A Texas Promise

by Laura Conner Kestner

  “That must make it difficult to budget and plan.”

  “I’m fortunate that my husband made arrangements for me. I get a small check every few months. I can always count on that.”

  “Good.”

  “As long as I’m able, I’ll keep doing what needs to be done.” Suddenly the woman looked almost shy. “I was wondering something.”

  Oh, oh. Maggie suspected that the woman was curious about her situation, and she couldn’t blame her. After all, she’d opened her door to a stranger, one with a baby, and they both needed caring for. Maggie longed to tell her everything. But she couldn’t.

  “Is Maggie short for Margaret? Peg is. Do we share the same name?”

  Maggie relaxed. “No, it’s short for Magnolia.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Peg said.

  Maggie had never thought so, but somehow it made her feel closer to her mother now. “It was my Mama’s choice. Her family was originally from Georgia. She’s gone now.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you miss her, especially as a new mother yourself.”

  “More than I can say,” Maggie admitted.

  Peg asked a couple of more questions, but they were general in nature, and not prying or intrusive. Maggie relaxed more and more as the evening wore on. After they finished eating, she helped clean the kitchen and then followed Peg back to the bedroom.

  The older woman went over everything she might need to know about tending the baby during the night—including how to change diapers.

  “If you run into trouble, holler for me,” Peg said. “I want you to learn to care for the little one, but you might need to take a few baby steps yourself.”

  Even with all Peg’s encouragement and instruction, the night was a long one for Maggie. The baby slept fitfully, and Maggie even more so. Each time she dozed off, she’d awake with a start, plagued by a combination of memories and dreams, confused for a moment about where she was.

  Eventually she lit a lamp, which pushed back the darkness but not the memories. She finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, only to dream herself back to the dark, damp room at the asylum.

  The coldness, the hunger, the fear—things she wouldn’t let herself dwell on awake—were real again. Even the grating sound the key made as it turned in the lock, the creak of the door as it opened, and the stealthy footsteps of the guard.

  Awaking with a gasp, Maggie drew in great gulps of air as she gripped the covers with stiff fingers, every muscle tense.

  It was only a nightmare.

  She stared at the ceiling, but even wide awake, it wasn’t just the wavering shadows cast by the flickering lamplight that she saw. It was the mean-eyed stare of the guard, the hollow-eyed faces of the asylum residents, and the wild-eyed fear of those who had any sense left. The resigned faces of the women who worked there.

  Some of the patients had truly been disturbed, even deranged, while others were probably in situations much like hers. None of them deserved the treatment they’d received.

  Maggie remembered the triumph in the guard’s eyes when he’d finally reduced her to tears. Well, no more, she’d told herself that night. No more crying.

  And she would also not show weakness here. She wanted to trust the sheriff and the midwife. But were they what they seemed?

  Peg Harmon, probably so. But what about Elijah Calhoun? Maggie thought back over their conversation. What all had she told him?

  Sleep crept up on her, and she drifted into dreams again. Only this time, it wasn’t the asylum she visited.

  It was home she dreamt of, and her father—tall and thin, his brown hair graying at the temples. She saw him smoking his pipe in the drawing room, then sitting behind his desk frowning down at a stack of papers, and smiling at her from across the dining table.

  Maggie awoke with tears streaming down her face. The dream of home had accomplished what the asylum nightmares hadn’t, and she gave in to the tears. She jumped when a tiny cry penetrated her despair.

  The baby. She reached the makeshift crib at about the same time that Lucinda began kicking her little feet. Maggie lifted her out and placed her on the end of the bed, trying to remember all the older woman had told her.

  With shaking hands she changed the flannel, then rewrapped the baby in a dry blanket and took her to the kitchen. It took several minutes to get a bottle warmed, and Maggie, remembering what the sheriff had said, held the baby close to her body as she paced around the room.

  She murmured soothing words, and hummed a little tune that she didn’t even recognize. Where had that come from? Was it something her mother sang to her? Again, tears sprang to her eyes. But she wasn’t only grieving for her mother. What happened to her father? Why had he let Hollis Anderson send her away? Why hadn’t he tried to help her? Tears flowed freely now.

  “Oh, well,” she whispered to the baby. “There’s no one to see us, is there sweet girl? We might as well have a good cry.”

  As the baby nursed, Maggie dried her eyes against the sleeve of her borrowed gown, and made her plans. She needed to figure out a way to get to Fair Haven as soon as possible, and find out what was going on with her father.

  But how could she get there without being seen or recognized?

  Balancing the baby on one arm, Maggie felt almost an expert in childcare as she returned to the bedroom. That notion fled her mind when she couldn’t get Lucinda back to sleep. Rubbing the baby’s tummy, and then her back, all while humming and walking, didn’t work at all.

  She jumped when Peg spoke from the doorway. “Having trouble?”

  “Yes,” Maggie admitted, “and I’m not sure why. I tried everything you told me. She’s still fussing. I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

  Peg gave her a tired smile. “I should have told you that sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do, a baby’s gonna cry. There’s no absolute foolproof method of childrearing.”

