by Caryl McAdoo
She eyed him hard. “Were you one of those partners?”
“Heaven’s no.” He eased the team to a stop behind his father's wagon. “Just like I promised, fiddling was all I did. Papa and I played us a storm.” He waved her back.
“Oh.” She retreated as he climbed down. Heaven forbid should he accidentally touched her. As if that would be the biggest sin since the garden.
But then, she could still feel his hands on her waist and back as he guided her around the cook-fire Friday night. One fine day, she could have him dance her around their very own cabin.
Her father hurried toward the wagons. “Reagan. What did the cotton bring?”
“Nine-point-six. I was thinking on the way back, we ought to go ahead and buy us another wagon now.”
She liked the sound of that. Instead of leaving the men to tend the mules and unload the seed sacks, she hung back but stayed within earshot.
Pa took hold of the off mule and clucked him backwards toward the shed. “Why's that?”
“We've got—with the ones I brought this trip—over three hundred sacks of seed and a lot of goods to take with us. Heard tell last night you can mix some of the seed in with the mule's grain.”
“Really? Who told you that?”
No never mind about the seed. Why were they not talking about the extra wagon? That's what she wanted to hear about but knew better than to interrupt.
“Don't guess I know him, but you say the man claims he's been doing it for years now.”
“That's what he said?”
“Sure enough. Even with another wagon, we're still carrying over two ton of seed each.”
Pa smiled. “Softer than the ground. I'd figured we sell what we couldn't take, but I agree, another wagon makes sense. We could sell it in Memphis when we sell the extra seed.”
“We could. Or might want to hang on to it, feed it to the mules or carry more of it to Texas before we sell. No telling what it'll bring there. Half to a penny is what someone said it's bringing in Memphis these days.”
“Mercy. I hate how prices tend to drop during harvest. Last I heard it was steady at two cents.”
She'd heard enough. Flynn's papa carried the day. Pa had no problem spending money to make money, and hopefully, if she read the elder O'Neal right, he might just be thinking ahead to her and Flynn's coming union.
It could be. Surely driving a new wagon would fall to her love. Maybe Flynn had talked to his father, convinced him to be an advocate for a marriage before going to the Republic.
What was everyone's concern anyway? Wasn't like they didn't know each other well or would ever be changing their minds. What difference did it make to Pa if she arrived in Texas a bona fide married woman?
She strolled back to the cook-fire, daydreaming of an autumn wedding. She loved the colors of fall. What a great day it had turned out to be!
All her fretting over all sorts of bad imaginings about Flynn and Gabby turned out to be such a worrisome waste. Gabrielle really was her friend, and now it looked like Papa O'Neal was on her side.
Perhaps she ought to try that out on her former Uncle Reagan.
A great day indeed.
That night, like most Sunday evenings, the whole clan had themselves church. Wasn't like going to a meeting house and having what Ma called 'high church' with someone preaching proved any better—at least to her way of thinking.
She enjoyed their meetings just fine, liked hearing the different men teaching from the Good Book on how to live more like Christ.
Would Flynn take a turn once he married her?
Later on his porch with her love, a time or two he seemed to be wanting to tell her something, but either changed his mind or couldn't get it out. She didn't press him though. Then he took to talking about the stupid cow and calf.
How he was hating the idea of not having his daily milk. She'd never known anyone who could eat so much or be more concerned about his belly.
Speaking of which, she needed to ask Aunt Liberty to teach her how to fix Flynn's favorite, ham hocks and black-eyed peas. She already had her buttermilk pie down dead to right. He said he couldn't tell the difference from his mam’s.
“So I only had one glass.”
Ooops! When had she lost interest, he was still talking about the cow, right? “Of milk?”
“No, silly, the punch. Sure tasted delicious.”
“Oh. Then why only one glass?”
“You weren't listening at all, were you? Papa said it was spiked.”
