by Caryl McAdoo
The smile about split his face right into two. “I love you, Francine Myrtle Risen.”
Even him using her middle name couldn’t spoil the moment. “I love you, too, Bartholomew Baylor, but neither negates your responsibilities.”
“True. Just wait for me, and we’ll go back together.”
“No, sir. Without a fitting chaperone, that just wouldn’t be proper. You take care of your business, then come on out to see me.”
He backed away a step, acted like he was going to kiss her again for a few beats of her heart, then put his hat back on, swung into the saddle, and reined his horse around.
With one last glance over his shoulder, he spurred his mount into a gallop as though he had to get away as fast as possible. As if he’d not be able to ever leave if he didn’t get away fast.
She loved it and loved him. She’d known for a while but wanted him to be the first to say it. Facing her aunt, she batted her lashes. “Think we could find some champagne instead of tea?”
The poet was right after all. While her niece’s sweetness overshadowed her sorrow, it also rubbed salt on Rebecca’s heart-wounds. Would new love always remind her of Marcus?
And worse, what would Wallace think of her longings? She had plenty to answer for already. Praise the Lord she’d hadn’t compounded her mistakes with Ford.
At least, only one kiss tarnished the fourteen-year marriage. Well, and a lot of longings…way too many for certain.
As though her heart cared not one whit for any of her good intentions, it ignored all her decisions—every one—to forget the man and leapt at every opportunity to relish some meaningless memory.
But the stay in Greenville turned festive. Rebecca put her musings away and caught some of Francy’s good cheer.
Nothing like a new hat and clutch to brighten any day; not to mention all the presents she’d found for everyone. She loved giving gifts and needed no birthday or any other holiday to pass them out.
The ride home promised nine bouncing, swaying, jarring hours with eight brief respites at each stop. She hated the thought of it, but no way to get around it presented itself, and so she endured the lively journey, doing her best to keep her balance.
Between the last stage and Clarksville, it dawned on Rebecca.
Someone needed to start laying train tracks all over the state. She’d pay twice or three times the coin to ride in the lap of luxury. Until then, sitting a coach bench beat….
Mule skinning. How long had it been…? For a bit, the phrase took her back thirty-odd years to the grand adventure along the Jefferson Trace.
“Auntie, what’s tickled you? You’re grinning bigger than Michael with licorice.” Across from her, Francy sat the coach’s bench.
“Oh, I started thinking about that first trip to take Mama’s cotton to market in Jefferson. A big storm blew in. Mama was driving one wagon loaded to the gill—eight bales of cotton each if I remember right—and Daddy and I were in the other. An angry wall of black clouds headed straight toward us.
“He figured we best get to higher ground, so they both spurred the teams into a run. Almost a race.” She chuckled at the scene unfolding before her mind’s eye. “Once we were under this big oak with the canvas stretched out together, he told her how good she’d done, how well she’d handled the team like she’d been mule skinning for years.
“Later after they were married and we were back home, she told me upon reflection that’s what turned the tide. Before that moment, she’d been staying so mad at him she couldn’t even see his good qualities.”
“Is that when the bear almost got you?”
“No, well yes. Same trip, but earlier.” Rebecca decided she best start at the beginning, but wasn’t even to the good part when the driver blew the bugle announcing the stage’s arrival. On wrapping up the story, she marveled over what a wonderful, happy ending Mama had...and Daddy, too.
Perhaps, she should resign herself that she’d never have that same joyful experience.
Her boys. They would be her cheerful conclusion. Who needed more? Glancing to Heaven, she thanked God for the millionth time that the Mercy House board of directors had approved her to be their mother.
There was her miracle. Michael and Gabriel…her two angels.
As planned, she and Francy checked in and spent one night in the Donoho, then the next morning, Uncle Chester fetched her and her niece.
From the desk clerk’s reports, it seemed he’d come the morning before…just in case she’d arrived early. She loved the old man and the relationship he and Miss Jewel enjoyed.