  “Oh.” Maggie hadn’t meant for all her defeat to be expressed in that one word, but that’s how it emerged.

  Peg held out her hands. “How about I take her for a few hours? Can’t promise any better results, but you never know.”

  “Thank you,” Maggie said. “I’m afraid she’ll get sick if she keeps on this way.”

  After she heard the door to Peg’s room close, Maggie tried to sleep again, but it was no use. She finally rose, tugged the trunk away from the wall and eased the lid up. Grabbing a pair of trousers and a shirt, she tossed them on the bed.

  She froze when a thud broke the silence. Something had fallen to the floor. Maggie held her breath, waiting for Peg to return.

  When no sound came from the other room, she exhaled. Kneeling down, she searched every inch of the rug, running her hand as far under the bed as she could reach. The stretching caused her ribs to hurt, so she straightened and tried it from another angle. Even after going over the room twice, Maggie couldn’t locate what she’d dropped.

  She finally gave up and returned to the trunk. She would look again when it was daylight.

  In addition to the garments she’d selected, Maggie found a slouchy old hat and a corduroy jacket. How long had Peg’s husband been gone? Judging from the cut of the cloth and the colors and patterns, it had been a while. It was all much too big, but she would make it work.

  Maggie didn’t mind looking like an unstylish old man. She did not want to look like a desperate young woman.

  Unfortunately, that’s what she was.

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of breaking glass brought Elijah Calhoun out of a sound sleep. He was on his feet in seconds, alert and on guard. It was a trait he’d developed as a young boy. A method of survival at the time, it still served him well.

  He was spending the night at the jail because he didn’t want to be too far away if something happened. Bliss had told him earlier that he had something he needed to “tend to” and would be gone for a couple of days.

  The old man had taken off several other times. The first time, Eli had asked him where
he was headed. Bliss had clammed up and acted all mysterious about his plans.

  Eli hadn’t really known him, and hadn’t really cared. He understood if Bliss didn’t want to work with an untried lawman, and in truth, he’d never expected to see the man again. He was surprised when Bliss showed back up a few days later—never letting on about where he’d been or what he’d done.

  Eli was curious, but since he had plenty of his own secrets, he didn’t pry. Would Bliss come back this time? He hoped so. Eli had come to like and appreciate the man.

  Thanks to the light of a full moon, it only took a moment for Eli to locate the source of the noise. The large window at Martin’s Mercantile was laying in jagged pieces on the boardwalk, along with a child’s chair that had been hanging on a nail inside the store earlier in the day. There were also several women’s shoes, and a whole bolt of some kind of frilly white fabric.

  Eli dodged as a small vase sailed through what was left of the glass in the window frame. What in the world was going on? Making his way to the front door—which appeared to have been jimmied—he stepped through.

  The two men inside didn’t even seem to notice him. Nor were they trying to hide, or keep their voices down. They appeared to be all liquored up and…shopping.

  Eli was trying to figure out what was happening when Big John, the owner and bartender at Finley’s Saloon, stepped inside.

  “What’s going on here?” Eli asked.

  John shrugged. “Not sure, but I know how it started. Over poker. There were five of them to start with. It seemed a peaceable enough game, everybody having a good time. Eventually three of them lost their money and wandered on out. That left these two. All of a sudden, the bigger fellow yells out, ‘You done took all my money. My wife’s gonna kill me.”

  Big John shook his head. “I was laughing at first, then the second fellow declared he was going to help him out. I thought he was going to give him some of his money back—which would have been a first—but instead, he stood up, said, ‘Follow me’ and headed over here.”

  “I’m surprised they could even walk,” Eli said, staring at the men who were swaying and staggering while pawing through the merchandise. He didn’t recognize either one of them.

  “I didn’t realize how drunk they were ‘til all this started. I normally cut them off before it gets to this. But the place was packed, has been for weeks. Lots of extra folks around town.”

  The same thing had kept Eli busy.

  “Out of curiosity, I followed them,” John said. “Before I even knew what he had in mind the smaller fellow picked up a rock and busted out the glass. I grabbed him, but he’s a fighter. Took several minutes to subdue him, and in the meantime the bigger one had managed to get the front door open and stepped inside.”

  “Tossing a rock through the window from outside explains why there’s broken glass in here,” Eli said, “but how did so much glass get on the boardwalk?”

  “Apparently, the tall man found something he wanted to give his wife as a gift, but instead of carrying it out the door, the idiot tried to throw it through the hole in the window. He missed and what was left of the glass shattered everywhere. I had finally got a good hold on the other fellow, but the glass breaking caught me off guard and he slipped loose. Instead of running, he came back in here and started…”

  John seemed at a loss for words, so Eli supplied the missing one. “Shopping.”

  John scratched his head. “Yeah, so it seems. Of course, they ain’t paying for anything. Don’t think Silas will be too pleased.”

  “Nope.”

  They looked up when one of the burglars hollered, “This’ll do,” as he grabbed onto a roll of ribbon and started clumsily unrolling it and wrapping it around his hand.

  “What about a hankie?” the other man asked. “Women love hankies.”

  “Then get me three or four,” the first man hiccupped.

