He watched as her pudgy fingers picked out each piece of her prize and she announced its significance. With the blue ribbon, which she laid across his leg as if it were made of the grandest silk, she declared, “This was Mama’s favorite color.”
Choking back the lump in his throat, Travis nodded, which was received with great appreciation by the little girl who continued with her explanation, “She told me in a dream once that she is beyond the blue sky and I should always remember that if I am sad or lonely, I should look up and she will make me feel better.”
“And do you do that when you are sad or lonely?” Travis found the voice to ask as he stroked her coal black hair.
“Only in the day. At night, there is no blue sky so I hold this to my heart and I look at the stars.”
She pulled out Melody’s engagement ring and held it to her chest to emphasize her words. Then, she raised her long lashes to look up at him with her full lips turned down in a frown as she added, “Miss Abigail said that I should give this to you.”
With a heavy heart at his daughter’s sadness at losing what must have meant so much to her, he shook his head and closed her tiny fingers around the ring and told her with a soft and loving voice, “I’m sure Mama would want you to keep it.”
Hannah’s eyes lit up and a wide smile brightened her face. With more animation, she slid the ring onto her thumb and continued her explanation of the contents of her treasure box.
“This,” she said with a sideways glance at him. “This is my Poppy’s favorite thing.”
Travis let her place the golden object into his palm and he marveled at the way it still gleamed in the sunlight. The watch that his father had given him as a boy still ticked its merry yet monotonous tune after all these years.
“I kept it winded for you,” she explained in her little girl voice.
“You did such a good job, Hannah,” Travis said in amazement as he flipped the lid and tripped the latch to start the melody that he had not heard since he was fifteen.
“It’s my favorite song,” she said as she tipped her curly head back and forth in time with the music. “I play it every night before I go to sleep. It helps me to remember that you will come back some day and now, you’re here.”
With as much maturity as she knew how to show, she imitated him by closing his fingers around the watch and said, “So I don’t need it anymore.”
Travis’ eyes welled up with her words but he blinked away the tears and smiled warmly as he said, “I am here.”
As he tucked the watch into his shirt pocket, he watched her pick through the remaining items and then she removed a lock of silken black hair, which was tied with a ribbon that matched the first one that she had taken out of the box. As if he should already know, and he certainly did know, she announced, “It’s a lock of Mama’s hair.”
She placed it gingerly in his hand and then reached up to catch a tear that slipped onto his cheek as she pleaded, “Don’t cry Poppy. Remember when she gave it to you when you left to go to work?”
Without waiting for his answer, she continued, “And you kept it with you always so that you would have a part of her with you. And, remember, when she went to Heaven, you brought it back and you laid it in my cradle so that I would always have a part of her?”
Choking back the tears, he nodded and replied, “I remember.”
He could not tell her that at the time that he had made the gesture, he had not wanted to remember or to have a part of Melody with him for fear that her presence in any form would cause him to soften his heart and turn away from his quest for vengeance upon the man who’d killed her. Instead, he stroked the lock of hair with his forefinger and then handed it back to Hannah as he said, “You will always have a part of her.”
“But what about you? Don’t you want a part of her?”
“I have a part of her,” he forced a trembling smile and declared as he hugged her tightly and explained, “I have you.”
Hannah seemed pleased with his answer and patted his leg with her tiny palm, her face full of adoring joy. Then, as if a switch was struck, her face changed to a more perplexed expression as she peered inside the box once more. She removed an embroidered crest and held it delicately upon both of her upturned palms as she told him in a voice that mirrored her curiosity as she said, “This was what Mama was holding when they found her. I don’t know what it is but she must have liked it a lot, so I kept it for her.”
Travis took the crest from her and studied it for long quiet moments before he stood up abruptly and slapped the crest with his other hand, seething, “I got you, now, you bast…”
Realizing that he was in the presence of virgin ears, he apologized as he retook his place beside her, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. It’s just that I know what this is.”
Curiously, she touched his arm and asked, “What is it?”
“It’s a family crest. Some men wear it on their coats,” he explained, yet wishing that he had not begun his clarification when she asked the next question.
“Is it yours?”
“No, it is not,” he said almost too harshly, hoping that she would find another topic, but she insisted upon delving into the matter at hand.
“Is it Mama’s?”
“No.”
“Is it Tom’s or Abigail’s?”
“No,” he said in exasperation. With a heavy sigh he knew that he could not explain to a child of her age what happened to her mother so he changed the subject himself, asking as he peered into the box once again, “What else do you have in there?”
She slammed the lid shut and crossed her forearms over it as she looked him straight in the face and said in a grown-up voice, “It belongs to that bad man doesn’t it?”
Travis nodded, pushing back the anger that welled up in his chest and he watched as she took the crest from his hand and wadded it up while she walked toward the trash receptacle and then tossed it away, her actions showing the anger that tore through her tiny body. With pride, he welcomed her into his lap and held her with the fresh, new love that blossomed in his heart.
