by Caryl McAdoo
“Yes, ma’am. Every night and all day long.”
“Have you told her your heart?”
“Uh, well…not really, uh…you think I should?”
“When your Uncle Wallace was courting me...” Her husband’s face flashed before her inner eye, and she had to grin at the sweet remembrance. “He told me first off how how he had been in love with me for years, just from hearing your daddy talk about me and him sharing my letters. Then when he finally got to meet me…” She chuckled.
“What’d he say?”
“The big lug never let an opportunity pass that he didn’t tell me how much and true he loved me.” For a few dear heartbeats, she wallowed in that love, but then the photograph in her mind of him dying in her daddy’s bed of stubbornness and pride overshadowed her soul.
If only he’d let the doctor have his leg, she would never have been on that stage alone and met Marcus Ford.
“Stupid war.”
The boy’s words eased her back into the moment. But Wallace Rusk kept his rotting leg and passed. “Yes, it was. Over half a million dead and countless more wounded. They should have outlawed slavery back when England did, but the hotheads wouldn’t have it.”
Finally, Houston’s time came to an end. Shame she couldn’t read lips. She’d love to hear the exchanges between her niece and beaus; by the same token, she certainly wouldn’t want hers and Marcus’ private conversations made public.
Why did it always have to come back around to Ford?
Silly question. In her heart of hearts, she knew exactly why. A part of her longed to see him again and missed him beyond measure. She longed to inquire of his health and condition of his soul.
Lord knew the man refusing God’s love shattered her well-being. But…time supposedly healed all wounds. Still, how long a time?
Hopefully, one day in the near future, she could at last put the Major behind her and concentrate on her sons and the fullness of her life with them. Not that she expected for one minute to forget Marcus Aurelius Ford completely…if she even could.
No, she would pray for his salvation until her dying breath. Just the thought of him missing Heaven….
Besides, her day in the sun had come, been bright, and set.
Wallace had made his choice, and she had made hers.
Worst of all, Marcus had made his…whether she wanted to accept it or not. But God… Nothing was too difficult for Him. Why, He could even….
Putting all that away, she focused on her charges. Bart talked and Francy listened intently. She sure looked enthralled. Or was that just playing nice?
That evening after supper, Rebecca gave the young ones another round, but to her surprise, Hunter—last that time—cut his sparking short. She held her inquisitive mind at bay until alone with her niece in the supply wagon, preparing for bed.
Without being asked, the boys had converted the space from sitting to sleeping.
What wouldn’t those young men do for the chance at love?
“You and Mister Briggs have a disagreement?”
“No, ma’am, not truly.” Francy slipped under the covers on her side of the overstuffed pallet. “But we did come to an understanding.”
Rebecca trimmed the oil lamp, noted its location and the ready supply of matches, then joined her niece. She loved getting prone at the end of a long day. “So have you decided on Hunter then?”
“Oh no, ma’am. Just the opposite as a matter of fact. You see, he’s in love with another. Only came calling because his grandmother’s dead set against the young lady. He’d promised Jasper and Bonnie that he’d meet me.
Then after the dustup with Houston…well, I knew something wasn’t right. Saw it first thing, and…”
“And what?”
“Oh, he was nice enough, but…”
“Have you decided then?”
“Maybe. It’s so hard to be certain. Still, I’d rather not say anything just yet. We’ve got four more days, and I’m rather enjoying myself. I’ve never been the belle of the ball. Hmm, never even been to one at all, actually. I’ve read about them though.”
“Never been to a ball? Why not? Jethro and Mary should have been having at least one a season! That house of theirs is built for it! And…oh.” Her and her big mouth. How could they host a party and not invite Clintons?
For the longest, Francy didn’t say anything then whispered like she’d read Rebecca’s mind. “That’s what we always figured. And Daddy…well…he’s not much for partying.”
