by Caryl McAdoo
Houston watched for a bit, satisfied that his nephew could handle the gelding. Especially with the pony within the boundaries of the corral.
He faced his sister. “Well? You thought about it?”
“Some.”
“So, you’re willing to go?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s a long trip. Took us almost a month there and back the time Wallace and I went with Levi and Rose.”
“We usually make a turnaround in three weeks, but that’s the beauty of it. We’ll have Francy all to ourselves, unless Briggs gets wind of what we’re doing and volunteers to tag along.” He kicked the dirt. “Pa’d probably let him, too.”
“Maybe I’ve come up with a better idea.”
“Oh, yeah?” Houston didn’t like the sound of it, but she grinned a little, wouldn’t hurt to hear her out. No need to antagonize his only hope. “How so?”
“It’d only be a day extra, according to Daddy, if we side tracked to Dallas.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
“Well, that way, you two Romeos would have our company until that far, then after a day or two of shopping, we could ride the stage back home.”
“Sis! That’s no good.”
She glanced at her son, waved, then faced him. “Best I can do. Mama and Daddy said they’d watch the boys for me for a week, but no more. So…afraid it’s either that, or.…” She hiked both shoulders. “See you when you get back.”
“You and Francy being plotting against us?”
The grin spread wide on her lips. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Because this morning, she’s acting like she wasn’t too interested in going, then at dinner she acted all excited about the trip. Just figured you two’d been talking.”
“I did mention a shopping trip. Told her how much I adored a particular haberdashery uptown in Dallas. And there’s this little dress shop that you wouldn’t believe. Two sisters run it, and they order all the latest patterns from New York and Paris. You choose the fabrics and notions, then they custom make.…”
Mercy. His ears shut her out while she droned on. Women and the stupid stuff they wanted to talk about! Even though she was his big sister, he really thought of her more like a mother than sibling and loved her beyond measure.
It pleased him she’d even think enough to go out of her way just to give him a few extra days with Francy.
Maybe he and Bart could trim a day or two off the return trip, and with them leaving on a Monday, Francy would only be at church one Sunday without him being there.
Hopefully, nothing would happen between Francy and that interloper Briggs before he could get back. He had half a mind to go tell him how the cow ate the cabbage, but….
Hey! Wonder if he could convince his pa to order Bartholomew to stay in Llano for a while? He grinned at that thought, then movement brought him back to the business at hand. Michael had worked the pony into an easy trot, but seemed to be comfortable enough with it.
“Doing good there, Mic.” For sure and certain, his father was the best horse trader around those parts. Frisco’s silver dappled coat shone in the sun, and he seemed the perfectly mannered mount for Houston’s little greenhorn nephew. “Push a little against your stirrups, and you won’t bounce so much.”
The child took to it immediately.
“It’s called posting, Michael.” His mother looked as if she might burst with pride.
Henry didn’t count the shindig’s cost, but it had to be over the price of a right nice herd of fatlings. At least Jethro Risen hadn’t sent him a bill for his baby’s California wedding. Good man that Jethro.
Shame Bonnie couldn’t have put Jasper off for another year. Henry could have doubled their nuptial celebration with a pounding for the Llano house.
Except then he would have had to pay stage fare for the whole Briggs clan.
He put the financial cogitations away. From the sounds of it, and the guard hairs on Indigo’s neck, a new flurry of celebrants were arriving. He held his hand out, fingers up, toward the mutt. “Stay.” Without a look back, he hurried out of his library to greet the new round of guests.
Like he figured, half the county eventually showed up at his front door, but then his wife’s hostessing abilities proved legendary. She always served copious amounts of excellent food, hired the best musicians in the state for lively music, and offered merriment aplenty.
Who wouldn’t want to attend?
Way past his bedtime, he saw off the last guest not spending the night before he retreated to his library.
Michael sat his mama’s lap in the far wingback, mesmerized by his grandmother’s reading from another one of her pirate books.
How did his love ever think of so many stories? She’d never been a pirate, after all. Henry took the other seat and grinned at his oldest. She smiled then mouthed, “Is he asleep?”
He shook his head.
Reading on for a few minutes, when the little man’s eyes finally shut, she slowed each word down then stopped all together. “Put him in our bed.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. Let’s see how he does, waking up with us.”
Though not too keen on the idea, he’d given his word to watch the boys for a week. Didn’t realize then that entailed the four-year-old in his bed.
The boy gasped once, then sat up in his mother’s lap. “Daddy, come quick! Mama’s been….” He looked right at Henry, nodded like everything was fine, then leaned back against his mama. He settled with a long exhale, and his chin dropped to his chest.
“I saw him fussing at you earlier.”
“Yes, sir. He didn’t like me dancing with anyone but him or you.”
Henry glanced at his wife then back to his daughter. “Poor guy. Maybe when that pup I found for him gets weaned, he’ll forget about the Major.”
“Hopefully.”
The new distraction might help her son, but what balm—if one even existed—might soothe Rebecca’s soul? She completely understood the boy dreaming about Marcus.
Hardly a night passed without the Major’s coming to call, but those unhappy visits all ended the same—with her running away and him begging her to stay.
