by Caryl McAdoo
Remaining at the railing, he watched the crew and longshoremen secure the ship.
The smells of rotting fish and man sweat mingled with the too-sweet and too-heavy fragrance of a lady upwind. Horns, hollering, and a howling dog joined the noises of the city, exaggerating his disdain of the place.
Not the New Orleans of his boyhood anymore. That was for sure.
Soon as they dropped the gangplank, he retreated to his room and gathered his things, taking extra care with his latest canvas. Once back on dry ground, he headed toward the ticket office.
Though he appreciated first class plenty, his dwindling purse demanded steerage. He followed the signs along a row of warehouses.
At the end of one building, he spotted the line and took a place at the end—apparently not the only new arrival who needed to get upriver. He set his grips down and leaned the bundle of canvases against them.
A young woman of color with two small children stood a ways beyond the door. The lady balanced the smallest child on her hip, while the bigger one clung to her skirt.
That she was lost was Ford’s first impression, but on reflection, desperate seemed more appropriate.
HELP THEM
What?
He looked behind—only to confirm what he knew full well. No one there—then to the man in front of him. But that guy appeared engrossed with reading his newspaper.
Who’d said it then?
HELP THEM MARCUS
The thought of helping the little family warmed Ford’s heart, even more, hearing what had to be the Lord’s small still voice. Exactly like Jethro Risen said when explaining how he knew where to find Marcus, wading in his swamp of self-pity.
Shame it had taken all his coin, but then how could he not be obedient?
Three wagons left out Monday morning before sunrise with a total of four freemen plus the three mounted beaus who couldn’t keep their eyes off Francy and Auntie—all just to guard her honor. She loved it mostly, but would hate it all to blue blazes if someone got hurt. If looks could kill, all three suitors would be dead, and it wasn’t even dinner yet.
According to Houston, who acted the boss, though everyone—even Hunter Briggs—had acknowledged Rebecca’s word as law, announced that in another hour, they’d stop for two hours for dinner and to rest the mules.
The padded bench they’d rigged up for her and Auntie in the extra wagon proved comfortable enough, not too hard or bouncy.
If she’d her druthers, she’d be riding horseback with the boys, but then actually, she’d only ridden a few times—and that in the safety of the corral behind the barn.
That hour, Hunter rode on her right beside the wagon with Houston on the left and Bart riding drag. Auntie’s idea worked well so far. Only when they changed places for the next hour did any opportunity for mayhem arise.
But as her grandfather had reminded them all, they were God-fearing men related by marriage twice over. ‘So behave!’ he’d charged.
Francy grabbed the leather strap holding the side canvas up then nodded toward the one on her aunt’s side. “How about a bit of privacy?”
“Fine with me.” Rebecca pulled hers as did Francy.
“May I ask a personal question, Aunt Rebecca?”
“Ask away, but I might not answer.”
“Understood. Mama and all the aunties told me you had like a hundred or more suitors before you agreed to marry Uncle Wallace. They all said they always figured you settled for him…married him just because he wore you down. Is that true?”
Rebecca nodded. “More like twenty-five, if you only count the ones whom Daddy let come back. And with Wallace, no. I didn’t settle.”
Was that a lie?
Did she even know?
The girl eyed her hard, but didn’t challenge her statement. “I loved my husband, still do.” She allowed herself a smile. It had never been an issue until after he’d killed himself being so stubborn. She’d never even considered it, and couldn’t imagine why all her sisters had obviously been speculating.
Were they right?
“I let Wallace talk me into tagging along with him, Levi, and Rose on this very same trip. That’s when I realized that I loved Mister Rusk. I never would have agreed to be married if I didn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to him.” She stared out the front opening. “On that trip is when, according to him, I accepted his one hundred forty-fourth proposal.”
“That many, huh. He was persistent. That’s what all the aunties said.” Francy shook her head.
“He tickled me so. I had it at like ten times, but he always could spin a good yarn. Silly man claimed if he’d gotten to one hundred and fifty even, he was going to consider maybe I wasn’t interested.”
“So then you didn’t settle. You really loved him. I’m glad for that. Mama says you’d set your standards too high because of loving Grandpa so much.”
“Mercy! My sister sure has a big mouth. But she’s at least partially right. I’ve definitely loved Henry Buckmeyer from like…maybe the first day I laid eyes on him. I swear I knew the very next one that I wanted him to be my daddy. That he was the one I’d been praying for.”
“I love that story.”
“And yes, I’ve never known another man I’ve held in higher regard. But….”
Where did Marcus Ford fit into all this ruminating?
“But what?”
“Oh, I just thought this trip was about you and the boys.”
“Yes. I suppose so, but I’m truly in need of advice. Help in deciding who or what I should do seems quite essential. I mean…I really don’t want to go back to California, not yet.”
“Because…?”
“Except….” She grinned and looked up coyly from her heavy dark lashes. “Wouldn’t it be so romantic if one of them came to fetch me like Jasper did Bonnie? But then what if the wrong one came?”
The girl acted so dramatic that Rebecca had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. Instead, she played along with her. “That would be tragic.”
“I know! Whatever would I do then? And…” The girl gasped. “Well, you know about Mama and….”