“Oh, mercy!” Then it hit her green eyes, getting greener by the minute. “So! You took a break? Of course, you did. And did Miss Harrell accompany you to the punch bowl?”
“Uh, no, ma’am. Guess she was dancing then.”
“How was she dancing if you and Uncle Reagan were on break? Did someone else play?”
“Nope, Papa and I took turns, so he kept playing, and I brought him a glass. He had a few more, but I didn’t. You’re acting like you think something went on, Alicia. I already told you I didn’t see her at all when I was on break. Don’t you trust me?”
“I do. I really do, Flynn.”
“Good. I can tell you nothing will ever happen between me and that girl. You’re the one I love. I choose you, and I’d appreciate it if you’d quit searching for anything to the contrary.”
Wow, he sure got all defensive all of a sudden.
Had something happened after all?
Chapter Thirteen
He glanced behind him. She still dogged him hard. Where was he? Where could he go? A stitch grabbed his side. He stopped and spun, hands stretched out in front. “No. Stop! Go away.”
Grinning, she shook her head. “Now how could I do such a thing? We're going all the way to Texas with you, and you're such a handsome man, Flynn O'Neal.” Gabby took two more steps toward him.
“Wake up!” He took two steps back. “This has to be a dream.”
The girl floated away, giggling to herself, then Izzy strolled out of the shadows. “Best take care, Mister Flynn. That gal is so much like her pap.” She cradled her belly with both hands but kept nodding with one eyebrow cocked high in warning.
All he had to do was wake up.
A bolt of lightning danced across the dark purple sky then another chased it along. What a sight. He looked back, and the slave girl had vanished.
The initial boom rattled the tin roof of his lean-to room. He sat erect in his bed, and the thunder rolled away in the heavens. Another bolt flashed and lit his room momentarily.
In its pitch-black aftermath, he eased out of bed and walked toward his window. The framed waxed paper that filled it lit again with the pale glow of another lightning flash. He struck a match to his lantern’s wick, rolled it down a bit, then held it up, searching the corners of his room. Thank goodness, no Gabby.
Setting the oil lamp on the little side table, he retrieved his boots and pulled them on.
Why hadn't he told Alicia about Gabby trying to get in his wagon? He should have told her. She didn't need a friend like that.
Was the girl chasing him in his dreams his punishment for keeping it secret?
He opened his door and eased out, staying under the protection of the eave. Water still dripped from it, though it didn't seem to be raining right that minute. He walked on out a little way, around the corner to spy the eastern horizon.
It remained gray black. He tiptoed onto the porch and grabbed a stool close to the wall then leaned back against the cabin's logs.
Twice, he tried to tell his love about her friend’s betrayal, but he couldn’t find the right words. Why hadn’t he? It should have been easy enough, unless . . . No! He put that thought away.
He did not want to have anything to do with Corbin Harrell’s daughter. So then why hadn’t he said something? Why did he feel the need to protect Gabby's reputation?
But it wasn't her reputation, not really. His love’s heart, that’s what he wanted to protect—her need for a boon buddy. Then or later, a friend
who would do that would end up hurting her.
Wouldn't she? Seemed like sooner than later, too. Shouldn't he say something before Alicia got any closer to the conniver? He didn't know. How could he?
Females were so perplexing.
Uncle Laud planned to deliver the cow and her calf that morning. Maybe he'd ride with him, see what he allowed on the subject. With the whole clan voting to let the Harrells join them on the journey . . .
Round and round his thoughts went, but no solid answer presented itself. After sitting too long, he decided to see if the cow had come up.
Man, oh man. He sure enough was going to hate not having fresh milk every day.
September the fourteenth dawned. Last day before striking out. Alicia had what little that belonged to her packed and beside the front door. Though her sister had mostly taken responsibility for her own things.
Of course, it fell to her to see to Aaron’s—and to some extent, Arlene’s, too. Ma never had liked climbing the ladder.