Whoops and hollers—and even a fun little squeal from Gabe—accompanied kisses and hugs then a few tears over Francy’s good news. Rose was beside herself anticipating the addition of a new grown daughter and being the mother of the groom.
Rebecca loved homecomings. Trips always reinforced how much comfort the family hearth offered.
That night while she cuddled her son, waiting for sleep to find her, she figured she’d pile days on top of each other, and then maybe…one fine morning, she’d wake and not even think about Marcus Ford’s or Wallace Rusk’s stubbornness.
How they’d both broken her heart in such different ways.
What a truly fine day it would be.
Hurry that day, Lord.
The fourth morning back, Rebecca woke to a hushed voice.
“Hold on to the top. Right here. See?”
A predawn jailbreak in progress! She rolled out of bed and barely caught Gabe as Michael pushed him over the baby bed’s top rung.
“Mama!” Her oldest stood on his brother’s blanket with his hands on his hips, wearing a rather indignant expression. “Why’d you do that?”
“He would have fallen, Michael. What were you thinking? He could have hit his head.”
“No, him don’t. Him hangs there until I get down and grab ahold of him.”
“You two have done this before?”
“Uh…um…once. When you was gala…uh…gone.”
Was the little booger trying to say she’d been gallivanting? Where’d he hear that? Or from whom? “Well, listen to me now. Don’t ever do it again. Ever. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am, but we’ve got to hurry. I wanted to get Brother ready. Daddy’s coming today!”
“Oh, Michael.”
“Oh, Mama.”
“Sweetheart, Mister Ford isn’t coming. Remember? He stayed in San Francisco. That’s very far away.”
“But him is! Sarge got him unstuck in the quarter, and today is the day.” He jumped up and down on his brother’s mattress. The child certainly had a vivid imagination. She had to give him that. “Daddy’s coming! Daddy’s coming!”
Shaking her head, she perched Gabe on one hip and held her other hand out to the bouncing boy. “Come on now, Michael. Get out of Gabe’s bed and let’s go downstairs.”
Unwilling to douse his exuberance, she let his great anticipation pass without saying anything else about it. Didn’t even correct his grammar. She’d seen his letter to Jethro and at least knew why he’d thanked his uncle that last morning he wet the bed.
Poor little guy had been reliving Big Mama’s murder. Hopefully, his obsession with Marcus being his father would disseminate.
She hated it…and all the worse for his claiming the obstinate heathen would arrive that very day. But what could she do except love him?
“Is Miss Jewel up?”
“Don’t know yet, on account I not go down yet. Want me to see?”
“Would you please, dear? Gabe and I will be down shortly.”
She was and of course had hot coffee waiting and breakfast almost finished. Once fed, the little man insisted on keeping watch on the front porch as the sun worked its way across the wide Texas sky. He played with Indigo Blue some, but mostly, he just sat the porch’s top step, staring up the road.
Poor little guy. He’d set himself up for so much disappointment.
An hour before supper, she’d had enough. The child was
as stubborn as either one of her older loves, and the task of overcoming his persistence fell to her alone.
Why, he was going to make himself sick or worse. She marched out the front door, determined to convince him of the truth.
“Michael, he isn’t coming. Not today. Not ever. You’ve got to forget about him. He isn’t your Daddy.”
“Is too!” He didn’t look at her. “Him is my daddy, and him is coming.”
If only that could be true. “No, sweetheart, he is not. Now come inside.”
“No.” He jumped to his feet and faced her. “He loves us! And You love him! And if he don’t come, my sister can’t get out of Heaven.”
“Michael.” She stepped toward him with her hands out, but he dodged sideways then jumped off the steps.
He looked south then froze only an instant before breaking into a run. “Daddy!”
Indigo’s bark and his grandson’s holler pulled Henry away from his house plans. The front door slammed. When would that boy learn?
Before he could clear the library, his oldest flew into his sanctuary without knocking. “Shoot him, Daddy!” Rebecca’s hands flew up. “No. Don’t! But tell him he has to leave. Do not invite him to stay. Do you hear me? He cannot stay! I can’t take it! Please. Just make him go away.”
