Once the frame was in place, the newlyweds ate their noon meal at the plantation.
“We have news,” Catherine said.
“Yes,” Amelia said. “We’re going trapping with our men!”
“Sounds interesting,” Belle said. “Are you ready for the rough travel and sleeping outside?”
“They think it’s an adventure,” Samuel said. “We won’t go too far north, and we can stop at forts along the way.”
“Our men like to trap beaver before the hard winter blasts into the north territories,” Catherine said. “We’ll be home in late autumn.” Her big frame wiggled with anticipation.
“Speaking of home,” Belle said, “have you settled in all right?”
“We have,” Benjamin said. “The four of us in our cabin’s working out, but Samuel and I plan to build a second cabin next summer.”
“They’re not used to being crowded,” Amelia said. “It’s been just the two of them for a lot of years. Having women around brings changes.”
“Amen to that,” Benjamin said.
“Worth it.” Samuel gave Catherine a big wink. “Ladies, we need to load up. Wild game’s waiting.”
When they left that afternoon, Belle counted six of her friends were moving north. She tried not to let loneliness intrude by sewing pieces together for the quilt she had started earlier.
The heat of summer woke Belle one morning, with humidity making the air thick. Before she could dress and go downstairs, pounding hooves drew her to the window. A buckboard and hay wagon, loaded with a trunk and furniture, raced to the lawn.
“Whoa! Whoa, boys!” The driver in the first wagon brought his horses to a halt. A woman slowed her team, parking behind him.
Belle threw a dressing gown over her shoulders and buttoned it, covering the thin chemise she had slept in. Thoughts of the day the Campbell family drove in after being burned out crowded her memory.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” Mrs. Strong,” the man said. “I’m Reynolds and this is my wife. We came to warn you.”
“And to see the Campbells,” the woman said.
Belle leaned out the window. “Warn me of what, Mr. Reynolds?”
“Indians burned our place. Surprised us just before daylight.” He stopped to wipe his brow and catch his breath. “Said to grab what we could, but they didn’t wait. They brought torches and set everything ablaze. We fought to get this much out.”
“Had to give up on everything else,” his wife said. Tears had left crooked stains on her smoke-blackened cheeks.
“Can’t understand it,” he said. “They didn’t kill our cows or burn the crops in the field.”
“Unless they did that after we left,” his wife said.
“Come in and have something cool to drink while we cook breakfast,” Belle said. “The staff will see to your horses and bring George and Margaret to see you.”
During the meal, Reynolds and George discussed their losses. Mrs. Reynolds and Margaret comforted each other, recalled their fears, and talked about the wildness of the land they had chosen to live in.
“I had twenty acres in corn and close to a hundred under fence,” Reynolds said.
“I had twice that much under fence,” George said, “not counting another ten I’d cleared. Crops and garden took up another thirty-five.”
“They burned our home,” Margaret said, “and everything in it we couldn’t snatch out of the flames.” Tears filled her eyes.
“I understand the Indians,” Belle said, “go way up north to their summer homes. I’m sure most of them have already gone. What did your attackers look like?”
“All Indians look alike to me,” Reynolds said.
“Except for one,” his wife said. “That big one. Tall and ugly.”
“I know him,” Margaret said. “If he’s the same one that burned us out. Did he have a strange horse blanket?”
“Yup,” Reynolds said. “Dirty, it was, but I could still see some red on it.”
“Red hearts, if I remember right,” Margaret said.
Belle felt like a winter icicle had melted and dripped down her spine. Could it be my hearts and flowers quilt that Laughing Maiden said was a bad omen? Was it Angry Wolf?
“I can’t talk about it anymore,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “Glad we hadn’t gone back east to bring our children out here.” She started crying.
Belle cleared her throat. “Is there anything we can do? Any law we can contact?”
“Nothing and none,” Reynolds said.
“On occasion,” George said, “a ranging company of about ten men provide some relief from the Comanche and Tonkawa when they raid, but we’ve never seen these armed men. Guess they don’t range too far from Austin’s Colony.”