For the next few minutes, Rebecca chatted up Bonnie’s wedding bash with the young lady, then Francy confirmed a rumor she’d heard about her sister and brother-in-law’s wealth with an even softer voice.
“It’s not the money stopping them. Daddy and Uncle Moses have over fifty wooden kegs of gold nuggets stored downtown in the bank’s vault. He’s taken me with him several times when they had a new one to add.”
The girl chuckled. “You should see how those folks at that bank fall all over themselves when we come around.”
“Why don’t they store them at the Miner’s? After all, he and Moses own that one.”
“Vault isn’t big enough, and from time to time, Daddy needs short term loans, and he uses the nuggets as collateral.”
And she thought her sisters were catches. Apparently Francy, Susie, and Becca were just as well-endowed. The young lady talked some more then stopped midsentence and started making cute little snoring sounds.
While Rebecca waited for sleep to find her, she debated whom she thought Francy should pick between Houston and Bart. If either. The age difference really didn’t matter, and both boys had plenty of their own land, cattle, and timber.
Not to mention coin aplenty. But better than that, fathers who would never let them rest on any laurels.
Her husband slipped out of bed just as the big clock struck half past four. May snuggled in tight to Michael. She loved it that Henry would let her sleep the sun up. Ten winks later—or forty—the bedroom door eased shut.
The four-year-old put his hand on her cheek. “Where Papa going?”
“To check on things.”
“Do Indie go with him?”
“Yes.”
The little man snuggled in tight. “Me needs you write me a letter.” Then like only the young, his breathing evened out again in half a shake.
She contemplated the why and to whom until she managed to find a doze. Would she sleep sound again until Rebecca returned?
Same hand…same cheek, but that time, Michael sat on her chest. “Want me to fetch a paper and your feather?”
She grabbed him, rolled him over, then kissed his neck. “Your mama told me about how you wake her up.” She nodded toward the water closet. “Take care of business then give me some girly time.”
“Me already been. Want me go see Miss Jewel and Uncle Chester?”
“Please and thank you.” She held the covers, and he scrambled off the bed. “And Michael, I’ve already been.”
A grin spread across his face and his eyes twinkled. “No, you not. You didn’t even get up yet.”
Shaking her head, she laughed. “Nevermind little man. Skedaddle, please.”
“Yes, ma’am, Mawmaw.”
After changing the baby then getting him to the table for his bowl of gruel, she heard Michael in the kitchen. She missed exactly what he said, but the little cutie had Jewel laughing, too.
What a bright and happy child! The sprite allowed her a cup of coffee before insisting she write his letter.
Her curiosity definitely peaked, but she still would have preferred Henry to be present, too.
Pointing the boy to the far wingback, she sat her husband’s desk, except truth be told, it was more hers now than his. Paper and ink in place, she held her feather out and up. “Alright, sweetheart. I’m ready. Now who is this letter to?”
He scooted to the chair’s edge, held his little shoulders back, and nodded a couple of times. “My uncle!”
“Which uncle, m
an plant? You have several.”
His face puckered and he rolled his eyes as if to say ‘you know.’ “Tell him Izzy and my daddy am stuck in the quarter. Help them like you helped me and Gabe when we got stuck. Thanks, Michael. And Gabe, too, except he don’t understand nothing. Not yet.” The boy looked at her. “Got it?”
“Yes, sir. Are you talking about your Uncle Jethro?”
He nodded. “Boaz—him’s my cousin now. Aunt Mary Rachel told me that. Him says don’t never call him Jet on account Uncle don’t like it one bit.”
“I didn’t know that, but neither did I even call him that. So when were you and Gabriel stuck? I haven’t heard that story.”
“Oh…” He studied her for five or maybe fifty ticks of the big clock. “When Big Mama wouldn’t stay dead. But Uncle comed and got us out of her water closet.”
“Came. Your uncle came.”