Henry jumped to his feet. “Who, baby girl? Who am I supposed to shoot?”
“No one, but Marcus Ford is here! I don’t know how—or why—he came, but make him leave! Please.” She glanced out the window then hurried into his bedroom and slammed the door.
“Mercy, just like Michael had been saying all day.” He grabbed his hat and strolled out. He stopped once, but rejected the idea of grabbing his gun. Unless Ford had gone rabid, he wouldn’t need firepower to get him to leave.
He found the man holding the boy a few feet out from his porch. Indigo sat at his right leg, but immediately came beside Henry’s. “Afternoon, Major.”
“General.” It seemed he almost saluted, but refrained. “Sir, we need to talk.”
Rebecca stayed holed up in the bedroom until the front door closed then eased out to the parlor’s window, careful to stay to the side of the drapes and out of sight.
Peeking from the wall side of the curtain, her eyes drank him in and sent her heart into rapping like a woodpecker. Why had he come?
Nothing had changed.
No matter how much she loved him…or wanted him… she couldn’t marry him.
What were they saying? Why was Daddy talking to him? How long did it take to say please leave? Had he told Marcus she didn’t want to see him?
If he had, why was Michael smiling so big?
Please, Daddy, just make him go away. Give him money or a horse! Whatever the man needed to go away…forever!
Her father turned and walked toward the house. Marcus followed. Oh no! Why?
Were they coming inside? She lifted her skirt and petticoats and flew back to the library, shutting its door just as the front one opened. She raced back into her parent’s bedroom, and turned the lock, trying to catch her breath.
Why did her daddy bring that…that…pagan inside?
Maybe she should shoot him.
No. She loved him and didn’t want him dead. But she did want him to go somewhere else, far away. Why hadn’t he stayed in California where she left him? She didn’t need or want the man anywhere around her, reminding her of how much her heart ached. It wasn’t fair. Or right. He shouldn’t have come!
A knuckle rapped on the other side of the door she leaned against. “Rebecca? May I come in?”
“Fine!” She sashayed to the window, arms crossed over her chest, and tapped her foot. He slipped inside. “After all, it’s your bedroom, Daddy. Or should I call you traitor?” She stared out the window, her eyes filled with stupid tears. Why? Why? Why?
He closed the door behind him. Was Marcus in the library? “Baby, you need to talk with him.”
“No! I won’t! It’s bad enough with him being here!”
“He’s been saved, Rebecca. Says he’s a new man.”
“What?” That woodpecker must have discovered a honey hole. “When?” Could it be true? “And how? Did he say?” She left the window and stepped toward her father, searching his eyes. “Are you certain he isn’t just claiming salvation to get into my good graces again? Daddy, I can’t take it.”
“I’m convinced of it, sweetheart. Talk to him.”
Her head shook of its own. “That’s…well…it’s wonderful news, indeed, but still…”
“Are you thinking about Wallace?”
She nodded. How could she ever face her husband again if she jumped right into a marriage with Ford so soon?
“When Charley got back to the Brigade from finding Lacey Rose, he told me something that Wallace had said on his deathbed, honey, and I made Charley promise never to tell you. But now…you need to hear it.”
“What? Tell me then.”
“He told Charley that once he was gone, you’d finally be at liberty to love.”
She fell against his chest and wept. “Oh Daddy.”
“Wallace knew he’d worn you down…told Charley that you’d settled for him and made him the happiest man on earth.”
Pushing back, she sniffled and looked into his eyes again. “Why’d you tell Charley to keep that from me?”
“Didn’t want you blaming yourself for his stubbornness.”
“But…”
“Sweetheart, it’s very obvious you love Marcus. And I believe him when he says he loves you beyond measure.”
Her father’s words washed over her. “Did he…ask…you?”
“Yes, he did, and you have my blessing.”
Tears welled again. She kissed his cheek then pushed away. “Where is he?”