This is terrible. Men get shot, and good people get burned out. Why did we choose to live here?
Johnathan came skipping in, and Belle let him say his greetings before she led him to the breakfast room. She didn’t want him to hear such bad news, and his cheerfulness seemed out of place in front of the suffering families. After she helped him fill his plate, she left him to keep some of the staff entertained with the nursery rhymes he had memorized.
When she returned to the guests in her dining room, she detected a change in the atmosphere. While their mood had shown fear and loss earlier, it now conveyed grimness. They wore determined looks on their faces. Nothing could have prepared her for George’s statement.
Chapter Forty-Five
“We’re leaving Texas,” George said. “All of the Campbell clan.”
Belle couldn’t hide the look of shock she knew spread over her face. Questions flew in her mind, but no words came out.
“We’ll travel together,” Reynolds said. “Will be safer. Two families in several wagons.”
Margaret nodded. “George and I’ve talked this over before. We hate to walk away from your kindness, Belle, but it’s too dangerous to raise our young’uns out here.”
Desperate to put an end to their line of thinking, Belle mentioned the word that had brought them to Texas.
“Have you gone back to see your land? Maybe your crops are still in the ground.”
“I’ll never set foot on that farm again,” Margaret said.
George looked defeated. “We’ve lost everything, Belle.”
“But you can rebuild,” she said. “Look what a magnificent barn you’re building for River Bend.”
“The cupola is ready to go up today,” he said. “That’s the final piece.”
“You have to stay. What if you built a home somewhere on the plantation?”
“We’ve decided,” George said. “Going back is best for us now. We’ll leave at daybreak.”
Trying to keep tears from spilling down her cheeks, Belle looked up. That fancy chandelier over the dining table proves that no matter how much money someone has, one is never in control. No one knows what tomorrow may bring.
“Old Bailey,” she called, and he appeared. Before he could speak, she stood and gave orders, loud enough for all members of the staff to hear. “I want able-bodied men to assist Mr. Campbell and his son, Daniel, in completing the barn today. Prepare a special dinner tonight for the Campbells and our new guests, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, who will be staying the night in the mansion.”
The old servant nodded, but she interrupted him before he could acknowledge her orders. “Tonight after our meal, have the servants help the Campbells and Reynolds families pack and load their wagons. In the morning before daylight, hitch up their horses so they can make as many miles as possible tomorrow.” She paused. “One more thing, have Lizzie and Birdie pack up food for them to eat on their journey.”
Old Bailey hesitated. When no additional orders came, he said, “Yas, missy.” He was gone almost as fast as lightning flashes.
Belle sat back down. “Now, could we just visit?”
George and Reynolds rose from the table. “We’ll leave that to you ladies,” George said. “We have work a-waiting.” They left, and the women tal
ked about pleasant things, like food and quilts. Johnathan’s interruptions throughout the day kept their conversation light and cheerful.
Belle was up before daylight the next day to see everyone off. The Reynolds couple thanked her for what they called their fancy night’s lodging, and everyone complimented her on the feast they had eaten the night before.
With baskets of ready-to-eat food, water, furniture, trunks of clothing and dishes, the short wagon train headed northeast to reach the ferry and then east to Tennessee and Mississippi where they had come from and still had families to return to. Carrie Campbell still loved to chatter, and her sing-song voice pierced the morning air until the wagons were almost out of sight.
Loneliness reared its ugly head again for Belle.
Weeks later, she gave in to exhaustion and spent an entire day abed. Summer heat had come early, so vegetables had to be picked daily. Lizzie had tried to send her back to the main house, telling her a lady shouldn’t be working in the ground, but Belle wanted to do her part. Staying busy kept her from missing the people she had grown to love. Laboring until she was worn out every day barred many dreams.
