Long Trail Home

by Vickie McDonough

  As much as she loved the children and helping them, there were times she longed to be married—to share the experience of carrying a child of her own with a husband she adored. She laid a hand against her flat stomach. The image of the one man she almost married filled her mind, but no, it was far too late for a life with him. She was already thirty-four, and if she didn’t marry before long, her dream would fade into dust. But was she being selfish? Wasn’t helping the children more important than her own desires?

  Annie’s irritated voice yanked her out of her thoughts.

  “And how am I supposed to weed and water the garden with Mr. Morgan around all the time? And what about keeping an eye on the children when they are outside? How am I supposed to do that if I can’t watch them?” Annie stooped, snatched up a rock, and flung it across the field. “Why did you have to hire that—that—man?”

  Laura bit back a smile. She’d never heard the girl go on about a male before, but then the only men she encountered were generally those they saw in town or at church. The few men Annie’s age hadn’t shown any interest in the young woman they perceived as blind, even though she was pretty. But Annie hadn’t seemed to be bothered by their lack of interest.

  “Are you ignoring me? I’ve asked you something like a dozen questions and you haven’t answered.” Annie stopped and stared into Laura’s eyes.

  Lifting her eyebrows, Laura tapped the girl’s nose. “Ah ah, no eye contact, remember? And don’t exaggerate.”

  Scowling, Annie started walking again. “Why did you hire him? Don’t you realize how difficult it makes my life to have him around?”

  “We need him, at least for a little while. We don’t have the time or physical strength to tend to all the things that need fixing. And besides, with all the raiders and carpetbaggers around, I feel safer having a man on the property.”

  Annie stomped down the road. “But you don’t even know him.”

  “I knew his family, and I remember Raleigh from when we were younger.”

  “Raleigh? I thought his name was Riley.” Annie peered sideways then darted her gaze straight ahead again.

  Laura slowed her steps as they drew near the general store at the end of Waco. “His given name is Raleigh, but his younger brother never could say it correctly and called him Riley, and the name stuck.”

  “Can’t see as they’re all that much different. So did his brother die in the Indian attack with his parents?”

  Shaking her head, Laura watched a wagon stop in front of Sean Murphy’s blacksmith shop at the far end of town. She hoped he would come out of the building so she could catch a glimpse of him. “No, his brother died before Riley left for the war. On his birthday, in fact.”

  Annie caught her breath and turned to her friend. “That’s awful. What happened?”

  Laura pressed her lips together and shook her head. “So sad. Timothy was only ten, and was playing with another boy when he stumbled across a rattlesnake. The poor child got bit and soon died. Riley loved him dearly, and was so upset that he rode off. The war had just started and Riley joined up, and as far as I know, never saw his folks again.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “Yes. I can’t imagine how he felt to come home and find them gone.”

  “So sad.” Annie took hold of Laura’s arm, allowing her to lead her into the store as they commonly did when in town. The scents a person normally expected to greet them when entering a store, like spices or leather or pungent pickles, paled to the overpowering scent of gardenia perfume, which the storeowner’s wife applied with a lavish hand. Laura just hoped Mrs. Petree didn’t go off on her tirade about how she smelled like her store again. She’d heard it more times than there were rocks in Texas.

  “Phew!” Annie whispered loudly in Laura’s ear.

  “Shhh.” Laura fanned her face.

  “Good afternoon! I was wondering if you two would come in, being as this is mail day.” Mrs. Petree bustled from behind the counter and gave Laura a quick hug, enveloping her in an almost visible cloud of floral fragrance. The friendly woman next touched Annie’s shoulder and then the two embraced.

  Annie held her hand in front of her nose, coughed, and moved a few steps away.

  Lifting her handkerchief to her nose, Laura tried hard to avoid gagging at the strong floral odor permeating the air around her. As far as she knew, not another lady would dare touch the gardenia fragrance, because they all had their fill of it whenever they entered the store, and not another soul would sit on the same pew as the Petrees at church.

