Travis

by Georgina Gentry

  Travis laughed. “She’s beautiful, she doesn’t have to know how to cook.”

  “Men!” Violet snorted and brushed past him, heading for the dining room.

  Did Travis really like Mrs. Van Mayes? Violet could hardly eat all the good food the ladies had brought for thinking about it. Miss Knowlen wasn’t a threat, but the beautiful, rich widow certainly was.

  As they ate, Harold said, “If any more ladies come to the door, I hope the next one brings chili and some cookies.”

  Violet had a pang of jealousy. “There’s no telling how many more single ladies are liable to show up with baskets.”

  “It won’t do them any good.” Travis buttered a piece of bread. “I’ve let everyone know I’m a confirmed bachelor.”

  “That’s like waving a red flag at a bull,” Violet snapped. “Everyone thinks she’ll be the one to land you.” Even me, she thought, but she didn’t say that.

  “They must be short of eligible men in this town,” Travis muttered. “Usually respectable women won’t give a half-breed the time of day.”

  Only Violet heard him; the others were eating and talking. She wanted to reach out to him, but then remembered she was supposed to be a child.

  They ate and Travis and the kids played checkers while Violet cleaned up the dishes and Kessie complained about having to dry them. “It isn’t fair. When equal rights come in, the boys will have to do dishes too.”

  “But right now,” Violet said, “the boys do things like feed the livestock and milk the cow.”

  Finally they all went to bed. However, Violet couldn’t sleep. She could hear Travis’s gentle breathing from the next room in the warm May night and wished he was holding her in his embrace as they both slept. But he thought she was only thirteen years old while the beautiful, rich widow was evidently plotting to make him her next husband.

  The following day at school, things did not go well. Violet thought Miss Brewster was too strict on Bonnie and scolded her when she wet her drawers. At lunchtime, three big, freckled-faced brothers, the Jenkinses, ganged up on Houston and Harold.

  On the way home, Violet said, “They’ve got a grown brother too, Leroy. Maybe we should tell Travis.”

  “No,” Houston begged. “It’s embarrassing enough to get beat up without him finding out.”

  “I’ll bake a pie,” Violet said. “That should make you feel better.”

  “We’ve still got the pie the pretty lady brought last night plus all those leftovers,” Harold reminded her.

  Violet looked back. Bonnie was lagging behind, hanging on to Growler’s neck. “Here, let me carry you.”

  She picked the blond baby up, and Bonnie laughed and said, “Feathers.”

  “No, not Feathers. Violet, remember?” Violet kissed the baby’s chubby cheek and kept walking. What was she to do about the bullies? It wouldn’t do any good to tell the teacher. She suspected Miss Brewster would say “boys will be boys” and shrug it off.

  She was warming up leftovers when Travis walked through the door. “I’ve about got dinner ready.”

  The kids had all gathered around him and he hugged them before taking off his Stetson, hanging it next to his holster and plopping down in his rocker in the parlor. “Don’t make much of a fuss,” he called to Violet. “Charlotte Van Mayes came by the gun shop and brought me a basket lunch so I’m not hungry.”

  “Charlotte? You call her Charlotte?” Violet fought the urge to stride in and dump the pan of leftover chicken pie on his head.

  “She’s very friendly,” he answered. “She just insisted I start using her first name. She’s from New York City. You know, I always thought Yankees were cold, but she certainly isn’t.”

  I’ll just bet she’s not, Violet thought, but she didn’t say anything.

  Bonnie crawled up in Travis’s lap. “She like doggies?”

  “I don’t know.” Travis shrugged and picked up the weekly paper.

  Kessie said, “It would be nice to be rich. We could have a big house and we could all have fine clothes.”

  “Yep, that would be nice,” Travis agreed. “Business is picking up at the gun shop.”

  “I wonder why,” Violet said and began slamming pans around in the kitchen. “Food’s on.”

  Travis and the kids gathered around the table as Violet slammed plates and silverware down.

  Travis scratched his head. “Now what’s wrong with you, young lady?”

