Miss Lizzy's Legacy

“Didn’t say you did,” Judd replied, although that was exactly the thought that had crossed his mind when Frank had told him he’d seen Callie drive away earlier that morning with Baby riding in the back seat of her car.

Callie dropped her hands from around Baby’s neck and swiped at her cheeks. “You insinuated as much. But the truth of the matter is, your dog jumped in the back of my car and wouldn’t get out. It was easier to just let him ride along.”

Judd hunkered down beside them, placing a hand on Baby’s head. “When he sets his mind on something, he’s hard to sway.”

Callie sniffed and gazed off in the distance, refusing to look at him.

Judd nodded in the direction of the stone. “I see you found what you were looking for.”

Without favoring him a glance, Callie replied sharply, “I don’t know that I have.”

“Seems clear enough to me. There’s the stone bearing the name William Leighton Sawyer, infant son of Mary Elizabeth Sawyer. And there—” he said with a nod toward the larger upright stone “—is the grave of Mary Elizabeth Bodean. What more proof do you need?”

She snapped her head around to glare at him. “I don’t know for a fact that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Mary Elizabeth Bodean were one and the same person.”

The streak of tears on her face took Judd by surprise, for he couldn’t imagine what the woman would have to cry about. The grave was more than a hundred years old, so she couldn’t have any affection for the infant buried there. Which led him to believe that more than likely she was crying because she’d been caught in her lies. Still, the tears moved him. He tucked his duster behind his hip and dug in his back pocket for a handkerchief. He held it out to Callie.

“It’s clean,” he assured her when she hesitated.

“Thanks,” she mumbled grudgingly as she accepted it. She mopped her eyes, then blew her nose.

“Why the tears?”

The question made fresh ones well in her eyes. Grimacing, she balled the handkerchief in her fist. “I’m just tired, is all. I didn’t sleep well last night.” As soon as the words were out, she regretted them, knowing that with his ego, Judd would naturally assume thoughts of him were what kept her awake. Biting her lower lip, she glanced away.

Judd hadn’t slept well, either, but he wouldn’t tell her that. He didn’t trust this woman any farther than he could throw her, but he couldn’t deny the fact that she had aroused a craving in him that he’d kept under harness for the better part of a year. Just his luck to be tempted by another lying wench.

Because he wasn’t willing to confess to his own lack of sleep or the reason for it, he thought it only fair to ease her embarrassment. “Always had trouble sleeping in a strange bed, myself.”

If she heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it, for she continued to ignore him, staring off in the distance. She looked so pitiful, kneeling there in the dirt, looking so forlorn and lost that Judd was tempted to comfort her. He quickly squelched the urge. He didn’t need this headache.

Sighing, he pushed against his knees to stand above her. “Sorry if Baby made a nuisance of himself.” He shuffled his feet, not sure what else to say, but feeling something more was needed. “If you want to verify that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Mary Elizabeth Bodean are one and the same, you can check the records over at the Logan County Courthouse.”

“I intend to.”

Her acidic tone made him wish he’d kept the helpful advice to himself. The woman had an attitude and seemed determined to take her hostilities out on him.

“Come on, Baby,” he said, slapping a hand to his thigh. “Let’s go home.” He turned away, vowing that they’d be churning ice cream in hell before he offered any more help to Callie Benson.

Three

“Here it is!” The court clerk spun the heavy ledger toward Callie and pointed to an entry dated August 1, 1891. Callie’s heart sank as she read the entry the woman indicated. Throughout the trip from the cemetery to the Logan County Courthouse she’d held on to the thread of hope that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Mary Elizabeth Bodean were two different women. But the proof was there before her eyes: “Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Jedidiah Bodean, wed on August 1, 1891.” The words were blurred on the yellowed page, but legible, and they forced her to accept the truth.

Mary Elizabeth Sawyer hadn’t died in childbirth as her great-grandfather had been led to believe. She’d married Jedidiah Bodean, and—if the information on the tombstone was accurate—had lived to the ripe old age of sixty-seven.

Then why had Papa, as an infant, been returned to Boston to be raised by his grandparents? she wondered. And why had he been told his mother had died? The answer was obvious and had Callie sinking into a chair, her knees no longer able to support her.

His mother hadn’t wanted him. And now it was up to Callie to tell Papa that the mother whose death he’d blamed himself for all these long years hadn’t died as a result of his birth. The truth was, she hadn’t cared enough about her son to keep him. Anger burned through Callie for the injustice to her great-grandfather.

“Ma’am? Are you all right?”