“Waiting on the other side of the door.”
She kissed his other cheek then floated into the other room. Marcus gawked. Her heart boomed as if the beak of the little redheaded peckerwood turned into a sledgehammer.
He knelt onto one knee.
“Marry me, beloved. You are all I want in this world. I promise—if you’ll have me—to dedicate my future to filling yours with joy.”
Michael appeared, tugging on her skirt. “Do it, Mama! Do it now! Get down there on your knees with Daddy and kiss him!”
THE END
Took Rebecca, May, Rose, Bonnie, Francy, and Charlotte all of two days to arrange the wedding. Marcus begrudged them even that.
The reception proved divine! Maybe the best Red River County had ever experienced…even counting Henry and May’s! Over four hundred folks showed, but Miss Jewel and the crew she enlisted served them all and even had leftovers.
No telling what a month’s notice would have brought, but the Buckmeyers’ hosting reputation preceded them. The whole valley knew what great parties the family threw, and in the end, Rebecca’s marriage to Marcus—and following shindig—shone second to none.
The Fords bought the Baylors’ place from Levi and Rose then added on an art studio for Marcus. There, he worked on illustrating Mama May’s Red Rooster, the Gentleman Pirate’s books for children.
Of course, young Michael—not one bit shy—insisted on exactly how each of his grandmother’s swashbucklers looked. Wouldn’t do for a patch to be on the wrong eye! He helped his new daddy to choreograph each drawing as well. The boy’s prophetic dreams continued off and on for the rest of his days.
Now, Bart’s bachelor trip to California best be saved for another telling.
At the 2012 NETWO (North East Texas Writers’ Organization) Conference, my future New York agent, Mary Sue McAdoo Seymour (may she rest in peace) loved the writing of my submission, The Chief of Sinners, set in the Texas Hill Country from 1929 to 1950, with Buddy Nightingale as its main character.
But it didn’t fit what she was looking for.
On the way driving her back to the DFW International Airport for her trip home, she told me to write a historical Christian romance set in the 1800s and she’d sell it. I
did. And so did she! To Simon and Shuster, no less.
From the airport, my husband Ron and I headed to a Taco Bueno where we brainstormed about the soon-to-be-written novel, Vow Unbroken.
Seeing as how the backstory for the Chief of Sinners had been well established, I decided to use the grandfather of Travis Buckmeyer (a major/minor character in Chief) as the protagonist in Vow. Fun!
Yet the new story/stories had to be true to Chief then. A small problem arose here or there, but nothing unmanageable.
At Liberty to Love is not the last offering in this family saga. Gray Lady Down featuring Houston, Bart, Francy and …perhaps a cast of thousands, who knows for sure? But that story will be released in early 2017.
After that, well, I’m not certain…as the Lord leads, of course. But these folks are my dear friends now. I love them and see no reason not to continue with what the Buckmeyers, Baylors, Nightingales, and others in the clan are up to.
So what’s coming next?
The Bedwarmer’s Son will debut in the fall of 2016 as a companion book to these well-loved characters in my Texas Romance series. Brand new characters will have their stories told, but the novel will also introducing two Chief players: Buddy Nightingale, grandson of Charley and Lacey from Just Kin, and a young lady from a new family named Abigail Baxter as minor actors in The Bedwarmer’s Son.
How did this come about?
While writing a contemporary romance—as yet unfinished titled The Pitch—I needed several book titles, as the story revolves around authors and agents. Two happened to be Gray Lady Down and The Bedwarmer’s Son. But the latter begged to be written. While it has romance aplenty, it is a bit different—as most my novels are!
I’ve broken many of New York’s traditional rules.
The story runs two timelines: one in 1850-60s and the other in the Great Depression. Including a murder trial, it offers readers lots of other insights to the time periods, a mystery, and adventures for sure and for certain.
It’s set in Dalton, Georgia, where Buddy Nightingale, Charley’s grandson, is invited to hold services that turn into a protracted revival.