As he cuddled his daughter, he felt the tug of affection for her and the urge to nurture this little girl with all the parental perception that he could glean from his once-hardened heart. He wanted to swear to her and to himself that he would never leave her again, but somewhere deep inside him, he knew that his need for revenge would return and he would have to answer it, daughter or not.
As he squeezed her one more time, he heard a ringing in the room and he loosened his grip slightly as Hannah pulled away and excitedly stumbled to the table in the corner of the room.
She picked up the receiver of the telephone and spoke into the base as if she knew exactly what she was doing, “Hello. Who is this?”
Travis watched as she shifted her weight from one leg to another in impatience as she waited for the other party to explain themselves, then she nodded and threw down the receiver while she shouted, “I’ll get her!”
With that, she skipped out the door and disappeared. She returned moments later behind Abigail, who picked up the receiver and the base and began a conversation with the person on the other end of the line.
“It’s her daughter,” Hannah explained in a whisper as she took up the box and began replacing the items into it while she stood in front of him.
“Let’s give her some privacy,” Travis offered as he guided her out of the room and into the kitchen.
There, he peered into the oven and checked on the biscuits, then closed the door again and turned around to see Hannah setting the table with expert care. He put his hands on his hips and marveled at her concentration as she placed each plate just so and then followed with the flatware, adjusting them as she went and not moving on to the next setting until she was satisfied that each one was perfect.
Abigail returned to the kitchen and nodded with an approving smile at Hannah, who smiled up at the old woman in pride before she skipped out of the room again. Travis watche
d the dancing curls bounce about the little girl’s head before he turned to check on the biscuits again and received a smack with the end of a tea towel by Abigail, who narrowed her eyes at him and clucked her tongue.
“I told you to let me take care of supper,” she scolded lightheartedly.
“I know,” Travis said as he peered over her shoulder at the scrambled eggs in the pan. “But, you were busy. And how the heck did we get a telephone? I’ve only seen those in hotels and banks and rich folks’ homes.”
As she scooped the fluffy eggs onto a plate beside a pile of crisp bacon, Abigail answered with a nod towards the table while handing the plate to him, “When Tom’s heart began failing, he refused to move closer to the doctor so I talked him into getting it for emergencies. It saved a lot of time the first two spells he had. The third--that happened in a matter of minutes and no new-fangled telephone would save him. You can have it taken out, but it cost a lot of money to have the lines brought in from the city, so I recommend you keep it. You never know what will happen out here in the flats.”
Travis agreed. With a five-year-old who seems determined to break something with her skipping about and stumbling around in haste and excitement, there should be some sort of device in the house that will bring help sooner than without it.
He pulled out the chair at the head of the table while Abigail called to the child. He heard Hannah’s voice call back from upstairs and then her tiny feet clomping down the stairs in such a hurry that he feared that she would tumble downward. She skipped into the room and received a stern scolding from Abigail, who had taken the chair at the other end of the table.
Dipping her head, the little girl apologized for her actions and then sat in a chair on the side of the table where she pulled her napkin daintily into her lap and lowered her face toward tightly clasped hands and then closed her eyes.
Travis did the same, waiting for Abigail to begin with the prayer. When he did not hear her voice, he opened his eyes again and saw her nodding toward him, silently insisting that he take the honor. He shook his head from side to side. He had not prayed since he had asked the Lord to keep his wife safe while he was away. But Abigail’s eyes narrowed at him and that gesture compelled him to do her bidding.
Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes again and folded his fingers together, praying, “Lord, thank thee for this wonderful meal, for my wonderful family and for my beautiful daughter.”
He opened his eyes just a slit to see Hannah smiling, still squeezing her eyes shut, then he quickly finished, “Let this bounty fulfill our bodies as you fulfill our hearts.”
The two females said ‘Amen’ in unison and Travis repeated it under his breath as he reached for his napkin.
All was quiet at the table and Travis wondered if anyone would speak, but instead, both Hannah and Abigail sat in silence and put fork to mouth as primly and properly as could be. He swallowed his first bite, cleared his throat again and said to anyone who would answer, “We’ll get an early start in the morning to go and get supplies.”
He looked to Abigail, who nodded, and then to Hannah, who seemingly ignored his statement. Then, he asked of his daughter, who stiffened abruptly at his direct question, “Hannah, aren’t you excited about going to town? You certainly were earlier.”
The little girl turned her rigid body toward Abigail, whose stern expression never wavered as she nodded for Hannah to answer her father, but she only gave a short reply, “Yes, sir.”
Silence again fell upon the table as Travis tapped his heels beneath his chair in growing indignation. He took two more bites before he threw down his fork and growled, “What the Hell is going on here?”
Both females jumped so high in their chairs that they nearly tipped them over and then they both looked at him as if he were a mad man, but neither supplied him with an answer, so he demanded, “I said, what is going on here? Just a few minutes ago, we were all happy and chattering like birds in the trees.”
Abigail lowered her eyes, and then set her fork upon her plate just so before she answered, “It is not polite to talk at the table.”
