Texas Angel, 2-in-1

by Judith Pella

  Drying her hands on a cloth, she slowly walked to the door. Hannah tugged at her skirt.

  “Mama,” the child said plaintively. Had she sensed the sudden flux of tension? Surely not.

  “Yes, dear.” Elise lifted the child into her arms as if she could be a shield against the calamity about to descend.

  “Shoe.” Hannah held up her little slipper.

  Elise smiled in spite of herself. She hadn’t noticed the shoe in her daughter’s hand, so wrapped up was she in her gloomy prognostications. “I’ll get it in a minute. Let’s see who our visitor is.”

  Hannah’s little intercession seemed to make Elise feel braver. She stepped into the open doorway and saw that the approaching rider was not Benjamin at all. It took a full moment before it registered just who the visitor was. Then she set Hannah down and rushed down the step into the yard.

  “Papa!”

  The man sitting tall and straight in the saddle of a fine-looking roan grinned, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. He reined his mount to a stop and leaped spryly from the saddle.

  “Ma petite Elise!” His long legs covered the distance between them in two strides.

  Elise opened her arms as he threw his own arms around her. She immediately detected the familiar scents associated with her father— good cologne, fine cigars, and even better whiskey. She felt like a child again in her papa’s tender embrace. Though her father had never been much of a symbol of security to her, he was still her father, and there was something quite reassuring just in that fact.

  When they parted, he stood back a step to appraise her. “Ah, look at you, ma chère!”

  She self-consciously patted her dress, the patched and mended dress she had worn when she first came to the cabin. She had the new blue calico dress to replace the one ruined by the whipping but had not felt much like wearing the gown made with fabric belonging to the woman she had suddenly begun to feel jealous of. After all, Rebekah had had what Elise was beginning to fear she would never have—Benjamin’s love, devotion, and the security of his name.

  “Forgive me, Papa, I look a fright. I did not expect visitors.” She tried to smile, but her confidence was quickly ebbing.

  Her father had always been very cognizant of fashion, and even when they were as penniless as paupers on the street, he saw to it that both she and he were garbed to the hilt of fashion. Even now, after no doubt many days on the trail, he looked quite dapper in a stylish suit—Elise had no doubt it represented the height of fashion in men’s clothing—with a nattily tied silk cravat and a houndstooth checked waistcoat. Handsome at fifty, his hair was still quite black and thick, with just a few streaks of gray adding a touch of distinction. A top hat, tilted just so, was perched on his head. He was clean-shaven save for a thin mustache curled rakishly at the ends. He had always worn one whether in fashion or not.

  “Oh no, ma chère! You are beautiful! A vision! Even in an old, ragged dress you are . . . ah, so like your mother!” Dorian Toussaint had always spoken with a French accent, liberally peppering his speech with French, but he was American-born, a Creole of New Orleans. Elise noted his accent seemed thicker than ever, perhaps a result of time recently spent in Europe.

  “Thank you, Papa.” She knew he had paid her a high compliment indeed. “Now, come in, please.”

  He tied his horse to a post in the yard, then followed Elise, but not before noticing her companion for the first time.

  “And who is your little friend hiding behind your skirts?”

  Elise took Hannah into her arms again. “This, Papa, is Hannah, your granddaughter!”

  “Ah! But I should have seen it, non? She has her mother’s eyes. But I think she has my nose, does she not? What a pretty creature!”

  Hannah dipped her face shyly into her mother’s shoulder, carefully leaving one eye free so she could continue to observe this stranger.

  Dorian made another exclamation when he entered the cabin. Isabel was sitting on the floor playing pat-a-cake with Oliver. Leah was busy removing pans from a cupboard.

  “What have you here, ma chère!” Dorian said. “A regular nursery. But they can’t be yours, not all of them.”

  “No, they are not. But it is a long story. Come and sit down, and I will fix you coffee or tea.”