Callie lifted her head. “Y-y-yes,” she stammered as she slowly rose. “I’m fine.” She raked her fingers through her hair, but her thoughts weren’t as easily gathered as the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. She looked up at the clerk. “I need to find out more about these people. By any chance, have you ever heard of them or a family of that name?”

The woman offered an apologetic smile. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not originally from Guthrie. My husband and I moved here two years ago.” Her smile brightened. “But I know someone who might be able to help. No one knows more about Guthrie than—”

Callie feared she knew what was coming, because the description so resembled the one Frank had given the night before. “Judd Barker,” she said, finishing the sentence for the clerk, her shoulders sagging.

“Him, too,” the woman said, tipping her head in acknowledgement. “But I was going to suggest you talk to Molly Barker, Judd’s mother. She used to teach Oklahoma history over at the high school, but she’s retired now. Spends most of her time doing volunteer work for the historical society.”

Though she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to Judd Barker’s mother, or even what she’d ask if she did decide to, Callie dutifully jotted down the location of the historical society headquarters, then gestured toward the ledger. “Would it be possible for me to get a copy of this document?”

The woman picked up the large volume. “Certainly. It’ll only take a minute.”

Callie waited, curling her fingers against the chair’s back, wishing like hell she’d never heard of Guthrie, Oklahoma. She’d have been a lot better off staying in Dallas, dealing with Stephen face-to-face and leaving Papa’s memories of his mother intact.

* * *

Callie opened the door of the Harvey Olds House Museum where she’d been told she would locate Mrs. Barker, to find a woman dressed in a period costume standing at the end of a short hall.

“Mrs. Barker?”

The woman turned, pulling off her glasses. “Yes?”

Callie extended her hand. “I’m Callie Benson. A clerk at the courthouse thought you might be able to help me. I’m trying to trace some of my family.”

The woman’s smile was genuine and warm as she took Callie’s hand in greeting. “I’d be happy to assist in any way I can.” She waved Callie into the parlor toward an antique settee while she took the rocker opposite it. “Callie Benson,” she replied thoughtfully, settling her skirt and petticoats around her. She tapped the earpiece of her glasses against her lower lip as she studied Callie. “Your name is awfully familiar. Were you one of my students?”

Callie smiled patiently. “No, I’m a visitor to Guthrie.”

The woman blew out a relieved breath, sending wisps of grey hair that had escaped her bun, flying. “Thank goodness. I didn’t think my memory had faded that badly.” She put the toe of a high-topped shoe to the floor, settled her hands on the chair’s curved arms and gently started the chair rocking. “So, how can I be of assistance?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” Callie replied hesitantly. “I’m trying to locate information about Jedidiah and Mary Elizabeth Bodean. Have you heard of them?”

“The Bodeans!” she parroted. “Lands, yes! One of Guthrie’s first families. Jedidiah made the run in 1889 and claimed himself some prime real estate in what is now downtown Guthrie. You see, because of the law’s governing townships in the new territory, Guthrie at that time was divided into four sections: Capital Hill, West Guthrie, Guthrie Proper and East Guthrie.” She batted a hand, chuckling, and sent the chair rocking again. “But you didn’t come here for a history lesson, did you, dear?”

“Oh, no, please. It’s fascinating.”

“Yes, it is. But, then, I love history. But you wanted to know about the Bodeans. Now, what exactly can I tell you about them?”

“Everything. I wasn’t even aware Mary Elizabeth had married until I saw the tombstone.”

“My, yes, she married. Such a romantic tale. As the story goes, Jedidiah courted Miss Sawyer for over a year before she agreed to marry him. Jedidiah was a bit of a rake. Had his hands in all kinds of businesses, a few of which some of the townspeople didn’t approve,” she added, arching a knowing brow at Callie. “There was also another complication. You see, Miss Sawyer believed she was in love with someone else, then along came Jedidiah and swept her off her feet.” She tipped back her head and laughed merrily. “Although I’m quite sure Jedidiah wouldn’t agree with the term ‘swept,’ being as it took him over a year to convince her to marry him.”

“Did they have children?”

“No.” She shook her head sadly. “Not together, anyway. Elizabeth had a child before they married, but the child died at birth. Times were hard then. No doctors or hospitals to speak of. Usually women helping women through the births.” She knitted her forehead in concern and leaned toward Callie. “Did I say something to upset you, dear?”

Callie scraped the heels of her hands across her cheeks to swipe at the hot tears. She tried to smile, but couldn’t. She was too damned mad. “No, it’s nothing you said. It’s just that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer’s son, the one everyone insists died at birth, is my great-grandfather.”