by S. B. Moores
Reluctantly, Henry took his seat. “Go check on the horses,” he said to Douglas.
As Abigail and Toby sat down, Elly walked over to the counter to help the proprietor.
Abigail spoke first, since she’d been thinking for two days about what she’d say to her father when she found him. “Whether you believe or not, Justin Sterling did not steal your cattle.”
“We won’t know that until we catch him.”
She leaned toward her father. “As God is my witness, I know that now. And you will not do anything to that man until he’s brought safely back to Ridgetop and you prove your awful allegations. I will not leave your side until that happens.”
Her father blanched, which Abigail took as a sign he wasn’t as sure about Justin as he sounded.
“Your loyalty to our friend is admirable,” Tobias said. “But whether Justin is a thief is not your business, Abby.”
“It’s more my business than you think,” she said. “I am carrying his child.”
Speechless, Toby looked stricken. Her father’s jaw dropped, but the firestorm Abigail expected from him didn’t happen. Instead, he grew unnaturally quiet.
“I suspected something like this might happen.” He put his head in his hands. “It’s more of your disobedience.”
Abigail pulled one of his hands down to the table and covered it with hers.
“No, Father. I love you. I don’t wish to disobey you, but I must obey my own heart, too.”
He looked at her with sad eyes, as though he saw her for the first time as the woman she was. No longer his wayward child, no longer subject to his guidance, his protection, or his punishment.
“And what of Tobias?” he asked. His voice was hard as steel, but almost a whisper.
She looked at Toby. “I’m sorry, Toby. It happened before this arranged betrothal.”
“Thanks,” he said, although his eyes seemed to lose focus. “I had hoped you were happy with the arrangement, but I, more than anyone, should have known you love Justin.”
Her father took his hand away and straightened his shoulders. “Well, then. We have all the more reason to find Justin Sterling, don’t we?”
Abigail nodded, but she wasn’t sure she had convinced her father of anything.
“You can come with us,” he said through barely clenched teeth. “I suppose I can’t stop you. And, while you’ve managed to come this far on your own, it’s not safe for you to travel alone. Elly need not go on with us. She can return to Ridgetop with Mr. Douglas. We may no longer need his assistance.”
Elly arrived with the stew and ale, and she and Abigail ate. That seemed to settled things with her father for the moment. But even if she had convinced her father that Justin wasn’t a cattle thief, he was now guilty of deflowering Henry’s only daughter. What penalty would her father have in mind for that?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ridgetop, Tennessee, February 1836
Henrietta Whitfield sat in a cane rocking chair on the covered porch, next to a charcoal brazier to keep her warm. She stared at the carriage path that ran away from the house, across the front lawn to the county road. Portions of the road were obscured by trees, but from her view on the porch, she could see a distance of some ten miles to where the road met a turnpike. The turnpike stretched west, winding through a rocky gap and out of sight. Where it went from there, she knew not. She had never traveled west of Ridgetop, but her husband and her daughter had gone in that direction, and it was from that direction they would return. If they returned. She wanted to be there to greet them if they did.
She had barely touched her lunch. The silver tray of sandwiches and a cup of cold tea sat on a small table next to her chair. The envelope Abigail left for her lay in her lap, unopened. She hadn’t read the letter yet. She didn’t need to. It came from Archibald Browning, and she knew in her heart what it would say. Every word. Just feeling the thick sheets of paper within the envelope felt like a betrayal of Henry, and she wasn’t ready to do that, much less rekindle all those long-lost emotions.
Henrietta had been no more than a girl when she met Archie, but she knew she would never experience that intense kind of love again. When his work took him west, he vowed on his knees to return, and she knew in her heart that he meant every word. She’d insisted on waiting for him, demanded to wait for him, and fought her family hammer and tongs to stay true. In the end they convinced her Archie wasn’t coming back, and the rest was Whitfield family history.
Now, with Henry and Abigail gone, she’d never felt more alone, or so fearful that she’d never see them again. That Archie Browning had finally reached out to her only added to her fear and confusion. What was she to make of it? When she wasn’t worried about Henry, she imagined what she’d say to Archie, if she had the chance. Over and over, she played out different versions of an imaginary conversation with him in her mind. In one version she was the spurned lover, throwing Archie off the porch, telling him never to speak to her again. In just as many other versions, she welcomed him with open arms and gave him a longing kiss, heedless of what Henry might think, shamelessly eager to begin life again, as she was meant to all those years ago. That version made her blush. Caused her to shake her head in disbelief that she could still have such feelings after all these years.
She wasn’t a young girl anymore. Coming to Tennessee with Henry was the best thing she could have done, given the circumstances. It was as much to spare the family her shame as for her own good, but Henry had been a saint to help her as he did. With no news from Archie, she had to go on living. It had been easier to assume Archie had died somewhere on the frontier, full of dismay that he’d never see her again, whispering her name with his last breath. How romantic. But just as often she’d believed that, with too much time apart, Archie had fallen out of love with her and wasn’t interested in coming back. Some part of her still resented losing the life she’d been denied. At what point, if ever, had Archie learned she was with child? That could have made all the difference. All these questions raised memories that Henrietta had almost forgotten. Surely they had no bearing on her life now.