  “Oh, coffee, please. After being in Europe, I find Americans make simply horrid tea.” With a neat flip of his coattails, Dorian seated himself on the bench at the table. “But first, chère, I must know . . . are you all right? You look wonderful, but . . . well, are you all right?”

  She was glad that he had asked, glad for the expression of real concern on his well-chiseled face. Yet she was not eager to be reminded of her all-too-recent ordeal, especially by the man who, though innocently, had been the cause of it all.

  “Yes, Papa, I am well.” Forgetting the coffee for the moment, she slipped into the bench opposite him. “I admit it has not been easy, but I believe it is, at least I hope it is, behind me.” She deemed it unnecessary to delve into her present uncertainties about Benjamin.

  “You are a brave child.” He sighed, his dark expressive eyes glinting. “When I returned to the country and learned what had happened . . . Ah, chère, can you ever forgive me?”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she replied, and if it was lame, it was sincere. The time for making accusations had long passed.

  “Those animals! Turning you out to the slave quarters, then selling you to him!” He clutched his chest dramatically. “I could hardly believe it when I heard. Ah, ma chère! What you must have suffered! When I went to the plantation, I demanded satisfaction from Kendell.”

  “What do you mean, Papa?”

  “I challenged the filthy cur to a duel!”

  “Oh no, you didn’t!” Elise gasped, her mind spinning at what the ramifications of such a deed might be.

  “I did indeed, but that cowardly pig did not have the gumption to even show up at the appointed time. How you could have loved him, I do not know. And how I could have consented to that marriage, I am also perplexed.”

  Elise did not know how she could have loved Kendell either, but she did know that her father had been all too anxious for the match. He, in fact, had all but pushed her into the marriage, considering it a match of his dreams—money, position, political power. Only at the last minute had his feet become slightly chilly, probably fearing the repercussions of duping such a powerful family. But again Elise remained silent on these matters.

  Instead she said, “I’m happy the duel failed. You could have been killed.”

  Dorian laughed. “I am the best shot on two continents!” Pausing a moment, he added, “Ma chère, I could use that coffee now.”

  Elise rose and went to the hearth where the perpetual pot was still warm from breakfast. She found the nicest cup in the cupboard, which had only a few chips in it, and filled it. Setting it in front of her father, she sat down. Taking a breath, she broached the subject of Kendell Hearne again.

  “Papa, how did you find Kendell? I mean, I had heard he’d lost his . . . ah . . . mental faculties.”

  Dorian snorted. “In my opinion the man never had them. His mind was but a sponge for his mother’s commands.” He sipped his coffee, his little finger fastidiously raised. “But in the technical sense, at least, he seemed of sound mind when I saw him.”

  “I was told not long ago by Maurice Thomson—”

  “Him!” Dorian exploded. “Pah! The blackguard, the scoundrel! Of him also I sought satisfaction. I came here to rescue you and to kill him. But the scum had the audacity to get himself killed before I could get to him. Woe to me! How I wanted to avenge what happened to you, but I was robbed of it all.”

  “I don’t need to be avenged, Papa. I am all right.”

  He lifted a slim hand and gently touched her cheek with a manicured finger. “Tell me that Thomson did not use you.”

  “It is in the past.”

  “Oh . . .” He moaned softly. “I have failed you.”

&nbs
p; Not sure how to reply, Elise decided instead to give her father a chance to redeem himself by giving her information she desperately needed. She wrenched the conversation back in the direction she desired. “Maurice told me a few weeks ago that Kendell became addleminded after I was sent away and refused to have our marriage annulled. Papa, I have married again, and if that is the case, then my current marriage is nullified. Is what Maurice said true?”

  “It is true that for a time that weak-livered fool lost his senses.” When Elise gasped in dismay, Dorian hurried on, “But he came out of it fast enough when he met a woman who was willing to marry such as he.”

  “What are you saying? Did Kendell remarry?”

