by Caryl McAdoo
“Really? Why ever would you do such a thing?”
“Marcus Ford.”
“Francine Myrtle Risen!”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Well then, don’t you dare even think about the Major! That would break Rebecca’s heart if you were to take up with him. She loves him true…and he loves her! What a waste of your time that would be!”
For a few booms of her heart, she contemplated telling Bonnie about her kiss and how Ford kissed her back, but from the tone of disgust and disdain in Bonnie’s voice, checked the keep-your-mouth-shut box.
“But she’s the one who keeps pushing him away. I mean if she doesn’t want him…”
“Francy, no. Forget about that crazy idea. Do you hear me? He loves Rebecca. Loves her, do you hear me?”
But he kissed me back! She so wanted to tell her, but refrained from saying more and giving Bonnie any more fodder. Besides, she’d be forced to admit her own culpability in the matter, so she best let sleeping dogs slumber on the porch.
“Well? Do you?”
“Yes. But he kissed me.” Oh no, there it was. At least, someone knew.
“What? When?”
Bonnie couldn’t believe her ears. How could it be true?
Marcus Ford had kissed the girl?
She leaned back in her chair and looked up and down the sidewalk, then through the café’s window. No one watched or seemed to be listening. Mercy! She reined in her first inclination—run straight to the train station.
But Rebecca planned on staying aboard until the last minute. Plus, Bonnie needed to hear the whole story.
“When did this happen?”
For once, the cat took firm hold on the diminutive spitfire’s tongue. She shrugged, shook her head, and looked away. However, her lips thinned into a self-satisfied grin that Bonnie didn’t care one iota for.
“No way, Francy! You can’t clam up now. I need particulars, circumstances, details! I want to know it all. The whole truth, or I’m going to have to say something to my sister.”
Turning back, a look of concern replaced her grin. “Look, forget I said anything. I told Rebecca I’d go Texas with her to help with the boys and…well… I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did. The Good Book says that out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. You wanted me to know. Truth be told, I figure you’re hoping I’ll encourage you to go back. Now tell me exactly when and where Marcus Ford kissed you.”
Had to have happened before the wedding. It pained Bonnie beyond measure the younger woman got a first kiss before her, but then she wasn’t married and… Wait a minute! “Was that all it was? Just a kiss?”
Francy wanted to slug her auntie dear for even thinking she would have let things get out of hand. “Yes, Bonnie Claire Briggs. Of course it was just a kiss! And if you must know…” She scrunched her shoulders.
Her mouth had gotten her in trouble one more time. Perhaps her young aunt had a point about hoping for encouragement to go back.
But she had given her word.
“I’m serious, and you’re not telling me anything. Now let’s start with where the two of you were when this illicit smooch took place.”
“The parlor. He’d been working all night on the family portrait, and well…it…he…looked so…and I just…then he just…and that was that.”
“Francy, you’re are not telling me the whole truth with all the specifics I expect. Out with it all…now!”
She pressed her lips together and sighed. No way around it. If only she had held her tongue. She’d tried to hold back the words…unsuccessfully. “He looked so peaceful, sitting there in the wingback, resting his eyes. And his lips…so full and tender. I mean you know how handsome he is.”
“That is absolutely no excuse. So you kissed him? While he slept? Francy!”
“Hey…I might have kissed him first, but then he grabbed me and pulled me into his lap and kissed me back. It was so wonderful.” The remembrance of the moment caused her to swoon inside.”
“He didn’t!”
She came almost immediately to her senses and opened her eyes. “Well, he claimed he thought I was Rebecca, but he knew what he was doing. I could tell.”
Bonnie snorted a very unladylike huff. “So. He didn’t kiss you after all! He’d been working all night on the painting, fell asleep in the chair, and you kissed him. Have I got all that right? Is that what happened?”
“Yes, but he kissed me back.” Oh, why had she said anything? Bonnie was getting it all wrong. Tears threatened, but she did her best to blink them away. It wasn’t fair!
Her aunt filled her lungs then leaned in and patted her hand. “Don’t cry. I’m not going to say a word about this, and you shouldn’t either. You know how much he loves Rebecca, or at least you should! Besides, the Major is too old for you.”
“Oh, he is not. We’re both adults.”
“Besides.” She ignored the age debate, grinning. “Jasper and I have been talking, and we think you and Hunter will be perfect for each other.”
Francy shrugged. “Hunter, you say? Is that Jasper’s brother?”
“Nephew.”
For the next few minutes, Bonnie told her about the young man. Probably would be for the best not to head back. Her parents wouldn’t understand either, and the Briggs nephew sounded interesting.
After several questions, Bonnie stood and gathered her things. “Let’s talk while we walk. Still have time for a few more shops before the train if we hurry.”
Ford set his grip down and faced Jethro. “Thank you for all you’ve done. Praise the Lord for sending you.”
“Amen to that.” The man grinned. “I upgraded your ticket.” He handed over a brass key. “Room three-twelve. Mary Rachel sent some extra things. Amos stowed them in your room.”
“Thank you again, but she shouldn’t. You’ve both done so much.”