But the letter lay in her lap, and she felt the weight of it.
In the distance, at the juncture of the county road and the turnpike, she spied a single man on horseback coming in the direction of the farm. He was much too far away for Henrietta to recognize him, but behind him he pulled a second horse, this one carrying a number of bags. She had a momentary fear that Henry was returning without Abigail, and without Tobias or Justin.
But no. The man seemed familiar, but he didn’t sit the saddle in the rigidly upright way Henry did. This was a working man, probably someone from a nearby farm. With no one else moving on the roads, she watched the man’s progress. He seemed to be in no hurry and, indeed, stopped occasionally as if to get his bearings. The longer she watched, the closer the man came to the farm. To her surprise, the man eventually turned his horses into the Whitfield gate and paused.
The broad brim of his hat shaded his eyes, and Henrietta couldn’t tell whether she knew the man or not. She considered calling for one of the farmhands, just in case the man had lessthan-friendly intentions, but she didn’t. A man traveling with that much baggage was too burdened and slow to be a highwayman. He was probably a lost haberdasher who needed directions, and he intended to get them from her. She stood up to let herself be seen and brushed a few wrinkles from her dress. She was receiving a guest, albeit an uninvited one. Perhaps he brought news from Henry.
She waited patiently with her hands clasped in front of her, but the man stayed at the gate long enough that Henrietta thought he might go away. Then, having made up his mind, the man gave his horse the slightest heel and slowly came forward at a walk. She tried not to stare when he pulled his horse to a stop at the foot of the stairs, but his face was still obscured by the brim of his hat.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she said. “How may I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Henrietta.”
Th
e sound of the stranger, speaking her name, prickled the skin of her neck, as if she’d just heard one of Margaret Anne’s ghost stories.
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir.” She glanced at the bell resting on the table next to her chair and considered again ringing for one of the servants.
“I know many years have passed, dear heart, but do you not recognize me?” The man reached up and removed his broad-brimmed hat, revealing shoulder-length graying red hair and beard. “I’m Archie Browning.”
Henrietta felt the blood drain from her face. Her knees went weak and she struggled to keep herself upright. A jumble of once-faded memories rushed through her, each one fighting to be heard. Archie’s voice seemed to transport her back to Virginia, where a strapping young man courted her madly, and they were unable to leave each other’s sight even for the briefest moment. That had been so long ago.
Archie’s reappearance had also dropped her into the middle of one of the many conversations she’d imagined having with the man, if she ever met him again. But which version? She’d never decided on any particular one. Knowing the likelihood of seeing him again was slight, she had entertained them all.
She clutched the buttons at the neck of her wool coat and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She considered cursing the man, dismissing him at once and sending him away. That would have been prudent. That’s what Henry would have her do. But Henry was . . . away. Perhaps Henry’s absence had allowed this to happen, but a flickering, almost forgotten ember rekindled inside, flickering just enough to make itself felt once again. It wasn’t quite the urge to run into Archie Browning’s arms. No. And it wasn’t quite a desire to feel the man’s lips on hers, as she had ached for so many times. No, not yet. It was a single, faintly glowing ember she had protected from the winds of time and harbored in the depths of her soul for so long, she simply couldn’t deny it now. Not now. But what to do? She had to say something.
She coughed lightly into her hand. “Yes, it’s been many years since I’ve seen you, Archie. How odd that I should be waiting on the porch when you arrived. Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Alamo Mission, San Antonio, Texas, February 23, 1836
Justin was sitting on a wooden bench near the barracks cleaning his musket, when a guard on the wall at the south gate called out. Someone wanted in. Justin hoped more men had arrived to help defend the mission, but when the gates opened, he dropped his cleaning rod in the dirt in surprise. Henry Whitfield rode into the compound next toToby Johnson. That was odd enough, but behind them rode Abigail, leading a packhorse.
His heart jumped when he saw Abby, even though she was with her father and Toby, but he shook his head briefly when he realized what their presence meant. Abby was in danger. They were all in danger. Why in the world had they come to Texas? They must have followed him. But why?
He set down his musket, caught Henry’s eye, and waved. He was sure Henry saw him, but the older man gave him no more than a stern glance and dismounted. He turned away from Justin and spoke to the men inside the gate. They called out for Colonel Travis, who was already coming out of the armory to see who had arrived. Travis greeted the arriving party, but Justin couldn’t hear the conversation. He had a bad feeling about Henry’s arrival. Surely the old man hadn’t decided to start a new life in Texas.
He stood up and walked toward the gate, keeping his eyes on Abigail, taking in every detail of her. Her long, red hair was tied into a tail with a blue ribbon. Her straight, firm back and the swell of her breasts beneath the riding cloak told him she was well. She needed no assistance dismounting her horse, and she looked around at the fortified compound, probably wondering what they’d gotten themselves into. Plenty, Justin knew. As much as he enjoyed seeing his former lover, they all had to leave the Alamo as soon as possible.
“Justin!” Abigail dropped her reins and started to run to him, but Henry grasped her arm and held her back. Justin reached for her but Henry stood in his way.