  “How are you doing, Mrs. Petree?” Annie asked, staring blankly ahead, playing her role well.

  “Just fine and dandy.” Mrs. Petree raised her voice as she normally did when talking to Annie or one of the children, as if being sightless meant one also had hearing problems. “How are those poor, misfortunate children? Are they all well?”

  Laura nodded, cringing at the woman’s snide reference to her students. “Yes, thank you.” She glanced past the woman to the mail slot, relief flooding her to see a letter lying cockeyed in her box. Mr. Morrow had come through again.

  Mrs. Petree smiled. “I suppose you’re wantin’ your letter from that kindhearted Mr. Morrow.”

  “Yes, please. I confess I was getting a bit concerned that it hadn’t arrived yet. It’s generally here by the first of the month.”

  Turning her back to them, Mrs. Petree pulled the envelope from the slot and spun back around, handing the missive to Laura. “Odd, though. It’s not the usual handwriting. Perhaps Mr. Morrow has hired a new clerk.”

  “Hmm … I suppose he could have.” The letter felt lighter than usual. Laura turned the envelope over, and her heart flip-flopped. The scrolling initial on the wax seal was an R, not the usual M. She shoved the envelope in her handbag, hoping Mrs. Petree had missed that detail. Laura liked the friendly woman, but if there was anything newsworthy, everyone in the county would know about it within a week.

  “I heard that you had a man working out at your place.” The woman’s graying brows lifted.

  Laura noticed Annie stiffen, but then the young woman reached out her hand and walked forward, touching the closest display table. Laura breathed out a tight breath. She hated deceiving their neighbors, but they’d played the ruse for so long that there was no turning back now. “Yes, Riley Morgan has agreed to stay for a little while to fix a few things around the school.”

  Mrs. Petree shook her head in disapproval. “It’s not right for a man to live at the same place as two unmarried women.”

  Laura lifted her chin. “There’s nothing improper about it. Mr. Morgan is staying out in the barn’s tack room. And it’s only temporary.” More temporary than she wanted if the school’s financing wasn’t included in the envelope in her handbag.

  “Well, I’m just sayin’. You know how people talk.”

  Laura worked hard not to react to Mrs. Petree’s remark.

  Behind her, Annie snorted then coughed. “Uh … pardon me. I must have gotten some dust in my throat.”

  Laura reached behind her to give Annie a gentle nudge, but she was out of reach. “I should get the thread I need and get back to the school before the little ones wake up from their nap.” She turned and grabbed hold of Annie’s arm. “Come along, dear.”

  Mrs. Petree grabbed her ever-present bottle of perfume and dabbed the gardenia scent behind her ears. “I’d heard that Morgan boy was back. I’m surprised that he hasn’t been into town yet. It’s a cryin’ shame about his folks. Wonder if he got word about them bein’ gone or if he just found out after he got home. They was nice folks, Calder and Emily.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Too bad their son ran off and left them the same day that younger boy died. We ’bout lost Emily, too, that day.” She shook her head.

  Footsteps echoed down the boardwalk, and two women entered the store. Mrs. Downy, the wife of the town’s barber, who also served as the dentist when needed, entered with her mother, Mrs. Black. Both women’s eyes bri
ghtened when they noticed Laura and Annie.

  “Afternoon, Miss Wilcox. Miss Sheffield.” The barber’s wife smiled broadly as she helped her mother to a chair that sat beside the stove that hadn’t been used in months.

  Laura walked toward them, thankful for the timely opportunity to steer the topic away from Riley Morgan. “How nice to see you both.”

  Mrs. Black tapped her cane on the floor. “Next time we have our sewing bee, we oughta be able to finish up that new set of clothes we’ve been stitching for them blind children.” A pensive look crossed the woman’s wrinkled face. “You don’t have any newcomers, do ya?”

  Laura shook her head. “No, ma’am, just the same ones we’ve had for a while. The children will be delighted to have some new clothes. You women are such a blessing. I don’t know what we’d do without your generosity.” She spoke the truth. The townswomen worked hard to keep her students clothed, not to mention the quilt they stitched for each new child who came to the school.

