Gone to Texas: Cross Timbers Romance Family Saga, book one (Thanksgiving Books & Blessings Collection One 1)

by Caryl McAdoo

  Aunt Liberty put a cheese cloth over the pan of rolls she'd set aside to rise. “I don't care where. I just want to get somewhere and stick. Build us all nice saw-board houses and water-tight barns—a peaceful place where we'll spend the rest of our days, watching our grandbabies make mud pies.” She winked.

  “Amen to that.” Alicia grinned.

  What a meal! Rabbit stew, fried rabbit, roasted ears of corn, mashed spuds, boiled okra, and two rolls each with honey or pear preserves. And all that washed down with creek-cooled milk.

  A true celebration supper!

  Real quick after the last picked clean bone was tossed into the fire, Flynn and his papa rosined up their bows and struck a lively tune.

  At first, everyone sat around the cook-fire clapping their hands and tapping their feet. She loved listening to him play and watched every draw of the bows over the strings, the tilts and the speed.

  And the grin on his face as he played thrilled her to the core! He played like his father in many ways but added so much with his wonderful expressions.

  About midway through the third song, Uncle Laud stood and took Aunt Esther's hand. Still holding Josie Jo, she practically skipped over to her sister-in-law and handed off the newborn, promptly taking her husband's shoulder.

  He took off, leading her around the fire, going at a remarkable speed. How could she keep up?

  The O'Neal men played a lively tune called “Cousin Sally Brown” that set Alicia's feet to dancing though she sat in place. Before long, her Pa bowed before Ma and offered his hand. Oh, the laughing and gaiety proved so contagious!

  In no time, her parents made their way in a big circle around the cook-fire.

  Mister Harrell and Gabby went next, then Auntie brought the baby to her and took Aaron's hands. The unbridled joy on her brother's face as he danced around with Aunt Liberty filled Alicia's heart.

  One song went straight into another, and the couples danced on. Would Flynn ever take a break and dance with her?

  Before she knew it, both the O'Neals took a break as those who’d whirled and twirled around the cook-fire too many times to count collapsed in their seats, laughing and gasping.

  How she longed to be counted in their number. She jumped up, returned the baby to her mama, and fetched Flynn a drink. Handing it to him, careful not to touch, she leaned in closer to his ear.

  “I can't stand it! Please dance with me!”

  Grinning, he gave her a quick little nod. Gabby came over and sat next to her. “I can't believe we get to go with you all to Texas. I'm so excited.”

  “Me, too! You're a good dancer. Where did you learn?”

  “Just you wait until you see Pap and Izzy! She's the one taught us both.” Alicia’s new friend leaned her head over onto her temple. “Did they give permission for you and Flynn to dance?”

  “Pa never said, but I’m hoping against hope.”

  Her friend held up crossed fingers then rose and joined Charity Grace and Arlene. It gave Alicia a twang of guilt or remorse for not trusting the girl. She wanted to.

  She'd never really had a friend her own age since she was little . . . it’d been years. Maybe the fingers in his hair wasn't nearly as much as she’d made it out to be.

  When the music started up again, only Uncle Reagan played the “Jolly Blacksmith.” Before she could ascertain the great favor God bestowed, Flynn bowed at the waist in front of her, extending his hand.

  She glanced at Pa who gave her a nod while offering his own hand to Ma again. Surely her heart would explode as she took her love’s hand and stood.

  Though she had no idea how to dance or what she was doing, he started her off with a twirl and led her with his firm hand to her back. With it there, he guided her, making her look like she knew what she was doing.

  How did he? Where had he learned?

  The exuberance and sheer happiness built in her until she figured that night was the best night she'd ever lived.

  Before it was over, Flynn took his turn playing and let Uncle Reagan dance with Aunt Liberty. Uncle Laud danced with Charity and Arlene both, and Rich came over, bent, and offered his hand to her.

  All in all, the night progressed quite perfectly, and she hoped it would never end. But end it did, and she'd even told Flynn to ask Gabby for one dance.