“Colonel, this is the man.” Henry pointed at Justin with one gloved hand. “I want him arrested immediately.”
Travis put his hand on the hilt of his sword and eyed Justin. “What do you say, Mr. Sterling? Cattle thievery is a serious charge.”
His jaw stiffened. “Cattle theft? Henry, what are you talking about?”
“Twenty-six head of my best livestock are missing, and you’re the only one who could have taken them.”
“Hardly,” he said. “Henry, you’ve known me all my life. How could you make such an accusation?”
“It’s plain to see. You opposed Abigail’s marriage to Tobias. And the cattle disappeared the same day you left Ridgetop.”
With a chill, he remembered the day he took his leave from Ridgetop. He looked at Toby. “Someone was herding cattle that day, but it wasn’t me.”
“You were jealous,” Toby said. “You hated that I would marry Abby, and you wanted any revenge you could get.”
“I wasn’t pleased, that’s true.” He looked at Abigail. “But that was beyond my control, and I wished you nothing but happiness.”
“What did you do with them?” Henry demanded. He looked around. “Are they here?”
“Colonel Travis,” he said. “You know I had no cattle with me when I arrived.”
“I wish you had,” Travis said. “We could use the meat.”
“You can ask Joseph Bayliss and the other men I came here with. I had no cattle, and no one mentioned cattle when I met up with them in Arkansas Territory.”
“You had plenty of time to dispose of them before reaching Arkansas,” Toby said.
Justin almost laughed. “And that’s why I carry around a sack of gold eagles everywhere I go.”
“It’s not funny,” Tobias said.
“Toby, you should examine your own sins. I’ve committed none against Henry Whitfield.”
“What do you mean, Justin?” Abigail asked. She looked at Toby. “Do you know something you’re not saying?”
“Only that Justin Sterling is a bitter man.” Tobias turned away and spat in the dust.
Her eyes grew wide. “I know you couldn’t have committed this offense, Justin. It’s my father who’s bitter. I’ve tasted bitterness myself over recent events.”
Tobias gave her a spiteful look. “In this matter, you should keep your opinions to yourself.”
Colonel Travis held up both hands. “That’s enough, for now. Mr. Whitfield, we have fortified this mission to protect our claim on this part of Texas, which Mexico has never seen fit to fully rule. But even now an army under General Santa Anna is marching in our direction. They are but a day or two away. The charges you level against Mr. Sterling are serious, but I haven’t heard or seen any solid evidence that he’s committed a crime.”
“I’ll make him confess.” Henry said.
“For the moment, at least, I am the legal authority here,” Travis said. “Any criminal proceedings against Mr. Sterling will have to wait. Right now I need every man and every musket I have to defend this mission against an impending attack. When that business is finished, then we may address your charges against Mr. Sterling. Until then, please take advantage of whatever comfort here we can offer you.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Henry glared at Justin. “I’m not through with you. And you will stay away from my daughter if you know what’s good for you.”
The weary horses were led to the stables, and the weary party of new arrivals was shown to the kitchen for food and drink. Abigail looked over her shoulder at Justin as Henry led her away. The remainder of the morning, her father kept Abby within arm’s reach to enforce his edict against her communicating with Justin.
Justin spent much of his time stalking back and forth on the wall, pretending guard duty. He muttered to himself about things, real or imagined, that Henry Whitfield had done to thwart everything he’d tried to accomplish in life. As he paced the wall, he kept his eyes as much on the kitchen door as on the f
ield over which the Mexicans were supposed to attack.
So distracted was he by his thoughts that he didn’t see Abby come up onto the wall and stand directly behind him until turned around to walk in the other direction.
“Oh!” He almost stumbled into her.
“Good day, Justin.”
They stood looking at each other, not knowing what else to say. He had barely leaned his musket against the wall, when they took each other into their arms and kissed. Long, searching, urgent kisses of two new lovers who hadn’t held each other since their first embrace and didn’t know if they ever would again.
Finally Justin held her tight to his chest, cheek to cheek. Her hair smelled wonderful. Seasoned as it was by campfires and days of travel, it still reminded him of home.
“How did you get away from your father?”
“I told him I was going to the latrine.”
“He’ll expect you right back.”
“Not so soon. Men aren’t well-versed in the workings of the female body. He’ll give me some time before he comes looking.”
He laughed. Abby pulled away and looked him in the eye with concern.
“You didn’t steal my father’s cattle, did you?”
“Good Lord, no. But I think I know who might have.”
“Who?”
“Do you remember those two men who came to visit Toby when he was injured in the race at the county fair?”
“Of course. Who could forget such a disreputable pair?”
“I had seen them earlier at the fairgrounds, talking to Toby before the race.”
“Whatever for? I don’t remember any business he had with those two.”
“I’m not sure, either, but I’ve known Toby long enough to learn some of his weaknesses.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think he made a few wagers with Bailey and Smith about the race.”
“Gambling?”
“Yes, and since Toby didn’t finish the race, I suspect he lost whatever bets he’d made. That’s why Bailey came to the house. To collect.”