“It’s a blessing to bless others. Believe me.” He held out his hand.
Ford took it, pulled Jethro into a hug, then held him out at arm’s length. “I’m going to miss you, Brother.”
“Same here. Beware the wiles of the devil. Seems he especially hates new believers.”
“Right. But he’s defeated by the Blood of the Lamb and the Word of our testimony.”
“Yes, sir! And we will not love our lives, even unto death.”
The ship’s horn sounded. Ford glanced over his shoulder. What a shame his love wasn’t standing on the rail, waiting for him to board. His stupid pride had ruined that. He faced Jethro again.
“You’re a good teacher, and I will continue to study Scriptures. Hopefully, the next time you see me, I’ll be happily married, and we’ll be kin outside of Christ, too.”
“I’m praying to that end.”
At another longer blast, Jethro nodded toward the gangplank. “Have a safe trip.”
Ford backed up a step. A bit of foreboding tugged at his heart. He hated the leaving along with the thought of being a new Christian without Jethro and Brother Paul close by, but he had to find Rebecca and tell her his good news.
“Kiss Mary and the girls for me.” He grinned. “Punch Boaz on the arm. If you tell him it’s from his Uncle Marcus, he’ll know what it’s for.”
The man nodded. “Go on now.”
He found his room, then after a quick inspection realized he loved first class. Still, the Risens should not have spent so much money on him.
Then again, if the stories he’d heard held true, God had given them barrels and barrels of gold nuggets stashed away in the bank. Probably they weren’t even sure how much money they had.
None of it belonged to him, of course.
Hey, if they wanted to bless him, then praise the Lord! Brother Paul showed him the scripture that said all good things came down from above. That reminded him of what Rebecca said about there being no such thing as luck—good or bad.
All good things come from the Lord. That’s how he’d put it.
T
hat night after a nice supper—his meal ticket provided—he retreated to his room and read his Bible for a while. Kneeling beside his bed, for the longest, he praised and blessed the Lord then gave voice to his heart’s desire.
“Father, keep Rebecca safe. Soften her heart toward me. Help her forgive me for running off and being so prideful.”
The short train ride then getting settled aboard the new steamer helped Rebecca keep her five-year-old distracted, but as though he would never abandon his desire to be a pirate, he insisted repeatedly that she not forget her promise to write his Mister Marc a letter. Send him all the pictures he’d painted.
But what could she pen? I love you, but… What good would that do?
Maybe she should explain how she’d realized that she had no business even thinking of another man so soon after Wallace’s death. Though that wouldn’t serve to make him feel any better than it did her; the heart would love whom the heart….
A heavy sigh escaped, and with it, the thought of that love rode the breath out, leaving her so empty.
But she had her boys.
Michael and Gabriel were her life. She didn’t need a man to have a good, full, and very happy life.
The evening the steamer dropped anchor in the Mississippi River, Michael didn’t bring up his Mister Marc or the stack of watercolors he’d painted. At least not until Gabe gave it up, and it was just her and her son cuddling in bed.
“Want me to read from your new book?”
He sat up. “Can we send my pictures tomorrow? Miss Francy says we be in Narleans and they have a post office where you take letters.”
“New Orleans.”
“That’s it. Can we?”
“I haven’t finished my letter yet.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Then you write too slow, Mama. Just say hello. Come to Texas. We miss you.”
“Slowly, Michael.” If it were only that easy.
The child started over, drawing each word out. “Juuuust saaaaay hellllooooo.”
Laughter burst into the room, and she tickled his ribs. “No, silly willy! I meant your grammar. When you said I write too slow…it should be I write too slowly.”
Little giggles highlighted her laughing, and her heart soared.
“For sure we can send your paintings from here. And you’ll have time in the morning to do one more if you’d like. The Purser said we don’t dock until noon.”
Nodding, he snuggled in tight. “Read now, Mama, before the sandman comes.”
The boy made it all of three pages, leaving her totally alone in the gulf of silence with all her what-ifs.
Father, settle my heart. Ease its pain. Give Your sweet peace to me.
The next morning while Michael worked on his latest masterpiece, she penned a short note she hoped he wouldn’t take as any encouragement. Together with her son, she posted the rather fat, oversized envelope on her way to see her lawyer.
In her new lavender dress, Francy took one last look at the portrait then faced her aunt who sat next to her on the bed. “Remarkable how much she looks like me.”
“I thought so, too.”
“You going to send it to him?”
“No. I’ll write him. Let him know my lawyer found it. Ask him if he wants it.”
“Think he’ll stay in San Francisco? Put roots down there, I mean.”
“I have no idea. Hopefully, he’ll find a good teaching position.”
“Daddy said he could keep him busy painting portraits if he wanted to do that. He could certainly make a living at it.”
“Mary Rachel mentioned that one morning, but he didn’t seem too interested. I also thought about him illustrating Mother May’s pirate books, but…” She shrugged and stared at the portrait. “I wish now, he’d never found it.”
“Why?”
She leaned out, glanced at Michael who seemed preoccupied with his toy train, mouthed later, then smiled. “So, you get unpacked?”
“Not yet. Want to help me?”
“I’d love to.”