  “We’d better stop them,” Eli said, “before they destroy anything else.”

  “I was headed out to get you when you showed up.”

  Eli grabbed one of the punch drunk gamblers, while John got the other. As he’d said, the smaller, wiry man was combative, and Eli was going to help when the barkeep waved him off. “Tend to that one, this is getting personal.”

  Eli laughed. “Do you know who he is?”

  “Not really,” John grunted as he wrestled the man to the floor. “He came in with some drovers that are camped out near the Brazos.”

  “Ah.” This one was probably staying out there, too.

  They had both men under control by the time Silas Martin came down the stairs from his living quarters. Eli had seen the man sleep through sermons in church, but how in the world he’d slept through this racket was anybody’s guess.

  Rubbing a hand over his bald head, Silas looked like he was torn between crying and cussing as he surveyed the mess. “What happened?”

  Eli had handcuffed the fighter, and then used some of the ribbon to tie the other one’s wrists together. It was more for show than anything.

  Big John filled the storekeeper in while Eli began gathering the items from the boardwalk.

  The next hour was spent listening to Silas rant and rave, and threaten to kill the two drunks personally.

  By the time Eli got Silas calmed down, and the other two to jail, it was nearing dawn. The fight had gone out of the drover. He fell onto the cot, sound asleep within minutes.

  Being arrested had brought a measure of sobriety to the other one—the one who’d worried so much about his wife’s reaction to the loss of his money.

  Studying him, Eli could see that he was younger than he’d first thought; probably early-twenties. He was tall, lanky, with brown hair a little long. Instead of being dressed like the cowboy, he was wearing a tweed suit that had seen better days, and a bow tie. Who was he?

  The man was sitting on the edge of the cot, head in hands. Every now and then he’d let out a deep broken sigh.

  After making a pot of coffee, Eli filled a cup and tapped on the bars to get the man’s attention.

  Anxious eyes were raised to meet his.

  “Thought you might could use a little fortifying,” Eli said.

  The man stood and accepted it gratefully, then perched on the edge of the cot and took a sip. “Thank you.”

  “You and your friend part of that cattle outfit that’s camped out by the river?”

  “He is. I’m not. And we’re not friends. I’ve never laid eyes on him before tonight.”

  “So what caused y’all to team up and rob a place then?”

  The man groaned. “It wasn’t like that at all, Sheriff. This is all a misunderstanding.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Walter Miller.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Originally from Tennessee, but most recently from Blairsville.”

  “That in East Texas?”

  The man nodded.

  “Are you part of the bridge crew,” Eli said, “or the surveyors?”

  “No, sir. Neither one.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  The man took a deep breath. “I’m the new teacher.”

  “Teacher?” Eli let out a low whistle. “They may not let you keep the job after this.”

  Eli had heard that the former teacher had up and quit right before the new term was to start, leaving the Moccasin Rock children without an instructor. The board of education had put notices in newspapers throughout the state. Apparently one had reached this young man.

  “You mentioned a wife,” Eli said. “I’m surprised they’d hire you on, most times they want unmarrieds.”

  “Therein lies the problem,” Walter said.

  “What happened?”

  “The salary is small, but it came with housing. Unfortunately, all that meant is a room at the superintendent’s house. When I mentioned that I had a wife and daughter, he told me I could keep the job, but I’d have to find somewhere else to live.”

&n
bsp; “Not making enough money for that?”

  “Not much, but it was still doable. Since we’d sold most everything we owned when we left Blairsville, we had some money with us. I figured I would pick up a little work on the side, and my wife, D…Dovie, is real good with needlework. We’re willing to work hard. Figured maybe God would provide the opportunity to do so. So I rented a house.”

  Eli noticed the way he’d stumbled over his wife’s name.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

  “The landlady, a Mrs. Dunlop, doubled the rent, after she saw my family. I told her I was married and had a child, and she was all right with that. I had planned on keeping them out of sight until I had a chance to explain. Then we moved in. We didn’t have much with us—our clothes and dishes, a couple trunks, and a bedstead. My little girl, Ruthie, had been running in and out of the house, so I didn’t see Mrs. Dunlop until she was already standing in the kitchen. She stood there with this horrified look on her face. It turned to anger.”

  Anger? “What was she angry about?”

  “She didn’t come right out and say it, but she was looking at my wife, Dovie. Actually, her name is Little Dove.”

  Oh. Eli had encountered Mrs. Dunlop several times in the past year. She had a tendency to want everything to go her way. She was whip-thin, sour looking, and didn’t suffer fools lightly. She was also a judgmental fuss pot. Eli believed that Mrs. Dunlop wanted other people to go to heaven, she just didn’t want to have anything to do with them while here on earth.

  “So what does this have to do with you wrecking the mercantile?” he asked.

  “It sounds crazier now than it did at the time, but I was looking for a present for my wife. That other fellow had the bright idea that a trinket of some sort would make up for me losing our money.” He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “What was I thinking?”

  “I understand the shoes, frilly fabric, and hankies and such that you tossed outside, but why the little chair?”

  “Couldn’t go home without something for my daughter,” he said. “In my mind that was going to make it all better. I am such an idiot.”