearer.

“Lovely idea,” Hattie blurted, still pink cheeked and wide-eyed. “Lizbeth was just saying she wished to dance.”

Lizbeth threw Hattie a glare before peering back to the men. “I—I—”

The last thing she wanted was to dance with William Drake herself but Hattie’s silent beseeching all but begged her to bridge the gap. Made easier when the man held out his hand. His voice, though soft, somehow reached her ears over the ruckus of the room.

As though it was a voice she alone was meant to hear.

“I’d be honored, Miss Bennet.”