Page 7 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

The night is far spent...

That was all she’d stitched so far. The lesson beneath the linen surface was still murky.

She sighed. Hopefully in time, she would come to understand more of the full verse’s depth and meaning as she continued working on the piece.

Wasn’t that what a sampler was for? Not only to showcase the handiwork of women and girls, but to unravel an important lesson with each word carefully stitched.

Lizbeth could still recall the day she’d chosen the guiding sentiment.

She’d been wrestling with impatience over what she would do in this life and how she would live a life of meaning, when Pa lovingly read the Scripture aloud by firelight and Lizbeth had marked the passage to remember.

In the distance, Lizbeth could just make out the roofline of the hoist barn where the night before, lanterns had glimmered and a fiddle had played sweet and low.

Even now, she recalled the feel of her hand in Mr. Drake’s.

Lizbeth studied her fingertips trying to conjure up the sensation once more.

She’d spoken boldly just now to conceal the fact that she’d been honored by his offer to dance.

Once they’d approached the floor together, she’d hoped they might even talk longer.

That she could learn more of what the world offered beyond these hills and hollows from his own unique perspective. Even if just for a few moments more.

That perhaps they might have been glad to be standing in one another’s company.

But that hadn’t been the case. Which was just fine with her. Instead of disliking him so, she’d simply leave him in peace. That seemed fair.

Turning, Lizbeth strolled back down the path, beneath golden oaks and rust-hued maples, then over the footbridge where the creek gurgled and bubbled along the edge of Bennet Hollow. There, she found Pa at the gate.

Lizbeth withdrew the envelope from her pocket as he turned. “This is from Mr. Jorgensen. Hattie just brought it by.”

He took the envelope and she searched his face as he read its contents. Was it bad news of some kind? News from the mine? “Is everything all right, Pa?”

The lines beside his eyes softened as his gaze angled her way. “All things in their time.” He folded the letter tight and inserted it into his pocket.

Best not to press him further. Not even when the heavy expression returned to his face.

They stood in silence beside the gate, just a stone’s throw from the garden and land they toiled and tended together. With only daughters in the family there were no boys to help Pa with the farm. Instead, Lizbeth tried to be his helper, so this was a lane they walked together most days.

As a geologist, Pa worked hard and sacrificed much to see them cared for.

His wages had always been humble, but they covered the cost of flour and sugar, and they grew whatever else they needed.

Kit gathered the eggs and milked the cow each day.

Lacey helped Ma with the baking, though she often burnt crusts and hotcakes alike.

Jayne oversaw the laundry and cleaning. When her hands weren’t deep in suds, she helped Ma ensure all the girls were on their best behavior and well-loved.

As for Maryanne, when she wasn’t humming a tune and dreaming of a new piano, she knitted them each winter sweaters and shawls.

The patterns and details just right for her pensive mind.

Then there was Lizbeth. She kept them all entertained with stories each evening, and come dawn, she helped mind their farmyard from the animals to the garden. Just last week, she’d helped Pa mend a row of fencing.

Pa spoke in a measured voice. The way he did when mulling over too much for many words. “Another letter came just yesterday but you weren’t around to read it over my shoulder.”

“I promise I didn’t see a thing just now.” She placed her hand over her heart.

His smile was shadowed. “The news from yesterday is that my cousin’ll be comin’ in from Pennsylvania soon. He’s a fair deal younger than me and is looking forward to meetin’ all you girls.”

Lizbeth took Pa’s wrinkled hand in her own as they walked.

“He’s asked especially after you and Jayne. I’ve written him of how you’ve finished your studies, and what a blessing you are to your ma and me”

“Oh?” Lizbeth had heard Pa speak of his young cousin, a reverend, over the years, but never had the stranger visited. “That’ll be nice? His comin’?”

“Perhaps.” The response stayed guarded as Pa glanced back toward the mine. Toward the sky where just beneath, Jayne had danced a trio of songs with a wealthy bachelor and Lizbeth had discovered that she wasn’t as cut out for high society as her sister might be.

With a meaty hand, Pa swiped clean the property sign that angled against the fence. Bennet Hollow. Land that didn’t have his name on the deed, but was instead marked with a sign he’d crafted with care. A way to mark this farm as home as best he could.

“How many years ago was it that you struck the deal with Mr. Jorgensen?” Lizbeth asked.

Pa blinked as though the memories were also draped in cobwebs. “Oh, some twenty years ago. No.” He blinked again. “Just shy of that.”

“And now this farm is more home than any place could ever be.” She hoped to spark some indication of what the letter held.

Instead, Pa smoothed more dried leaves from the weathered wood and fingered the B , so that it hung clean of dust. “I know how all of you girls have dreamt of more. Of more than this old town could ever hope to give you.”

“Oh, Pa. We prattle on at times, but New River’s home.”

“And it’s been lucky to have you.”

“Good. ’Cause I have no plans to leave.” This town was home. As was this farm. Whatever changed with the sale of the mine, surely that would not.

His smile was sad as he lowered his hand from the sign. From the reminder that they borrowed this land and no more. As they walked, she couldn’t tell by his quiet sigh if he was grateful for that or worried.