  That early morning after all the celebrating, her head on her pillow—though she couldn't imagine ever sleeping—she thanked God for giving her such an amazing man to be her head, her husband.

  Oh, how she desired to be married tomorrow! She wanted to vow before God to love Flynn and honor him and obey him as long as they both should live.

  But he was right.

  Waiting would be best.

  Land and a cabin far outweighed a wagon with mules.

  “Just get us to Texas, Lord.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Saturday sunrise found Alicia watching her love hitching the second pair of mules to the second wagon. That day broke clear and a bit hotter than it had been the last week or so.

  She stepped closer, though not so close that anyone could say they touched.

  “I hate you going.”

  He glanced at her but didn't stop working. “If I got my druthers, you'd be going with me. You'd have to sit most of the night, one fiddler for a big hall gets lost.”

  “Never thought of that. Still, you haven't even left, and I'm already missing you.”

  He finished with the last buckle then stood, winked, and grinned at her. “One fine day.”

  “Amen.”

  Too soon, Flynn's papa climbed aboard the lead wagon, and they were off. She stood her ground until he disappeared across the creek then turned toward the Worley's cabin. Some little girl kisses might soothe her soul, not like his lips on hers, but . . .

  Why were Mister Harrell and Izzy hitching his mules to their wagon?

  She veered toward the shed. Gabby came out of the shadows and strolled right toward her. “Isn't it exciting? Three days after today, we'll be heading west to Texas.”

  “Indeed, it is. Where are your Pap and Izzy going?”

  “Oh, we're all going back to our cabin. Well, it isn’t much more than a lean-to actually, but we left a few things when we come here. Pap says we might as well shake a leg in town tonight then go get our things—what's worth taking. He really likes how those O'Neals fiddles.”

  “You're going to the Jenkin’s shindig?”

  “Sure.” She stepped closer. “Your pa is a such a worry wart, isn’t he? I mean, there ain’t going to be any trouble.”

  “I’d call him prudent, instead. When are you and yours coming back?”

  “Sunday evening, Monday at the latest. We’re all excited about striking out Tuesday morn.”

  So, Gabby was going to the big dance.

  Well, Alicia would snatch her bald if she even . . . What an idiot she’d been, allowing her fellow to dance with Miss Harrell at all last night.

  But . . . it’d be all right. Wouldn’t it? Flynn loved her and wasn’t planning on doing anything but playing his fiddle. He’d surely be true . . .

  As much as she hated to admit it, Gabby was not hard to look at, and she had raked her fingers though his hair. Maybe a million reasons she'd done that had played through Alicia's mind since the incident.

  She didn't want to believe the girl had any designs on Flynn, but no good reason she wouldn’t had ever presented itself.

  Did her friend want him?

  Had she just been biding her time?

  The coast would be clear in Charlotte without Alicia being there to make certain . . .

  Almost frantic, she marched straight to her cabin, but stopped short. Pa wasn't going to take her to town. She knew that. And she didn't have any proof that Flynn would even have the opportunity to dance with Gabby—or even talk to her for that matter.

  Why was she going then? She could have stayed there; let Izzy and her pap go get whatever needed getting. Except who wouldn't want to go to a dance? As much fun as l
ast night had been . . .

  Maybe Gabby had a beau she wanted to see one last time. It could be. Oh why, why, why had she ever approved of that dance with Flynn?

  “There you are. I need your help.” Ma stood in the doorway of the cabin, wiping her hands on her apron.

  Nodding, she followed her inside. No amount of work could keep her mind off Flynn with Gabby. If only Pa hadn't gotten himself involved in the killing, then she’d be at the Jenkins’ watching over her betrothed.

  That night Charlotte's town square overflowed with people, but then most folks had plenty to celebrate. From all reports, the whole county made good crops, and the prices had stayed better than fair to middling.

  It did surprise Flynn that Corbin Harrell let his daughter dance with so many men, some twice her age or better.

  The man danced with as many ladies, leaving his slave girl on the edge of the crowd, like what he'd done last night at their private party wasn't for public eye.