Besides, she'd spent most of the morning seeing to her and Pa's last bit of packing.
The cabin looked so empty with so much already out on the porch. She couldn't believe the adults were just going to walk away and leave the homes they'd worked so hard to raise up.
And their land.
It was all so unfair.
But, tomorrow would mark the beginning of a great adventure, at least she hoped it'd be great. In Texas, it should be so much better. They would build even better homes there that they'd never have to leave behind again.
And the best part, she and Flynn would be building, too. He’d build her very own home to raise his babies in.
“Don’t pack that shirt, Lesha. It’s dirty and too small anyways. Grabs me right here.” He thumbed his underarms.
“Well, I can wash it and let it out. Or use the material in a quilt. It gets cold in Texas, too.”
“Nope. Couldn’t be. Don't you know them wild Indians run around naked all the time?” He squinted both eyes at her. “They wouldn’t do that if it was cold! I heard Texas is hot as hell.”
“Aaron Edmond Van Zandt! Do you want your mouth washed out with lye soap?”
“What do you think?”
“That you best mind your tongue, young man! You shouldn't talk like that. You never hear Pa saying such. Where did you hear that anyway?”
“In Charlotte. At the store.” He puffed up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyway, can't be cold there.”
“The natives are not naked. They have some clothes on. Haven't you see the pictures?”
“Yep. And they'd all done froze stiff if it got cold there.”
“Whatever. It might have been in the summer when those photographs were taken. It does get hot there to be sure, but in the winter, it gets cold, too. Just like Tennessee.”
Folding the shirt, she put in his tow sack, then looked to the far corner. “Arlee, how are you doing?”
“I need another box. Do we have one?”
“I don’t think so, but there’s a few more tow sacks. Aaron’s got some room. What do you have?”
“No! She can't put any of her stuff with mine! It ain’t right! I don’t want none of her girly stuff mixing up with my guy stuff.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” Alicia held her hand toward her sister. “Bring it here.”
Aaron stood and stomped his foot. He waved his hands, swinging every which direction, daring Arlene to come closer. “I said no! Get your own self a tow sack! This here’s mine!”
“You need a good whipping, little boy!” If left to her sister, the baby of the family would be beat regular. She glanced to Alicia. “Where is another tow sack? I don’t want to put my stuff with his dirty things anyway.”
“There’s a few left beside the door, but better only take one. Ma still has some roots and dried okra she needs to stow.”
The brother, fists on hips, raised his chin. “Ha!”
“Watch yourself. The Good Book says haughtiness goes before a fall and pride before destruction.”
“Humph.” But he didn’t say any more while she filled his sack. Even kept quiet when Arlene returned, hauling an empty sack.
“Aaron, push this over to the ladder then help Arlee hand it down to me, then well do the same with hers.”
“She can carry her own stuff to the ladder.” He wrinkled his nose, picked the thing up then carried it over to the spot next to the ladder’s top. “I ain’t no baby. I don’t got to push it. That ain’t even heavy at all.”
She started down then pointed a finger at him. “While we’re on this trip, brother mine, you are going to learn how to speak properly. I’m sick of you using ain’t and talking like some hayseed.”
Arlene brought her box. “Do you suppose we can start school back once we get gone?”
“Ma and I have talked about it some.”
“Where’s Flynn? I'm tired of being with you two crazy girls! School, schmool! I ain’t learning nothing!”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Rich and me got snares to run and lots of battles to fight.”
“He’s gone with Uncle Laud. They took the cow and calf over to the Snyders’. And Flynn brought in all the snares yesterday, so there’s nothing to check.”
“Oh. Well. We can go by our own selves. We’re half grown, and we can make sure your boyfriend didn’t miss one on account of all he ever thinks about is you anymore!”
Arlene knelt beside her box. “I thought Pa and Uncle Reagan were doing that.”
“No. They’ve gone to the Baker’s to see about trading for their team and wagon.”