“Not polite? Who the Hell made up that rule?” He asked, glaring angrily at her from across the table.
“It was Tom’s rule,” she said as if afraid to admit that she did what she was told when her husband gave her an order.
“Well,” Travis said with a huff and a hearty clap on the table with his fist, which made the silverware and the glasses clank in response. “I’m the head of the house now and I say we talk at the table.”
He looked at both of them, but seeing that they still refused to heed his advice, he softened his voice and said, “Now, let’s have a conversation. I don’t care what we talk about. We can talk about the weather, we can talk about politics. We can talk about anything. Just talk.”
In a small and cautious voice, Hannah asked, “What’s politics?”
“Well, now,” Travis said with a satisfied nod. “That’s more like it.”
He leaned back in his chair and pushed his plate forward before he explained in a way that his daughter could understand, “Politics is when people want to be in the government and they have certain ideas about how they are going to run it.”
“What’s gov’ment?”
Travis couldn’t help but chuckle at her questions and he silently admonished himself for making silence a sin. He touched his forefinger to her freckled nose and told her, “I’ll explain it some other time. Now, are you excited about going into town tomorrow?”
Immediately, her little body began to bounce in the chair and she exclaimed, “Yes, I am!”
“Good, then,” he replied, pulling his plate back toward his chest and stabbing the last bit of eggs with his fork. “So am I.”
He looked at Abigail, who toyed with the food on her plate and jumped at his question, “Are you excited, Abigail?”
She put her fork down and dabbed her mouth with the corner of her napkin before she replied in a voice that was filled with animosity, “I am.”
“Well,” Travis said satisfied that his authority had finally been established. “We are all excited about going into town. Is there anything else that we want to discuss?”
He looked at Hannah, who seemed as if she wanted to insist that he explain the words that he had spoken earlier and he interrupted, “We won’t talk about government tonight. Think of something more pleasant to discuss.”
Touching a finger to her chin, Hannah thought while chewing a bite of food. Then, as if an epiphany had suddenly occurred in her little mind, she sat up straight and her finger shot skyward as she squealed, “Mama! Let’s talk about Mama!”
A surge of sadness came over him at that moment, but Travis thrust it aside and with a smile in his heart and on his face, he began telling her about her mother while Abigail watched his animated story unfold and Hannah’s excited reactions to each bit of information that he divulged. The table that night, and many afterwards, was filled with lively conversation and happy chatter about everything and nothing at all.
A few days later, Abigail’s daughter and her husband arrived to pack her things and then at the end of the week, Travis was left alone with his daughter.
In the coming weeks and months, he learned how to take care of her and she learned how to comfort him in his moments of sadness and sudden tirades of anger. It seemed to him, as time went by, that they were just as close as he had been with his sweet Melody. And, with each passing day, he realized that, even though his daughter reminded him of her mother, she really was her very own person with her own ideas and her own personality. And as Hannah grew, he found that her face was not just a mirror image of Melody, but a mixture of his wife’s face and his own, a combination that made the child more beautiful than he had ever thought an offspring of his could be. This tiny girl with bouncing black ringlets and grass-green eyes whose pudgy body that somehow grew slender and gangly over the next two years, was becoming a young lady despite her tender age. And, with all the love
that soared though his heart, he declared that she was all that he would live for, until one fateful day when he got a letter from an old friend who lived in South Texas near the border of Mexico.
Chapter Six
Doña Savannah Fernandez stared across the long oak table at her husband as she toyed restlessly with the food on her plate. She could not stop her anger and disappointment from swelling with his every arrogant, self-assured word as she tried to ignore his conversation with the middle-aged man who seemed interested in what Diego was saying. Every once in a while, a statement or two would seep into her mind as he bragged to his companion about the deal that he had made with the Mexican government that would give him more control over his lands and less interference by the officials.
Rafael Gomez listened intently, his face a mask of both admiration and envy at his compadre’s fortune and power. His black eyes seemed to glaze over with awe at the other man’s prowess both with matters of business and of pleasure. He tore his eyes from Diego’s commanding figure and looked adoringly at his host’s lovely wife. A smile creased his mouth and a wink toward her indifferent face made him shift in his chair as his pants began to disclose the evidence of his ardor. A stab of jealousy caused him to choke on the expensive brandy that he had brought to his suddenly parched lips.
Savannah seethed at the other man’s obvious infatuation with her, which made her skin crawl and her appetite to diminish. Noisily, she shoved her plate forward in protest that her supposedly devoted husband had not noticed his guest’s conspicuous gesture of desire. She ignored Mr. Gomez and glared accusingly at Diego, who seemed to ignore both of them while he droned on in his one-sided conversation. Throwing her napkin onto her plate, she growled her offense at his disregard as to her honor and rose abruptly from her chair.
Diego, who had finally noticed her bizarre behavior, put his knife down on his plate and purred in unconcerned aloofness, “Are you ill, Querida?”
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