  Annie had wandered out onto the boardwalk, most likely needing a breath of fresh air. Laura longed to join her and to read the letter that was fanning a wildfire of questions in her mind. “I need to get my thread and be on my way. You ladies enjoy your day, and if you can let me know what day you plan to deliver the clothing, I’ll ask Mrs. Alton to prepare something special for our tea time.”

  While Mrs. Petree informed the two women that Alice Samuels had run off with the Higgins boy and how dreadful that must be for her parents, Laura selected her thread, dropped the coins on the counter, and made a quick exit before the woman could mention Riley Morgan again.

  Annie stood at the end of the boardwalk facing the school. The warm afternoon breeze ruffled her skirts and long hair that was tied back with a blue ribbon that matched her new dress. The colonial blue calico had been a wise choice, and the stylish cut of the waistline emphasized the girl’s womanly shape. Laura sighed. Annie was no longer a coltish tomboy, although she did still favor outside chores over household duties.

  One of these days, she would catch a kindhearted man’s eye, and then Annie would leave. What had she been thinking to have suggested that very thing to Annie on her birthday? How would she manage without her?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Riley strolled out of the bathhouse, feeling—and smelling—a far sight better than he had in a long while. Thanks to the inexpensive set of clean, but used, clothing he’d bought from Mrs. Braddock, the proprietor, he hadn’t needed to put his dirty clothes back on. That set should probably have been tossed in the fire that heated the water he’d washed in, but since it was his only other set, he’d taken Mrs. Braddock up on her offer to wash them.

  He untied Gypsy from the hitching post and headed down Second Street, observing again how the place had changed. Waco had only been about ten years old when he had been conscripted, and the town had changed little over the past four years.

  A high-pitched voice that reminded him of a mosquito whizzing past his ear pulled his attention to the open door of the general store. He’d caught a glimpse of Miss Laura and Annie entering the store when he’d peeked out the curtains of the bathhouse while he was buttoning his shirt. The woman chattering on and on sure wasn’t either of them.

  He dismounted at the smithy and glanced at the rickety wagon sitting out front. Two small colored boys chased each other around the front of the wagon, making a wide arc around the sad-looking mule hitched to it. The animal’s ribs stuck out, resembling his ma’s washboard. One of the boys squealed and jogged backwards in Riley’s direction. Riley could see the child’s mother’s eyes grow wide. She snapped her fingers. “Eli, Isaiah, git in the back ’fo’ I fetch my switch.”

  One boy skidded to a halt, but the other kept coming, unaware that Riley stood behind him. Riley held out his hand, and the shorter boy banged into it. “Whoa, there.”

  The child spun around, eyes wide, and fear etching his face. “S–sorry mistah.”

  “It’s all right, but you’d best listen to your ma.”

  The child raced back to his mother, who took hold of his shoulders and stared at Riley as if he might do the child harm.

  He hated ruining their fun, but the boy should be more careful. There were still plenty of white men who would have the boy severely beaten for running into them. Riley wasn’t one of them, but they didn’t know that.

  A thin black man hurried out of the livery with a huge red-haired man lumbering behind him. The black man’s eyes went wide when he saw Riley. “Uh … pardon, sir. I hope my boys ain’t botherin’ you.”

  “Eli, he done bumped into the man.” The mother glanced at her husband then hung her head, as if already accepting her child’s punishment. Riley pulled his gaze from her to the father who also hung his head and wouldn’t look at him. Beside the colored man was the broad-shouldered livery owner, who stood only about as tall as Riley’s shoulders, but his upper arms were bigger around than Riley’s thighs, and his face covered in freckles. He nodded, albeit a wary nod.

  Riley parroted his action and smiled. “The boys weren’t bothering me. I was just enjoying their liveliness.”

  Both men seemed to visibly relax and grinned. “They be that, fo’ sure. Don’t know how we gonna keep them cooped up in that wagon fo’ so long.”