“Yes, he did.” Extending his little head toward her just a bit, he squinted. Were those tears causing his eyes to glisten? “Her was gone off the bed. No more blood. Or knife either. She’s dead now and gone forever. She not coming back either, and…” He filled his lungs then turned toward the window. “Hey! There’s Papa and Indigo! They’re come back!”
Her own tears welled. May wanted to run around the desk and hug her grandson, but instead, she remained composed and managed to find her voice. “You best go see. Then hurry back, so you can sign your letter.”
Soon her beloved, with the boy riding his shoulders, ducked under the transom. “Michael says his daddy and baby sister are stuck in the quarter.”
“Oh, Papa, we’re so glad you’re home! We’ve got a letter all written to Uncle Jethro. Michael wanted to ask him for help.”
In one easy motion, her husband swung his grandson down then sat the far wingback with the boy on his lap. “Sounds like we need to pray for the Major?”
The boy’s face brightened. “Yes! Him and Izzy, too! And Mama needs to hurry up and get back here before Daddy comes.”
Ford didn’t raise up to see who belonged to the approaching footfalls. Perhaps the Lord had sent the angel of death to carry him home. He’d have his answer then.
But so far, the only thing he’d heard proved to be a deafening silence. For sure and certain—as all the sisters were want to say—he’d heard the Lord tell him to help that family, but now he couldn’t find work of any type.
So there he sat, staring at his wife’s and baby girl’s mausoleum.
If he had two pennies to rub together, he’d purchase a real fleece to put out. He’d read about Saul calling up the prophet, but so far, he’d not asked, and he’d not seen any ghost or spirit or whatever it was Jethro claimed to have seen.
“Major? That you, sir?”
Ford sat straighter then faced the intruder, searching his memory, then placing the man. “Sergeant Moore.” He stood and extended his hand. “Good to see you. How’s it been going for you?”
The man offered a firm grasp then an extra pump or two. “Never better, sir. I was about to head on back home when I got this strange feeling in my gut. You ever get the knowing, sir?”
“No. Can’t say I have.”
“Well, that’s what I got. And oh man, you’re probably going to think I’ve lost it, but here. I need to give you these darlings.” He stuck his hand in his britches’ pocket and pulled out two double eagles.
Ford backed a step. “Sarge. I can’t take your money. That’s like…a month of wages.”
The man grinned. “Better, but the Lord blessed me beyond measure, and this here is a free will offering.” He drew near, took Ford’s right hand with his off, and turned the coins into his palm. “Take this money, and do with it as you will. It’s yours, sir. And you can’t not take it. You’d be robbing me of a blessing, to be sure.”
Tears welled. He sniffed once. Mercy. Was he about to blubber right there in front of the sergeant? He choked back a sob then managed a whisper. “Bless you. And thank you.”
Moore’s eyes misted some, too. His grin widened. “The day I left for the war, I turned out three sows and a boar in the bottoms. Earlier today, I sold over a hundred head at two dollars each.”
“That’s great.”
“No telling how many more I’ve still got. So, yes. The good Lord has blessed me. And you’re most welcome, sir. It’s good to be a blessing.”
If looks could kill, Rebecca realized her brother would be a goner. Shame those two were letting a girl come between them. But on the bright side, surely it would all be over soon.
What an idiot she’d been, agreeing to chaperone the trip. She could live forever without a new hat or dress to have missed all the drama.
Houston eased himself down next to the fire with a good view of Bart and Francy. For a bit, he stared at the couple as they talked then faced her. “Two questions, Sis.”
“Ask away, but no promises that I have any answers.”
“First off, did Hunter say why he went back?”
“Not to me, but I think Francy knows. They exchanged words right before he took off.”
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Why no, Brother.” What brought that on? Why was the big galoot trying to butter her up?
“Well, I do. I was thinking on it earlier. You were more mother than sister until Mama came along, and please don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite sister.”
So much like his father—who had nothing but favorites. Each and every one of his children knew for sure and for certain they were his favorite.