  He'd overheard Mam and Ma Van Zandt discussing the little bump in Izzy's midsection, wondering if she carried Mister Harrell's child. At the time, he paid it no never mind.

  But the way Corbin acted toward his slave did not example how Flynn would expect an honorable man to behave.

  The “Drummer Boy of Waterloo” ended, and real quick, his papa started “Speckled Apron.” How many straight songs was that? Six or seven? He leaned in close to his father's ear. “Want anything?”

  He threw a nod toward the gazebo in the center of the square.

  “Sure. Fetch us some of that punch Mis'ess Jenkins put out.”

  Flynn put his fiddle on the chair provided—the one he hadn't sat since the shindig started—and worked his way through the revelers. Once there, he took the two filled cups offered and carried them back, careful not to slosh any of the red liquid.

  He drained his, rosined his bow again, then caught the tune Papa played, offering him a big smile.

  Sure pleased him to make it there and back without any of the girls or ladies wanting him to dance. Wouldn't want Alicia getting any dander up over some floozy putting a hand on him.

  “Jenkins must have a good ice house. He's got a big chunk floating in the punch bowl.”

  “Really?” His father stopped playing long enough to drain his cup. “Wow. That's some great stuff, but don't drink too much. Someone’s spiked it.”

  Flynn took his father’s advice even though the old man didn’t abide by it. After three trips to the refreshment table, his playing seemed different, had a looseness to it he’d never heard before.

  Made his fiddle sing a special song. Some appeared to notice and put a bit more kick in their steps. He loved watching them dance.

  The merriment wore on the night, gobbling it up twice as fast as he’d have expected. After half or more of the folks drifted off, Jenkins put an official end to the shindig and slipped Flynn and his father a silver dollar each before escorting his wife away.

  By and large, seemed to Flynn it had been a good celebration. No one got beat up—or shot. He enjoyed a few back slaps, but mostly his father received all the praise. After all, he was a first-class fiddler.

  That night after all the lanterns had been wicked down and the big bonfire only glowed embers, he helped stack the seed sacks on each side of the wagon and draped the tarp over them then did the same in the second wagon.

  Spreading his quilts, he laid it down.

  Right after his father’s snores echoed from the other wagon, something scratched on the canvas of his. “Flynn, you in there?”

  Oh, Lord! Gabby! What was she doing there?

  She tapped again, way too loud. “Flynn, I need a word, please.”

  Scooting to the end of his tent, he raised a corner of the tarp. “It’s late, Gabby. Where’s your pap?”

  A shadow came around to the wagon’s end. “He got drunk, and I’m cold.” She grabbed the sideboard and hiked herself halfway up. “Can I—”

  “No, ma’am! You cannot. Are you crazy?” He held up his hand, palm facing her. “Now get yourself on back to your pap.”

  She slumped then hugged herself. “Please, I got all sweaty, and now I’m chilled. Can’t I stay with you?”

  “Of course, you can’t. What do you think Alicia would say? You’re supposed to be her friend. No. Now get gone.”

  Scoffing, she disappeared into the shadows. He watched for a minute then scooted back into his rigged-up tent. After a bit his heart slowed, and his breathing eased.

  Lord, have mercy.

  Was it going to be a long ride to Texas?

  Sounds of the town coming to life opened his eyes, and he stuck his head out. Had it been a dream? Or had that crazy Gabby paid him a visit in the night? Oh, how he hoped it could be the former and not the latter.

  Morning had broken in Charlotte, though the sunrise hadn't painted the sky yet. Papa already had his tent down and the seed sacks lowered to his wagon's bottom.

  “Hey, there you are. Get yourself straight, and we'll find us some coffee. Maybe a flapjack or two.”

  “Yes, sir.” A stack of pan—fried cakes and honey or even better, maple syrup with a glass of sweet milk would go down right nice.

  It did, and better still, the milk had been chilled in a well overnight, best Flynn could tell.

  Once on the road, his thoughts wandered again to Miss Harrell. Had Papa heard her come, and more importantly, Flynn’s turning her away? What got into that girl? Coming to his wagon and wanting him to warm her up?

  Mercy.