She had shucked enough corn and shelled enough peas for an army but looked forward to the potatoes soon to be dug, red ones and sweet ones. After cooking several kinds of berries down to make jams, she could have stopped preserving but chose to make pickles. Pickled cucumbers, beets, onions, okra, and watermelon rind occupied several shelves in the cellar.
Every morning while the temperature held its lowest point, she could be found in the garden before spending the middle of the day in Lizzie’s kitchen, sometimes peeling and chopping outside. Late in the afternoon when the sun baked the dirt, Belle quilted outside under the big magnolia tree. Quilting until dark, and since there seemed no chance of rain, she always left her quilt in the new frame, covering the fabric with a tarp of wagon cloth to protect it from dew and bird droppings.
With the house staff concerned about her lying in bed for a day, she decided to change up her schedule. Seeing no need to worry them and feeling so alone, she asked Old Bailey to have a buggy ready for the next day.
Rising in time to see a peach sun emerge, streaking a pastel sky of viridian and ultramarine brought her a sense of joy. She had a mission—no more feeling sorry for herself.
After breakfast, she and Johnathan climbed into the buggy.
“Are we going on an adventure, Mama?”
“We are. We’ll stay at the hotel for a few days and visit the Burchams.”
“Oh, goodie,” Johnathan said. “Did you pack my covered wagons?”
“Yes, I did. Won’t it be fun to see the Burcham boys? I’ll bet they’ve grown taller.”
“Like me.”
“Yes, like you, child.” She blew a kiss to Old Bailey and slapped the reins against the mare’s back. Johnathan chattered most of the way to the settlement.
Burcham stepped out of the hotel when Belle pulled up to its porch. He hopped down to tie the mare to a rail and helped Belle from the buggy before he scooped up Johnathan.
“My, oh, my,” Burcham said. “You’ve grown about ten pounds, little man.” He tickled Johnathan’s ribs before he stood him up on the porch. “Happy to see you, Belle.”
“So pleased to see you, Mr. Burcham.” They went inside, and Absalom came to carry in their belongings and care for the horse and buggy.
After visiting with Burcham in the parlor for a while, Johnathan asked, “Where are your boys?”
“And Mrs. Burcham,” Belle said. “I’m so looking forward to visiting with her.”
Burcham cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. You may have wasted your trip. My wife and sons went with Trader Jake.”
Feeling like all the breath had left her chest, Belle sat with her mouth open but unable to speak.
“You’re white as a pair of brand new pantaloons,” Burcham said. “Sit still ’til I get you some water to drink.” He rushed out of the room and returned with a cup for her.
She sipped the cool liquid and tried not to cry. Everyone I care about is leaving.
“My wife.” Burcham said, “wanted to see her mother one more time but never thought we’d get to return to Wales. When Trader Jake said he was going to Europe this year, she begged him to take her. Our boys went along to keep an eye out for her and to learn more about sailing. Since rendezvous is past, Absalom and I can handle the hotel.”
Finding her voice, Belle agreed. “It’s good for her to see her family. I’m happy she has family to visit.”
Burcham took the empty cup. “You will stay, won’t you?”
“At least for the night,” Belle said. “This will be a change from the demanding work at the plantation.” She retired to a room in the hotel while Johnathan kept Burcham entertained. At the end of the day, she tucked Johnathan into bed and fell into a deep sleep with no dreams.
By noon on the second day, she felt rested and refreshed, eager to return to River Bend and do her best to keep busy. As long as I’m active, I won’t have time to think about being alone. I can start by recording the results of all my garden work and food preserving in my journal tonight.
She eased the mare into a trot, and the plantation loomed ahead before the shadows from the trees covered the road. Her hopes of quilting under the magnolia until dark evaporated when she pulled on the mare’s reins at the edge of the lawn. Before the buggy came to a complete stop, Belle bailed out, rushing to the spot where the new quilt frame had once snugged her latest medallion quilt. The beautiful wood rails lay on the ground, scattered and crushed. The quilt’s three layers, torn and tangled, bore dirty smudges from horse’s hooves. Memories of her trampled dugout surfaced while she knelt and wept.