Aaron shook his head. “Nope. Old man Snyder is trading us his mules for our cow and calf.”
“Aaron, do not be disrespectful! Mister Snyder is a nice man. You are correct that he is trading his mules, but we’ve decided we might buy another wagon and team, too.” She loved it that he accepted her as a grown adult.
“Oh.”
Once her siblings’ things were ready to be packed onto the wagon, Aaron ran off to find Rich, and she and Arlene headed to the Worley’s cabin where they found Ma sipping tea with her best friend and the other honorary aunt.
Looked like Ma and Aunt Liberty were taking turns holding Josie Jo. Alicia wasn’t sure if she or her sister loved the baby more. One fine day soon, she and Flynn would have one of their own.
Please hurry that day, Lord.
And go ahead of Pa and Papa O'Neal; put it in the Bakers' heart to make a fair deal, so Flynn and I can have a roof over our heads.
Though the nighttime storm had been loud—and from all reports disturbed most everyone's sleep—its little daub of rain had hardly settled the dust.
Skies sure seemed there might be some more headed their way.
Pa had said rain or shine though. He was heading to Texas come first light, and she guessed for at least the time being, she rode with him.
“Hey, Charity Grace and Arlene, want to help me make a sign?”
Her sister who just got to hold Josie Jo shrugged. “For what?”
“In case anyone came by who hadn't heard. We can nail it on the shed's first post.”
Charity Grace nodded. “Sounds fun, what's it going to say?”
“Gone to Texas.”
Even before the ladies agreed on if they had time or not to mess with a sign, trace chains jangling pulled Alicia and the girls outside.
Instead of Flynn, it was only the Harrells.
Good. She'd be able to see how well Gabby's story of the big shindig matched with what she'd already heard.
To Flynn's way of thinking, his uncle got the short end in the trade, but the mules were sound and stout-legged and worked well enough according to Snyder.
The man stood in good stead around those parts, so no need to doubt his word on that. Still though, a cow that gave three gallons of milk a day with plenty left over for her calf was prized.
He had heard tell how some of the black and white Holsteins milked out at
over nine gallons a morning, but you could hear a lot in a long day. The Jersey sure gave some sweet, creamy milk.
When the mules crossed the next to last creek before home, as Flynn promised himself, he made mention of Gabby.
Laud eyed him hard. “What about her?”
“Oh, she was at the Jenkins' big shindig.”
“I heard that. Reagan told he never saw the girl with the same partner, and that Corbin acted almost as bad.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Also heard you didn't do anything but rake your bow across the stings.”
“Yes, sir.”
The wheels made three or four complete turns. “You know how we took two wagon loads of lint?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that night we stacked the seed sacks in a horse shoe then draped the tarp over that, so we could lay it down for a while.”
“That's how I would have done it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Flynn, stop yes-siring me and spit it out.”
“Yes, sir. I mean . . . uh, well . . . Papa was in one wagon, and I was in the other, and right after he took to snoring, almost like she'd been watching, Gabby comes scratching on my tarp. I ignored her, so she goes to tapping on the sideboards.
“Telling me she’s cold. I told her to go away, but she comes around to the back and lifts my tarp’s corner. Claims she got all sweaty dancing and that she was chilled, and her pap was drunk and . . .”
“Did you?”
“No, sir! She tried to climb aboard, but I put my hands up and shooed her away. She didn’t like it, but she left.”
“Good for you. Alicia would have killed you both.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well now, have you told anyone else?”
“No, sir. I mean . . . what if she really was just cold and everyone—well, Mam and Aunt Mallory voted no; but that was over Izzy—anyway, the rest of the clan welcomed them to go to Texas with us.”
“I guarantee, that girl was more than cold.”
“You think so? You're sure?”
“Sure as a mule’s got a kick. No respectable young lady would have done such. A good woman would’ve frozen to death before getting into a man’s wagon. She was looking for loving, pure and simple.”