  What a disaster that could have been. His first thought was to tell Alicia, be completely truthful.

  But he’d seen them being friendly which gave his love someone to talk with besides her aunties and ma. But if he kept Gabby's coming to his wagon quiet then Alicia ever found out about it . . . that would be terrible. She’d never understand.

  How long had that crazy girl been waiting until Papa started snoring? Or even known which wagon he'd climbed into? Unless she'd been watching.

  Had to be for her to know the right wagon and that he was alone. She had to have planned it all out. Sure seemed she had more on her mind than getting warm, too.

  For a half mile, he let his thoughts wander to exactly what she had up her sleeve, but then his guilty heart chased those immoral thoughts away.

  “Son, don't ever bed anyone you don't plan on marrying.” He repeated his father's words aloud. Sage advice his father had told him on numerous occasions. Of course, then he'd always added, “Shame I didn't follow it when I was your age.”

  He'd never asked, but always wondered if Mam knew everything about Papa's past.

  After no debate at all, Gabby definitely fell short of being in any potential wife category—leastwise not for his tastes. He'd made the right call when it counted all right, but that left him with that other decision to make.

  Should he tell Alicia?

  Or his Papa and Mister Seve—hadn't exactly worked his mind around him being Pa Van Zandt yet—but couldn't bring himself to use uncle anymore either. They could advise him. Or should he test the waters with Uncle Laud first?

  Yet then all the girl had done was ask for shelter and warmth. Was the rest all built up in his mind? Or had she really had more planned?

  Dear Lord, how is a body to know such things?

  The miles piled on top of themselves, but the only decision he'd settled on was to pray on it some more. He would hate it if a misunderstanding kept the Harrells from getting a new start in Texas.

  It'd be a rough trip though if he'd pegged her right on, and she kept at him. Alicia might hurt the interloper.

  Well . . . wasn't like he and the girl would ever be alone again on the trip.

  Oh, when would he get there? Alicia had checked the road on across the creek a hundred times already that morning, and high noon approached without any sight of the man she loved with her whole heart.

  That dance she’d let Gabby have . . . she better not have taken it that dancing all night wit
h him in Charlotte would be fine. Because it certainly was not!

  What if she’d made some excuse to ride home with him instead of fetching her stuff from wherever she lived? Alone in the wagon. Talking to him. Touching him. The wench! Oooo! When would he ever get there?

  Her conscious scolded her. She’s your friend, and you have no idea what took place. Calling her names wasn't Christian, especially not knowing if anything at all had happened. She swallowed hard. “Sorry, Lord.”

  Aunt Esther called from inside the cabin. “Lesha? That you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Could you give me a hand in here?”

  Popping her head inside, she made herself smile as though Flynn and Gabrielle hadn't spent the night in Charlotte alone. Together. Well, not together together . . . she hoped. “How can I help, Auntie?”

  “See this cheese crate here? I want to take it as an extra seat, but I need to fill it with something. I thought about the preserves, but it'll be getting moved, so . . .”

  “What about Josie Jo's extra diapers? . . . And cornstarch? Things you'll need handy for her wherever you are. None of that would break, and it'd keep it all together.”

  Her aunt's eye brightened, and she grinned so genuinely. Made Alicia suffer a bit more guilt. “What a marvelous idea! That's exactly what I'll do.” Auntie grabbed a stack of folded diapers and packed them in.

  Alicia fetched cornstarch and extra pins. The bibs and burp rags fit right in, too. By the time the trace chains jingled in the distance, she'd almost forgotten about keeping her eagle eye out.

  “He's here!” She ran to the door, bounded off the porch and raced out to meet his wagon. No Gabby sitting beside him, thank the Lord. She'd let her imaginations run away again. Practically skipping along beside it, she couldn't wait to hear all about it. “Tell me! Tell me everything!”

  His face about split in two, he smiled so big. “You should have seen the crowd! Two hundred or more folks. We played all the songs we did here, some twice and more.”

  “Was Gabby there?”

  He nodded. “She and her pap were dancing with so many different partners, a body couldn't keep track. Not that I was trying.”