“That’s nice to know, Brother. I love you, too, of course. You’re my only full-blood brother, you know. What’s your second question?”
“Do you think it’s true love?”
Assuming her brother spoke of his emotions toward the object of everyone’s affections, she didn’t know how to respond. How could she know another’s heart? Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t know, Houston. Only you can answer that question.”
“No, not me.” He threw his chin toward Bart and Francy. “Them.”
“I don’t know about them either. It’s a hard question. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I like her fine. She’s a lot of fun and all. Real easy to talk to and cuter than a new calf, but I can’t rightly know if I want to marry her. Or anyone right now.”
“Understandable.”
“Now, Bart. He seems to think she’s absolutely the one for him. How can he know that? I’m not so sure about that either. I mean…” He glanced at the couple then back. “How does anyone know? Especially with her being so coy about what she’s thinking. It seems real confusing, and I’d hate for him to make the wrong decision.”
“So would I, but we’ll be heading back soon, and you two will have better than three weeks to think things over.”
“True.”
That night after she got all her charges bedded, she asked herself the same question. Was she in love with Marcus Ford, or had it just been an infatuation?
How did anyone know, indeed! Her brother’s question rang so true. Her heart screamed love, but the Lord knew best, and His Word proved plain and simple.
Do not unequally yoke yourself. No exceptions.
Finally Greenville came into view. After offloading their bags at the hotel, the wagons rolled to a stop at the stables in Greenville where the boys swapped mules and took on more supplies.
Her father’s logistical talents amazed Rebecca. Always had.
If only he could devise a strategy to heal her broken heart. Contrary to what the poet claimed, the parting only brought sorrow—no sweetness at all. Poor Bart’s pain was so obvious.
Sensing her brother a bit relieved…maybe tinged with regret, she loved knowing Houston’s heart. Then again, he seemed as confused over the whole issue as she. Love. What a peculiar emotion.
Once all the goodbyes got said and handshakes exchanged, Bart pleaded with his eyes for more from Francy. His pitiful glances would have tickled her if the young man wa
sn’t so grief stricken.
But eventually, the wagons with the boys riding alongside disappeared down Main Street. Rebecca took Francy to the dress shop.
Gawking at the new arrivals and getting fitted for their selections provided a nice distraction, but her niece appeared too preoccupied to really enjoy herself.
The seamstress noted the last measurement, double checked the order, then smiled. “Clarksville, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am. How long would you anticipate for them to be delivered?”
“Oh, three days at the most.”
“Excellent.” Rebecca paid the bill, a bit more than anticipated, but then Francy had never asked for any wages at all. “Fancy a spot of tea?” She resisted the accent Wallace always used framing the same question.
Before Francy could answer, a sorrel blur flashed across the shops front window then slid to a stop, raising a huge cloud of dust. She hurried to the door and flung it open. “Bart! What are you doing here?”
He swung out of the saddle, took off his hat and grinned. “I couldn’t leave. I just couldn’t…not without asking.”
He climbed the steps, got within inches of her, and his mirth vanished as he sucked a breath then blurted it out.
“I love you, Francine, with my whole heart and everything in me. I know you’re the one, and I want to make it official before I go off to Llano! Will you marry me, Francy? Please say you will.”
She clamped her lips shut to keep the yes from escaping. “I’ll be gone back to California before you get back. But if you were to come to San Francisco, and my father proved agreeable enough to give you his blessing… Well then, Mister Baylor....”
In all her days, she’d never wanted anything as she wanted to throw herself into Bart’s arms and smother him with kisses for asking for her hand in marriage, but instead, she held her hands out.
He took them.
“If Daddy agrees, then yes! I’ll marry you.”
He tugged, and her resolve vanished. She kissed him right there on the main street of Greenville, Texas. He kissed her back, then she remembered herself and pushed away. “Don’t you have a load of lumber to see to?”