  “Nothing,” Violet snapped and sat down in a huff.

  “I know enough that when a female looks like a thundercloud and says, ‘nothing,’ there’s something.”

  All the children looked at Violet.

  “Well,” she said, “if all these women are going to keep feeding you, I reckon you don’t need me anymore.”

  He looked sympathetic. “You afraid I’ll send you to an orphanage? Don’t worry, Violet. Even if I do eventually marry, there’s always a place for you at my table. Why, the kids couldn’t do without you, could you, kids?”

  A chorus of denials.

  That didn’t change her mood any. She tried not to steal glances at him while she ate. He was so dark and handsome, and she could imagine herself as his wife, sharing kisses and caresses, making a home for the four orphaned children. But he thought of her as a kid. She had painted herself into this corner and now she couldn’t see any way out of it without revealing her past. She began to eat, but the food lodged in her throat.

  About the time they finished eating, Travis stared at Houston. “Are those bruises on your face?”

  “I—I fell down,” Houston gulped.

  Travis stared at the two boys. “Harold, you’ve got a cut above your eyebrow.”

  “Uh, I fell down, too.”

  “Getting clumsy all of a sudden,” Travis said. He looked at Violet. “You see this?”

  She felt her face flush. “Uh, yes, they both fell at the same time.”

  “Fight,” lisped Bonnie, “fight.”

  Kessie shook her head. “Hush, Bonnie.”

  “Uh-huh.” Travis said and got up from the table. “Boys, you and me need to have a talk. This is man stuff, so you girls are excused.”

  “It wasn’t their fault,” Violet babbled. “They—”

  “I said this was men’s business,” Travis thundered. “Come on out back, boys, and we’ll talk.”

  He put his hand on each boy’s shoulder and led them out in the backyard.

  Violet, Kessie and Bonnie went to the kitchen window to watch.

  Kessie asked, “You think he’s gonna whip them?”

  “I don’t know.” Violet shook her head, wanting to rush out and protect them. “It’s men’s business.”

  “Fight,” lisped Bonnie, standing on her tiptoes to look out the window.

  “Oh, you be quiet,” Kessie ordered. “You gave away the secret.”

  Outside, Travis looked back toward the house. “All right, this is a discussion between men. What happened?”

  Tears came to Houston’s dark eyes, but he struggled not to cry. “There’s—there’s three Jenkins brothers, big boys. They called Harold a Chink and said he should go work in a laundry, that’s all he was good for.”

  “And they make fun of Houston,” sobbed Harold, “because he has to use a crutch. They took it away from him and pushed him so he fell down.”

  “Where was the teacher?” Travis asked.

  “Inside, she didn’t see any of it. Violet and Kessie tried to stop it, but the boys pushed them and said we were sissies who had to be rescued by girls.” Houston hung his head.

  “Okay, I’m gonna teach you to fight,” Travis said.

  “The teacher said fighting was for savages,” Harold said.

  “Well, but she’s a girl and sometimes men just have to fight, especially a Texan, when some big galoot bullies them.”

  “Are we Texans?” Houston asked.

  “You sure as hell are. You’re in Texas, ain’t you? You got generations of tough cowmen and Rangers, and men w
ho died at the Alamo behind you, so you got to learn to stand your ground,” Travis told him.

  “Do Rangers fight?” Harold asked.

  Travis nodded. “But only when they have to. The trick is to get so much respect, nobody would think of pushing you or insulting you.”

  “I don’t know if we’re big enough to do that.” Houston’s thin shoulders slumped.

  “We’ll work on that,” Travis said. “First, I’m gonna do something about that crutch.”

  “I need it to get around,” Houston said.

  “I’ve shoed a lot of horses.” Travis grinned and patted his shoulder. “I think I can build up your shoe so you won’t need a crutch anymore. And Harold, you’re smart so you ought to be able to talk your way out of a fuss. Let’s go into the barn.” He put his hand on each boy’s shoulder and they walked toward the barn.

  Inside, Violet took a deep breath. “Oh, he’s taking them to the barn.”