  “Where you headed?” Riley asked, hoping his question came across as friendly and not nosy.

  “That General Sherman, he done issued a special order and set aside some land fo’ us freedmen. Somewhere in Georgia fo’ folks like us. That be where we’s a’goin’.”

  “Special Field Order 15,” the blacksmith stated.

  Riley nodded. “I read about that. He’s giving forty acres to colored families on some of the Sea Islands, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “You aren’t.” The blacksmith scratched the curly red hair on his chest that peeked out where the top button of his shirt was missing. “You look familiar. You from these parts?”

  “Name’s Morgan.”

  The blacksmith grinned and held out his hand. “Riley Morgan?”

  Nodding, Riley couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. He’d wondered if anyone would recognize him, considering how much he’d changed.

  “I’m Sean Murphy. I knew your pa.” The man’s twinkling eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry for what happened. Calder and Emily were good folk.”

  Riley dipped his head in agreement. “Thanks.”

  Sean clapped him on the shoulder so hard, Riley nearly lost his footing. “Let me see Peter’s family off, and I’ll get right back to you.” His eyes narrowed. “That is, if you don’t mind waitin’ a wee bit.”

  “I’m in no particular hurry.”

  Acceptance brightened Sean’s eyes.

  Peter held out the bag. “This is fo’ you. Much obliged to you fo’ looking over my wagon and mule.”

  Sean eyed the sack then took it. The critter inside flopped around as if trying to get free.

  Peter ambled to his wagon then turned back to the blacksmith. “I thank you for yo’ kindness to Issie ’n me.”

  Sean waved his hand in the air. “Think nothing of it. And safe travels.”

  Peter climbed in the wagon, and Riley watched them drive off. The boys dangled their feet over the back of the tailgate, their eyes gleaming as if they set off on a big adventure. Behind them sat a forlorn collection of rolled-up ragged quilts, a few boxes, and a crate with three chickens in it.

  As they turned the corner, Sean swung around, his lips pressed tight. “I sure hope they make it. I tried to give them some food, but Peter was too proud to take it.” He shook the burlap bag, and the critter within chattered. Sean’s lip curled up.

  “A squirrel?”

  Sean nodded. “Not my favorite thing to eat.”

  “I’ve eaten a few of those in my day,” Riley said.

  “You want it?” Sean held out the bag. “Think those blind kids would like some fried squirrel?”

  Riley lifted one shoulder. “One wouldn’t be enough to feed h
alf of them. Why don’t you just turn it loose?”

  “Good advice.” Sean chuckled and glanced at Gypsy. “Nice horse. Looks like a Morgan. So what can I do for you today?”

  “She needs a new set of shoes.”

  “I can take care of that. But first, let me get rid of this.” The blacksmith walked through the smithy and out the back door. He returned a moment later with an empty bag and tossed it across his anvil as he came back toward Riley.

  Hearing raised voices, Riley turned and studied two men walking in his direction. One man waved his hand in the air. “It’ll be the ruin of Texas, I tell you.”

  Sean leaned toward him. “That’s the barber. He’s also our dentist, Kirk Downy. The other man is John Barnsdall, the local gunsmith. He’s new to town since you’ve been gone. Lost his oldest son in the war.”

  Both men stopped as they approached. The barber glanced up. “You there, what’s your opinion of this Freedman’s Bureau?”

  Riley shrugged, unsure just what the man was hoping he’d say. “Don’t know all that much about it. Just that it’s an organization Congress established to help feed and clothe the freedmen.”

  “They’re giving confiscated lands to slaves.”

  “They’re no longer slaves, Kirk.” Sean crossed his brawny arms over his chest.

  The blacksmith may have been shorter than the other three men, but Riley didn’t doubt the others were aware of his strength.

  “‘Forty acres and a mule’ is what they’re calling it in the newspapers.” Mr. Barnsdall scratched his cheek. A black armband encircled his right arm, indicating the death of a family member. “Don’t quite seem right to be giving free land to coloreds when so many white folk are going without.”