Not exactly sure what the girl alluded to, Rebecca wanted to hear it all. “Yes.”
“Well, bless her heart. I’m certain she thought she was in love….” Francy looked toward the front. The freedman driving wasn’t paying any attention; she shielded her mouth with a cupped hand anyway. “Just because she was expecting, she agreed to marry Daddy. I don’t ever want to settle for any man.”
“But your mother didn’t.”
“Oh, I know. On the ship coming to Texas to get Grandpa’s blessing, I kept throwing them together alone until she came to love Daddy and not that horrible Clinton.”
Who was Clinton? Dare she ask?
No! It was none of her business.
But that certainly would explain where Becca got her curly dark hair. Sure wasn’t from Mary Rachel or Jethro…or any other relative for that matter. Mercy, why had her sister lied?
For sure and certain then, Rebecca wanted to know the whole story, but how could she ask without exposing her indecent motives?
And…she’d be playing on Francy’s innocence, causing her to be almost traitorous.
Did her little namesake know who her real father was?
“I mean…if you loved your husband all that much, how could you be in love with Marcus now? I know Mama thought she loved Clinton, but she really didn’t. And at first, she said she almost hated Daddy—on account that he wouldn’t sell her his share of the Mercantile—but I knew they were perfect for each other.”
“And you were so right.”
“So why can’t I tell who’s right for me? And what if I pick wrong?” Francy scrunched her shoulders. “Anyway. I’m glad you say you loved Wallace. Do you love Marcus, too? Or is it.…”
Rebecca breathed a bit too hard out of her nose, not quite a snort, but less ladylike than she would have preferred. “Good question. I’ve asked myself the same thing more than once.”
Like she would ever tell the little flap-mouth anything she didn’t want repeated. “And…well…someday when I see my husband again, I’ll try to explain my actions, but so far—other than that one kiss—I’ve done nothing dishonorable.”
“You. Kissed. Marcus! When? When did that happen?”
Mercy. She knew better then went right ahead and spilled her guts.
An even harder breath came out her nose, but then she’d clamped her lips shut. Seemed her mouth was too big for her own good. “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but when he showed up unexpectedly at the orphanage.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you see…uh…well, I sort of threw myself at him before I even realized what I was doing. The instant I did, I pushed away. It was only a few seconds…not even that.” She shook her head. “I apologized, and it never happened again, and it never will happen again now because I’m not marrying him or anyone else.”
“Really? Why not? You shouldn’t have to be lonely.”
“No, I won’t. I’ve got my boys. Besides, I refuse to marry anyone who isn’t a believer. I’ve only been a widow less than two years, too. It would be scandalous to marry anyone so soon.” Her list was longer, but she couldn’t remember exactly what was on it. All that talk about Marcus only served to make her heartsick.
“I don’t know, Auntie. Two years is a long time, and you’re not getting any younger.”
Why the little twit. But truth was still truth. No doubt that in Rebecca’s heart, she longed to have Marcus Ford in her life…forever. But she had to stay strong and not do anything as stupid as chasing after the man.
“Would you marry him if he was a Christian?”
“He hates God. Blames Him for the deaths of his wife and baby girl. So it’s really a moot point. And one of mercy, too, sweetheart. If you could have seen the look on his face when I told him I couldn’t marry him….”
The thought of that pain and the depth of the hurt in his eyes stabbed her, and she found herself lost in it for too long. She shook the macabre webs from her head.
“But if….”
“He’ll never ask again.” Rebecca filled her lungs. Life was so unfair. Her lie rose up and nicked her soul. She exhaled then leaned in close. “A while ago… I may have somewhat... uh…misled you.”
STOP DO NOT COMPOUND THE LIE
“Oh, Francy, you see, I flat out lied…about knowing about Becca’s real daddy. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for tricking you into breaking your mother’s confidence.”
“Oh, she didn’t tell me.” The girl grinned. “Mama and Daddy don’t even know I know, and you mustn’t ever tell them either. After I got older, it wasn’t too hard to figure out what had happened. I mean, after all, my brother and I lived through the whole story. I felt so sorry for her. Made me love her even more. She’s pretty perfect, you know.”
As much as Rebecca wanted to ask about the Clinton guy, she restrained herself. Hopefully, her niece would volunteer more details. But then instead of elaborating, the young lady turned pensive.
After a bit, she shrugged. “I’ve wrestled with telling Becca. Not now, but later…when she’s older. I don’t think Mama or Daddy ever will. What do you think?”
“Bart and Lacey Rose have both known all along about their fathers. Of course, that they’re half-Comanche would be rather hard to hide due to their looks. Besides, for better or worse, it’s a part of their heritage.”
“So you think Becca should know that Clinton man is her father by blood?”
“I can’t say. And I’m glad it isn’t my call. I do agree wholeheartedly that now is not the time, but maybe…when she’s grown. I do think she should hear it from her mother though.”
“That’s what I figured, but…” The wagon seemed to be slowing. Francy swung around. Bart had disappeared. She lifted the side canvas. So had the other riders. “Seems we’re stopping for dinner.”
“What was that ‘but’ about?”