  “You think he’s gonna whip them with a horse whip?” Kessie asked.

  “No, no,” Bonnie wept.

  “Don’t worry.” Violet bent and hugged her. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but I’m not gonna let him whip them. You two stay here.” She took a deep breath and, squaring her slight shoulders, marched out the back door and into the barn.

  The three were gathered around a workbench as she walked in. Travis looked up and frowned. “Young lady, I told you this was men’s business.”

  “Please, Travis, don’t whip the boys; it wasn’t their fault—”

  “Hush up, Violet.” Houston grinned. “He ain’t doing nothing but fixing my shoe.”

  “What?” She paused, baffled.

  Travis nodded. “I figure if I can build up his shoe, he won’t need the crutch no more and also, I’m gonna teach them to fight.”

  “Fight? Now that’s not civilized—”

  Travis came over to her, caught her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Go in the house, young lady. I’m the man of this family and I’ll handle this. Sometimes men gotta fight, especially Texans.”

  “But—”

  “Go in the house, Violet.” Travis’s voice was stern and brooked no argument.

  She went back in the house.

  Kessie looked up at her. “What’s going on out there?”

  “Well, for one thing, he’s going to teach them to fight.”

  “Miss Brewster won’t like that.”

  Violet shrugged. “He’s a Texan and a Ranger, there’s no dealing with him.”

  Back in the barn, Travis took a hunk of wood and a small whittling knife. “I’ll make this just the size of your shoe and then nail it to the sole. That way, both legs will be the same length and you won’t limp.”

  He glanced over. Both boys were watching him intently. “Now, since you’re not going to limp anymore, I want you to walk with your head up and your shoulders back, just like Sam Houston would. You are Houston Prescott and that’s a name that should be respected.”

  Harold asked, “Can we use your last name? We don’t have none of our own.”

  “Well, now you do, Harold Prescott, and you treat my name with respect now that I’ve given it to you. There’s generations of brave men behind that name and I expect you to do it proud. I’m a proud man and I expect my sons to make me proud, too.”

  “I can’t fight,” Houston said with dejection. “I reckon the Jenkins brothers will still beat me up.”

  “They may try, but I’m going to loan you my good luck charm. That ought to turn your luck around.” He walked over and dug into his saddlebags, came back with a small, hand-carved wooden horse.

  Houston took it, stared at it. “Is it really lucky?”

  “If you believe it is, it’ll give you power you didn’t know you had.”

  Harold stared at the tiny horse. “Where’d you get it?”

  “My stepfather, Colt, carved it for me when I was a little kid. It’s always brought me luck. Houston, you just rub it when you need courage.”

  “Can I keep it?” Houston held it tightly.

  Travis nodded. “Until you think you don’t need it no more. I set a heap of store by it, so you take care of it now, you hear?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Now let’s get back to fixing that shoe. I wish we had more money, then maybe some back-east doc could fix your leg.”

  “And your wrist?” Harold asked.

  Travis shook his head ruefully. “My wrist will have to heal on its own, since we don’t have money.” He started carving the wood.

  Harold said, “That Mrs. Van Mayes has plenty of money.”

  “And she’s beautiful,” Houston added.

  Travis laughed as he whittled. “I don’t think Violet likes her. I don’t know about the other two girls.”

  “We like Violet better’n we like Mrs. Van Mayes,” Houston hurried to assure him.

  “But Violet is just a kid and sometimes a man and a family needs a woman.”

  “But Violet—” Harold began. Houston glared at him and the Oriental boy fell silent.

  Travis wondered what that was about, but he soon grew engrossed in his handiwork and lost track of everything else.

  Houston smiled for the first time in a long while and inspected the tiny wooden horse. “I’m Houston Prescott.”

  “And I’m Harold Prescott,” the Chinese boy said.

  Travis winked at him. “Good name for a doctor or scientist.”

  “I always wanted to be a rancher or a cowboy,” Houston sighed, “but I reckon I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Travis asked.

  “I can’t even ride a horse.”