  “He did. That is why I am certain his marriage to you must have been annulled. She is just a step up from white trash, believe me, but he could do no better after what happened. Even that shrew Daphne gave her blessing.”

  “So our marriage was annulled?” She hardly dared believe it.

  “As far as I know, yes. But if you like, when I return to the States, I will procure the legal documents. So, ma chère, you say you have married. Where is your husband? What kind of man is he? I hope you have done better this time. Are all these other children his, then?”

  Elise smiled, the first time she’d truly felt like doing so in days. Not everything was settled, of course. Benjamin still had every right to hold her deception against her, but if he chose not to—Dear God, please let him choose not to!—then they still had a chance to be together. She felt truly free of her past, free to give the man she loved all he had a right to desire.

  “Let me tell you about my husband, Papa. First, he is a very good man. . . .”

  An hour later the verbose Dorian Toussaint was stunned to silence after hearing of his daughter’s most astounding odyssey in the last year and a half. He sat saying nothing for a full two minutes before finally breathing, “C’est une vraie aubaine! ”

  Elise knew enough French to understand her father was attributing her final good fortune in finding Benjamin to God.

  “Yes, Papa,” she said, “I feel very fortunate despite all that has happened.”

  “But there is still a worry he may renounce you for the deception about your former marriage?”

  “Maybe, but don’t you think God will work that out also?”

  “Who am I to question, eh? It would seem you have a greater father than I looking over you.”

  Smiling warmly, Elise took her father’s smooth hands in hers. “I love you, Papa. And I am glad you have found me.”

  “I have nearly forgotten, ma chère! I have a present for you. Wait a moment.” Dorian jumped up and left the cabin. In a few moments he returned with a package. It was about the size of a painting.

  CHAPTER

  58

  DORIAN DEPART ED THE NEXT MORNING. He had tried to put a brave face on it, but Elise could tell he had been most uncomfortable in the rustic cabin. He promised to return soon to meet Benjamin. Elise knew she could not count on his promises. But she urged him as strongly as she could not to forget his promise about the annulment papers.

  Over the next days Elise wavered between dread and anticipation. She imagined a dozen different scenes of seeing Benjamin again, half of which ended blissfully. The other half ranged from her worst nightmare to . . . well, anything short of a happy reunion was a nightmare.

  Late one afternoon when Benjamin had been gone a week, Elise was in her room admiring the painting her father had brought. She sat on the edge of the bed, propping the portrait against the rough log wall. What a handsome pair her father and mother made. Dorian, proving to be quite an ageless creature, looked practically the same in the painting as he did now, though without the gray in his hair. Elise thought it fitting that her father was gazing not at the artist but instead down at the woman seated in front of him. Elise had always known her father loved himself more than her, Elise, but she had never resented that. It was plain that the one bit of selfless love he had ever offered anyone had been reserved exclusively for Claire Toussaint, Elise’s mother. It was, in fact, the one thing father and daughter had in common. His love was for the woman taken too early from him. Elise’s love was for the mother she would never know.

  Claire Toussaint. Stunningly beautiful, skin the color of café au lait, hair as black as a raven’s wing. Her eyes brown as mahogany, though not clearly discernable in the painting, because they, too, were not focused at the artist. Instead, they were gazing down at the child in her arms. Elise tingled at the sight. She could almost feel her mother’s arms around her now, the touch of those fine, graceful hands, the security of a nearness that seemed to transcend oils and canvas.

  Like Dorian, Claire had also been a Creole, though born of a French father and a mulatto slave. And, like Elise, she had suffered much for that fluke of birth. As a child, Elise had often tried to imagine her mother, but with only her father’s superficial images to guide her, Elise had never been able to find more in her mother than beauty and grace. Now studying the golden-skinned woman, Elise experienced a deep kinship with her mother. And she missed her more than ever.