Next day, Sunday services were poorly attended. Tickled her some that after the meeting the preacher took her daddy to task for keeping his parishioners out too late. He’d left early before the reception truly got under way.
But that admonishment ended abruptly when the fight broke out.
Rebecca lifted her hem and petticoats off the ground and hurried toward the growing crowd behind the arbor. Her father reached the outer ring first, and the folks parted like the Red Sea just as Hunter’s right fist missed Houston’s chin but connected squarely with Bart’s left eye.
His head flew back, knocking him into the onlookers.
Rose pushed by, mere steps behind Levi. “Bartholomew!”
Grabbing her brother, Daddy pulled him away from the Briggs’ boy, whose fists remained up and at the ready, though he’d exercised the good sense not to throw another punch. Levi stood between Briggs and and Bart.
“That’s enough.” He glared at them both, shaking his head. “Go on. This is over.”
Hunter lowered his hands then backed away a step. “Yes, sir. But they started it.”
“Liar!” Bart covered his reddening eye while his mother kept trying to move his hand, obviously for a more thorough examination. It already looked awful.
“God’ll get you for bearing false witness, Hunter Briggs!” Houston jerked his arm away from his father’s hold.
His father faced him. “It’s over, Son. Makes no difference who got it going.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rebecca stepped in closer. Bart sat on the grass looking rather self-satisfied, while Francy daubed her hanky at his swelling eye and bloody cheek.
What a mess.
Bad blood and hard feelings no one needed. The two families, already doubled married, couldn’t afford any lasting offens
es. She sighed. Why did those three boys all have to have their caps set for the same young lady?
At least only a fist fight had ensued. She met Rose’s eyes and shook her head in unison with her sister-in-law.
Praise God no one produced knives or firearms. Foolish boys!
Guns made her remember the Sunday her daddy got shot right there on the church grounds. She thought he’d been killed. The thought stung her heart anew.
Bless God, the boys’ folly hadn’t come to that.
A heart-to-heart with her niece seemed in order, and the sooner, the better. Francy should pick one of the boys, or none. But her leading on all three had to stop.
If only a good strapping or even a month of KP could solve his problem; Henry knew better though. And as much as he wanted to blame his adopted granddaughter for the whole debacle, she only did what young ladies had been doing forever.
Those boys of his—and the Briggs’ son, too—caused all the trouble.
He leaned back in his chair and looked across his desk at Houston, then Bart. “How’s your eye, Son?” It looked like a swollen, purple and blue muddle, and he couldn’t imagine how the boy could see out of it.
“Hurts some, but I think the poultice Miss Jewel mixed up is helping. Seems to me the swelling’s been going down steady.”
Looked more like steady growing to him, but…. “See good enough to ride?”
“Oh yes, sir. Definitely.”
Houston scooted to the edge of the wingback. “Pa, Hunter started it, truly. All I did was push him back a little, then he –”
A stern look stopped the narrative. He’d heard the whole story from several reliable witnesses. “I do not need a rehash of the fisticuffs. What I want to know is what was said to set Hunter off?”
“Well. Uh… Pa, he was being an idiot.” Houston looked to his cousin. “Wasn’t he, Bart?”
“For sure and for certain as mama would say. Yes, sir! He claimed he had the right, but we both said no he did not.” He glanced over at his partner. “Didn’t we, Houston?”
“Yes, sir. We was standing together against it, me and Bart. Then Hunter got all mad.”
Henry wanted to laugh, but kept his face like flint. The two had been doing it to him their whole lives, dodging and weaving whenever they got into a scrape.
Might be mortal enemies when just the two of them, but throw in a third and they became best partners. “Had a right to do what?”
“Come with us to Dallas! Can you believe it?”
“Yeah, the nerve. Who does he think he is?”
“He said Rebecca and Francy needed an escort on their ride back since we was going on to Llano. Claimed it wouldn’t be safe for them.”
“But we told him he was full of it, and he couldn’t ride along with us.”
“On account of how he wasn’t welcome.” Houston leaned back like his final statement settled everything—as though he and his cousin hadn’t done anything…completely innocent of wrong doing.
“Yes, sir. That’s when that dumb buttinsky bowed up to Houston. I was just standing there, minding my own business. Next thing I know, I’m seeing stars, and Francy is doctoring my eye. That part was wonderful, by the way.” He glared at his cohort. “Sure seems to me that she’s made her choice.”
“Oh, you’ve got bats in the belfry, young Bartholomew. Don’t go showing off your ignorance now.” He met his father’s eyes. “She hasn’t done nothing of the sorts. Francy was just being kind and neighborly. Tell him that don’t mean a thing.”
“Mercy, you two. I ought to not let her go at all, but she didn’t do anything wrong. And if Hunter wants to go, it’s a free country, boys. And if he or anyone else wants to share your camp or company along the way—so long as they remain peaceful—you will keep your good manners and welcome them.”
“Pa, does he have to?”
“I told his grandmother if he wants to, he could. And you two better not cause any trouble.” He kept Houston’s gaze until the boy looked away.