Old Bailey walked up and touched Belle’s shoulder. He stood beside Lizzie who held Johnathan in her arms.
“Lawsy, hated for you ta see this, missy,” Lizzie said. “Knowed you’d want ta.”
With both hands, Belle wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You’re absolutely right, dear friends. I needed to see it. A bear could have done this much damage, but this is more than mischief. Look at these hoof prints from barefoot ponies.”
“Indians?” Lizzie turned around in a circle, her anxious look catching Johnathan’s attention.
“Don’t worry,” Belle said. “We’re safe. They’re long gone.” Why didn’t they attack the plantation? This was deliberate. It’s a message for me.
“Burn everything,” she said. “Nothing can be salvaged.”
She put Johnathan on her hip and marched to the main house. After their evening meal and baths, she tucked him into bed and picked up her journal. She hadn’t written in it since planning the wedding and had a lot of catching up to do—a double wedding and two receptions should warrant recording for posterity, plus the garden work, plus the two families moving away from Texas. And now, she would also include the destruction of personal property, leaving out the guilty party until she knew more.
She wrote way into the night and had no trouble falling asleep.
Early the next morning, she went back to the river bank to practice her shooting, promising herself that would be a daily activity. She needed to be prepared for what came her way, because she felt as though a target had been painted on her back.
In her sitting room and sometimes on the front porch, she continued to quilt with a round hoop in her lap. Most of the time, she worked on her pieced fabric. Sewing strips together, cutting across the strips to make smaller sections, and sewing them together, seemed like building blocks to her.
One day, she cut out wooden blocks for Johnathan to play with, whitewashing some of them and dying others with stains made from boiled tea leaves, beet peelings, and onion skins. He tried to help and had purple fingers for a while. As he played with the blocks, Belle sometimes sketched their placement on paper to come up with new designs for piecework.
Other duties kept her busy, but she never let a day go by that she didn’t work on quilts and fire the pistols. Needle
and gun—I am a Texas woman.
Growing tired of taking the buggy to the river bank, and having a servant harness the horse and bring the buggy up to the house, Belle selected a gelding to ride. His coat shined like onyx, and he pranced while she saddled him.
“What’s his name,” she asked Hannibal, the head groom.
“Black Knight,” he said. “He not gentle.”
“I can tell. That’s what made me choose him.” Once she led him from the stable and mounted him, he shot forward like a cannon.
Hannibal ran after her, but she waved him back. She bent over, her face close to the horse’s mane, and let him run. Not long after that, he slowed and settled into a smooth walk. Later, he trotted and cantered, following her commands. Exhilarated, Belle continued to ride him until they both dripped with sweat.
“Good boy.” She patted his neck. “Good boy, Black Knight.” Inside the stable, she unsaddled him.
“I do that.” The groom hurried to her side. “Not for mistress to do.”
“Thank you, Hannibal. He provided great joy for me, and I made him sweat. I want to care for him.” After wiping the horse down and brushing him, she rewarded him with a bag of oats. “Same time tomorrow, boy.” She slipped away to take an early bath.
The new routine afforded Belle a sense of belonging. Although no visitors came to the plantation, her weeks passed fast. Each day, she rode Black Knight farther into the countryside. Upon her return, she and Johnathan began writing stories to keep him entertained and build his vocabulary. Reciting the stories in front of the house staff strengthened his memorization skills.
He loved their story about a castle best of all, coming back to it every few days to add a new battle for its hero, The Prince of the Sky. Waging war against the lightning and hail of severe storms in frontier skies and wrestling with outlaws on land, the prince always won his skirmishes. They shortened his name to Sky Prince.
“Time to write my stories.” Johnathan repeated that daily phrase.
“Perfect timing.” Belle laid her needlework aside. She reached for paper and pencil before following him out on the front porch. Nestling into a rocking chair, she faced her son who tried to sit on the top step but was too excited to stay still.
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