With the adjoining door open, her aunt kept her voice low. “Michael is dead set on having Marcus as his father. I’d just as soon the Major stay out of our lives. Let us all forget him.”
“He’s a hard man to put out of your mind.” Why had she said that? “I mean, isn’t he?” Especially since she’d seen the portrait of his dead wife.
No wonder she kept catching the man staring at her. But not because he was interested. What a fool she’d been. But at least Bonnie had kept her from turning back at Panama City.
“You in love with him, too?”
The question jolted her from her ruminations. “No! I mean…well…there is something I need to tell you. It’s been bothering me, and I think just now, I figured it all out.”
After only a few words, Rebecca pulled the young lady away from the door. Wouldn’t do for her son to see her claw Francy’s eyes out. Then after the initial shock wore off, it pleased her that Marcus—in his dreams—had mistaken the girl for her.
It all made perfect sense. He hadn’t been flirting with the young lady, had only seen his dead wife in her face.
Yet, he still professed his love for her.
Shame the man was a heathen. A bigger shame she’d only been a widow for such a short time.
All in all, the whole affair proved just a shame all the way around the stump!
“Do you then?”
She tried to remember the question, but couldn’t and offered a little shrug. “I’m sorry. Guess I got lost there for a minute.”
“Understandable, seeing as how you’re about to have a conniption fit over the man.”
She exhaled. Maybe she was, but still… She’d made the right decision. Of that, she remained certain. She could live without any man. “So what was your question again?”
“Will you forgive me?”
She’d like to send her out to find a peach switch, but then that wouldn’t be right. Francy was a grown woman, and Rebecca herself had also stolen a kiss from the man. “Yes, of course I forgive you. Especially if you have learned your lesson not to be sparking with men whom you are not married to!”
“What if I’m engaged?”
“How about you ask the Lord, and let Him direct your steps?”
Francy nodded, grinned real big, then hugged her neck. “I love you, Auntie.”
“I love you too, sweetie.”
A little hand tugged on her dress. “How about me? You two got any sugars left for me?”
Michael put both hands on his mother’s cheeks. “Mama, you awake?”
“No.”
That didn’t make any sense. “Yes, you am.” He scooched higher and kissed her lips. “What’s her name?”
Her near eye opened a smidgen. He liked that word. “Of whom do you speak?”
“Sissy! What’s her name?”
Both eyes popped open. “You don’t have a sister.”
“Do so.” He made his head bob extra big. “Me and Gabe rode our ponies and Sissy was crying on account of you and Daddy wouldn’t let her ride, too. But I don’t know her name.”
“Oh.” She scooted up in bed and smiled. He loved it when she looked happy like that. “So Gabe rode, too. Then he was big in your dream?”
He nodded, except it seemed like yesterday not last night. “Brother don’t ride too good, not like me or Daddy. What is her name, Mama? Do you know it? She’s very pretty.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you think it ought to be?”
“How about…” He closed one eye and twisted his mouth around, but it didn’t help him think any better. “I don’t know either. Let’s ask Daddy when he comes.”
Poor little darling.
Rebecca didn’t know what to say, so she snuggled in and kissed his neck until he backed away laughing. Then she grabbed the extra pillow and bopped him with it. He did an extra big roll and barely caught himself at the bed’s edge.
He stood on the mattress and jumped. “Is this the stagecoach day?�
�
“Yes, sir. Sure is. Are you ready?”
He nodded. “Do I get my pony and puppy today?”
“Well, we might have to look around for just the right ones, but your Grandpa, that’s my daddy.”
“I know that. You already told me, but I don’t know him.”
“Oh, I guess I did, and don’t worry. You will love him. Anyway, he can help us. He’s the best horse trader in all of Texas.”
“Want me to give you some girly time?”
“That would be nice.” She looked toward the baby bed. Little brother slept on. What a blessing that baby turned out to be.
Finally, her foot touched the dock in Jefferson. She loved being home, loved Texas beyond measure. If only Michael’s words proved prophetic, and Marcus was coming. But then, it would just break her heart anew.
Daddy indeed.
No and double no. She’d be the laughingstock of Red River County—if not the whole state. Marrying a non-believer so soon after Wallace’s death, one of the most famous Rangers.
The idea of being the subject of gossip or the butt of jokes for years to come definitely elicited disdain, not her aspirations at all. Forget that they loved each other. The old biddies would call him a gold digger and her a cradle robber.
Nevermind she wasn’t that much older than the Major.
Oh, Lord, heal my broken heart.
She stopped at the wharf’s end. Bonnie joined her while Jasper with his little tagalong oversaw the stevedore’s unloading of their things.
“I overheard Michael telling his Uncle Jasper that his daddy was coming.”
Rebecca faced her sister. “He dreamed that Marcus and I were married and had given him a little sister.”
“Poor guy, I figured he would have forgotten about the Major by now.”
“No, it’s actually gotten worse. Besides the ten watercolors we posted in New Orleans, he’s done seven more in the five days it took us to get here. At least this morning—we were eating breakfast—he told me not to mail them; that his daddy was coming to Texas. That he’d be here any day.”