  Claire would understand rejection for no reason other than the color of her skin. Claire would understand the shame of selling one’s virtue for the sake of survival. Claire would understand secrets and deceptions because she had lived the last year of her life in deception. But mostly she would understand the kind of love that filled one with fear and joy, anticipation and dread.

  Claire Toussaint would, as no other woman could, be able to hold her grown daughter close and whisper lovingly, “It will be all right, my dear. True love will win out in the end, as it did for your father and me.”

  Oh, Mama, if Benjamin and I could have but half the love you and Papa had—if only for a year—I would be content!

  Elise was still gazing at the painting when she heard the footfall at her door. It wasn’t one of the children, for it was too heavy. It must be Benjamin. Suddenly she felt paralyzed, unable to turn. How she wished she could crawl just then into the painting and become the infant protected by her mother’s embrace.

  True love. Would it win out? She had but to turn to find out.

  He came into the room and laid a hand on her shoulder, the warm vibrancy of his touch sending a chill through her tense frame.

  “Elise . . .”

  Desperately she tried to read that single, softly spoken word, her name. But her mind suddenly became dazed. Finally, stiffly, with none of the grace she should have learned from her mother, Elise rose and turned.

  Benjamin gathered her into his arms.

  “Will you forgive me,” he implored, “that I could ever have considered for even a moment turning away from you? I have been such a fool. And I may always be so, but I am a fool who loves you, who cannot live without you.”

  Tears flooded her eyes and strangled her response. “Benjamin, I—“ But emotion choked out her words.

  “Shh . . .” He brushed his lips against hers, softly, gently. “I don’t know what we’ll do about . . . that other thing, but there must be a way for us to be together. God will find a way. He has brought us this far, hasn’t He?”

  She nodded, her head pressed against his chest, still unable to speak.

  For the moment she was merely content to be held by him, to feel the intensity of his love, the conviction of his heart. Seconds passed, and she knew she could have stood thus forever, but she had to speak, she had to tell him God indeed had found a way.

  “Benjamin, I must tell you something. . . .” She sniffed as her emotion calmed.

  “Elise . . . ?” She could feel the tense catch in his tone.

  She hurried on, “Oh, Benjamin, I love you. You must never doubt that, and I will keep no more secrets from you. What I have to tell you is wonderful news. My father came while you were gone. He brought this painting of my mother. He also told me my marriage has been annulled, and Kendell has remarried. Benjamin, we are free!”

  “Oh, my dear!”
he breathed and sagged against her, as if he had been braced for a battle that never came. “Why should I be surprised? I knew God would take care of us.” Then he laughed, a little hysteria mixed with glee. “I knew, but I didn’t believe.”

  “Neither did I. But we’ll do that much better next time.”

  “Next time?” He laughed again. “Don’t you know we will live happily ever after?”

  She joined his mirth. “Of course we will, through work and storms and hardships and . . . our God only knows what. But we will know happiness.”

  Suddenly Elise felt a tugging down around her knees.

  “Papa?” came Hannah’s small voice, still sleepy after having just risen from her nap. “Papa home.”

  Then Leah bounded into the room. She also had just woken from her nap but looked bright-eyed and ready for mischief.

  “Up! Up!” she insisted.

  Brought back to sweet reality, Elise and Benjamin suddenly heard more insistent sounds from the other room as Oliver woke with hearty cries.

  Benjamin let go of Elise only to answer Leah’s demands. He scooped her up in one arm, then, when Hannah also held up her arms, he took her in his other arm. The four moved into the other room in a circle of embraces, Elise still with her arm around Benjamin.

  Isabel slipped from her bed. “Papa, you’re home.”

  “Yes, my dear,” he answered with a look that seemed to say, I wish I had a third arm.

  Elise drew the seven-year-old into their warm embrace.

  “Oliver is crying,” Isabel said, as if anyone needed to be told with the din now echoing through the cabin.

  Elise smiled. “He certainly is.”

  Benjamin grinned. “And all is as it should be.”