“Oh, Clinton is all. He has a son now. I don’t know his age, but he’s between me and my sisters.”
“I can see where that might complicate things, but your mother would never let any such a thing happen.”
“Umm hmmm. If she knew about it.”
The wagon came to a complete stop.
Her aunt climbed out. “Come on. Let’s see if we can help.”
Older women were always so ready to jump in and help do the work wherever they were, and Francy liked it. Their willingness usually allowed her time to slip off to more interesting endeavors.
But in the circumstances of the trip, she couldn’t very well avoid the chores, so she climbed down behind her aunt and went along. Still, she’d much rather sit back and let the men do the cooking and cleaning.
Kind of hard to see who was making eyes when a body stayed too busy. But Auntie had promised some alone-time with each young man…properly supervised, of course. Though out of earshot.
Fatback, fried potatoes and a cup of black coffee—nothing compared to the dinner spread Miss Jewel put on—but she hadn’t agreed to come along to see to their meals. And Francy couldn’t see Grandpa allowing such a thing anyway.
He loved her cooking too much. So did everyone.
Auntie set her cup down on the folding table then leaned back and smiled at Mister Briggs. “Hunter, you’re the oldest. You may take the first twenty minutes.”
The man jumped to his feet, tipped his hat, then extended his hand. Francy let him help her to her feet then slipped her hand over his extended forearm. She liked men with manners, but.…
Once seated in the two chairs directly in line with the campsite, yet deemed to be out of everyone’s earshot, she looked him straight in the eye.
“Are you a hothead, Hunter Briggs?”
He tossed his hair a bit to the side away then lifted his off shoulder. “I’ve got a temper alright. But who doesn’t? I wouldn’t call myself a hothead though. What about you? You get mad very often?”
Ah, playing her own game. She liked that, him throwing the same question back. “Who me?” Playfully, she gave him a big grin then turned serious. “The incident yesterday at church, I’d place the most blame on you for Bart getting slugged. You seemed like a hotheaded bully.”
“But I wasn’t trying to hit Baylor. Buckmeyer put his hand on me, and I don’t abide that.”
“But you did it first! Do you think he should abide what you don’t? And what about me? If I was to put my hand on you, would you smack me?”
“Of course not! No! I’ve never hit a woman and never would. No matter what she did.” He stared right into her eyes without a flinch and didn’t look away.
She didn’t either. In the ensuing silence, she searched his soul a bit until he abruptly looked away, as though she might see something there he didn’t want seen. “Are you hiding something from me, Hunter Briggs?”
Bart just thought he hated Hunter Briggs sparking Francy! But his once-upon-a-time partner sitting there making nice with his love…well…it was beyond the pale. He tore his eyes away from the happy couple.
“It just is not right, Auntie.” Even before she agreed, he had to look again. What were they saying anyway?
“Why’s that, sugar?”
“Houston is her uncle. No matter what anyone says, there no exception in the law for incest.”
“I don’t know about the law, but you know there’s not one drop of blood relation with Francy being adopted.”
“I know that, but it makes her Aunt Mary Rachel’s legal daughter, don’t it? I mean, so legally, she’s –”
“If need be, Bartholomew, Mary Rachel and Jethro could disown her. They could go before a judge make it all legal, were their daughter to choose Houston.”
Sure didn’t like the sound of that. He turned toward his aunt again. “You’re funning me, right?”
“Maybe, a little. But you must admit, incest is a weak argument. I’d drop it if I was you.”
“Why? It’s all I’ve got to h
ang my hat on.”
“Bartholomew Baylor! Don’t sell yourself short. I’d say you’re riding the inside track. She said herself how easy you are to talk to, how much she enjoys your conversations. And we all saw how she made over you when Hunter bloodied your eye.”
“True.” He glanced their direction. At least she kept a respectable distance from the trespasser. Good. “She really said that? Liking to talk with me?”
“She did. Told me and Mama yesterday evening.”
“Hmmm. She say anything else I might want to know?”
“Now, you wouldn’t want me relaying all of our private women-talk, would you?”
“Oh no, ma’am. But this is different. I mean if it involves me. Or that rotten Houston! How much time does he have left anyway?”
“Another sixteen minutes. How’s it different?”
“Easy. There’s only one of her, but there’s three of us. I need help, Auntie. All the help I can get. I’m about to lose my mind over that woman. I love her.”
“Love’s a strong word. You sure it’s the real thing?”
He forced himself to face his aunt. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure and certain. Lacy Rose held a special place in my heart, but what’s there for Francy is….”
“Is what?”
He shrugged. “I can hardly explain it. The pain, the thought of losing her, hurts so bad. Especially to Houston. You know he only wants her because I do.” He had to look back. “How much time now?”
Rebecca couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “One minute less than the last time you asked.”
“Oh. You do know it only takes one to hang a jury.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before, but don’t even think such a thing, much less speak it. You love Houston as much as any of your brothers, and you’ve been going to the same church with Hunter Briggs your whole life.”
“I know.”
“Well, what kind of testimony would that be? You killing either one of them?”
“Or both.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, Auntie, what am I going to do if she doesn’t pick me?”
“You been praying about it?”