  “I’ll teach you to ride Mouse,” Travis said. “And remember, all men are equal on horseback, you don’t need two good legs. You could end up being the best cowman in Texas. “’Course I’ll have to teach you to shoot and rope, too.”

  Harold asked, “When are you going to have time to do all that?”

  Travis continued work on the shoe. “During lunchtime, out behind the gun shop. Besides, summer will soon be here and then you’ll have plenty of time to practice.”

  Harold said, “I don’t think doctors or scientists need to learn all that.”

  “I reckon not,” Travis agreed. “Now, you two men go on into the house and go to bed while I work on this shoe. And we don’t have to discuss this with the ladies, okay?”

  Harold nodded. “They’re just girls anyway.”

  Houston’s thin shoulders straightened. “We’re Texans and we can stand our own ground, right, Travis?”

  “Sure as we’re both named for Texas heroes.” Travis grinned and continued whittling.

  The two boys left the barn. Travis looked after them. It was dark outside and he’d have to light a lantern and work late to finish this shoe, but he could do it. He reminded himself that out of his next paycheck, he needed to buy each boy a pair of boots. All Texan men had to have a pair of boots.

  It was late when he went inside. The house was quiet, but Violet was still awake, sitting in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace. “Oh, I thought everyone would be in bed.”

  “What went on out there?” she demanded and stood up.

  “That’s between us men,” he said and set the shoe on the mantel.

  Violet looked at it. “He won’t have to use a crutch anymore?”

  Travis shook his head. “Nope, and I told them both to use my last name.”

  “It’s all right if we all use your name?” She looked up at him.

  He nodded. “All my kids can use it, but of course, you have to make me proud. My family wouldn’t be pleased if anyone shamed a name that’s been around since we fought redcoats by the side of George Washington.”

  Without thinking, she hugged him. “And I thought you were going to whip them.” She reached up and kissed his cheek.

  He looked shocked and stepped back. “Now, young lady, it wasn’t that big a thing.”

  Oh, Lord, had she given herself away? She stut
tered, “I—I mean, you’re just such a great dad to all us orphans. I can’t thank you enough.”

  He shook his head. “Save those kisses for some young man someday when he’s on his knees wantin’ to marry you.”

  “Of course.” She lowered her eyes demurely.

  “I’m going to bed now. Young lady, you got school tomorrow. You need to get some sleep.”

  “Sure. You go on, Travis. I’ve got lessons to read.”

  He went into the bedroom and she sat back down in her chair and listened to him getting ready for bed and remembered how it had felt to hold him close, the taste of his leathery skin and the man smell of him. She couldn’t read. Instead she sat and rocked and wished she wasn’t saddled with this secret and could go crawl into bed and make love to him.

  In his room, Travis went to bed, but instead of dropping off to sleep as usual, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He had been thrown off guard when young Violet had put her arms around him and kissed his cheek. Even now he could remember the softness of her body against his, the sweet, warm smell of her, and he had had to fight the urge to grab her and kiss her.

  He cursed himself. What kind of monster are you? She’s an innocent little girl and you’re a grown man. Maybe you need to visit the local saloon since you haven’t had a woman in quite awhile. That would stop indecent thoughts about young Violet.

  Yes, that’s what he would do. Otherwise, things might get out of hand and he was a Texan. He had to protect this poor orphan child and vent his lust on those slutty saloon girls next time he got paid.

  Chapter 9

  Young Houston wore his new shoe to school the next day. He walked proudly without a crutch and without limping. “My name is now Houston Prescott,” he said and squared his shoulders, “and I’m a Texan.”

  Of course the three Jenkins brothers, freckled-faced and tough, taunted him at lunch. “You ain’t a Texan, you’re a Yankee. We can tell from the way you talk.”

  Violet stood with the two boys and even Kessie and Bonnie came to stand with them. Growler lay down next to them, baring his teeth at the bullies. “We’re Texans,” she declared, “as much as you are.”

  “Yep,” said Harold. “Our daddy used to be a Texas Ranger and he says we’re Texans.”