“Yes, sir. But just like at the church…we can’t be held responsible if he starts something.”
“Guess you could stay here. That what I need to do for there to be peace?”
“No, sir. Not at all, sir.”
He turned his attention to Bart.
“Yes, sir. We’ll keep the peace best we can, Uncle. Right, Houston?”
“Right.”
Just above the men’s heads, in the upstairs bedroom Rebecca’s littlest sister Charlotte had so graciously surrendered, another confab was underway.
As with most of their gatherings, ladies preferred to beating around the dogwood…then the cedar tree that guarded it…and so on. Mother May carried the conversation with direct questions whenever anyone took too long of a breath.
Finally, she must have figured there had been enough small talk and shot Rebecca the go ahead. She set her tea cup in its matching saucer and faced Francy. “Should we read anything into you fussing over Bart so much this afternoon?”
The corners of the young lady’s mouth turned downward, and she pouted her bottom lip as if pleading ignorance, but her eyes spoke louder. Hard to tell, though, if true love lingered there or something else.
“You see…I do really like Bart. It certainly wasn’t as if he asked to be slugged. Certainly not on my account.” The fingers of one hand splayed across her chest.
“That doesn’t answer my question. You came to meet the Briggs’ son… Are you leaning toward him then?”
She grinned. “Well, I can’t rightly say. Hunter certainly acted the fool, didn’t he? Wouldn’t you agree that he’s a bit of a hothead? I mean, I don’t know if he’d be a good match. What do you think?”
“Was he? I know Daddy never took kindly to anyone putting their hands on him, and all the reports are that Houston shoved him.” Why ever was she defending Mister Briggs?
With a tilt of her head, Francy looked into the corner of the ceiling then nodded.
“Maybe so, but only after Hunter pushed him first. Besides, your brother was only protecting what he counts his. Not that I am, mind you. But well, he acts like it. He acts like the king of the castle and that no one should be challenging him. I kind of like that. Anyway, what do you two think?”
Shrugging, Rebecca looked to her stepmother.
“You’re the one who needs to decide, Francy. From what I understand, you came looking for a match. You need to decide who suits you best before someone gets hurt—or worse.”
“Oh my. It could never come to that! Could it? Do you really think –”
“It makes no difference what Mama thinks—or me either. You need to decide, Francy!”
“I agree anything like that would be terrible. We’re all kin either by blood or marriage, and no one needs this.” Francy stood and moved toward the window, looking out when she got there. “It will be good to get away for a few days. Shopping might help me take my mind off the three of them for a while.”
“Well, hopefully, you can at least whittle the number down to one during this trip. If you can’t pick a beau yet, you can at least tell one of them to stop coming around.”
Francy didn’t know if she could agree. She’d never enjoyed three men fighting over her before. Not that she considered herself a prize to be won, but evidently, the men did. And to be honest…it’d been more than a little thrilling.
Poor Bart. From where she stood, while the other two flashed hot, it seemed to her, he tried to be the voice of reason. She could talk with him for hours and loved that about him.
She looked first at her aunt then to the only grandmother she’d ever known. “I don’t know if that’ll work.”
“Why not, sweetheart?”
“Well, it’s like Bart and Houston are joined at the hip. Hunter is older and rather handsome, but if I was to narrow it down to, say him and one of my cousins-by-adoption…except Houston is really my uncle.”
“Technically, but….”
“Bart teases me that it would be
incest if I chose to marry an uncle.” She grinned. “He also says him being half-Comanche should seal the deal.”
Her grandmother chuckled. “How does he figure that makes a difference?”
“Because he says the People know how to treat a woman.”
Auntie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You do know that he’s never lived with the People to know how the braves treat anyone. Right?”
“Yes, but Charley did, and Bart says his big brother told him all about it.”
“Hasn’t Houston heard the same stories?”
“Probably. I guess anyway. But Bart says him being a paleface…it doesn’t count. It wouldn’t really be incest, would it? Me and Houston.”
“No, of course not. If your heart is telling you to choose Houston, there’s not a reason in the world the fact he’s your adopted mother’s little brother should stop you.”
“Good, that’s what he’s been saying, but I’ve been afraid of asking.” Francy exhaled. She’d hate to cut Houston out of the running. He was so manly and strong and confident. “It’s so hard.”
“I know it is, but a choice needs to be made. Pray about it, Francy.”
“That’s true. Still, each one of them has so many wonderful qualities I truly love. Seems to me like any of the three would make a wonderful husband. How can I choose and break someone’s heart? Or two someones?”
“Well, here’s what we’ll do. If you cannot choose by the time the boys get home after our trip to Dallas, I’m thinking it may be best for you to go back home. Absence makes the heart grow fonder is what the poets say. Maybe once there, you’ll know more clearly whom your heart is missing the most.”
She liked that idea, but what in the world would she do if two of them came chasing after her?
So much had changed in Ford’s life, even to the city of his birth. Once he’d loved the town. After the deaths of his wife and baby girl though, he’d sworn never to return. Yet there New Orleans stood again.
Half a mile or so from the city’s wharf, the steamer’s big wheel slowed, came to a complete stop, then reversed itself.
