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

by Caryl McAdoo

  That night after Charity Grace dozed off, she got out the journal, caught it up on the clan making Memphis and having to layover an extra day on account of the cold front that blew through.

  Staying true to herself, she only took a nip twice . . . albeit a goodly proportioned one. It helped some, but it sure seemed that every owl east of Memphis hooted in the trees just outside her wagon.

  The following night, she wanted nothing but to lay down. It’d been such a long and hard day, she’d surely go to sleep straightaway. But after too long, she sat up and retrieved the journal’s box.

  Day Fifteen

  September 29, 1840

  ~ + ~

  “It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.” Psalm 127:2

  Seve had us up and at it in the middle of the night as far as I was concerned, and I ought to slap my brother for that. He'd found out the day before that the line to cross the Mississippi started early’

  He reported if we wanted all five wagons and teams to cross together, we best be first or second in line.

  Leave it to the general, we were first. All right, but then we sat there forever, waiting. I admit that sitting there so long, thinking about crossing that big, grand, and wide river—even in the semi-dark—concerned me.

  But my, oh my. The experience was absolutely thrilling! If only Reagan could have enjoyed it by my side. He would have loved every minute! What a mighty God we serve!

  Such a memorable birthday blessing!

  Happy birthday to me.

  No one's remembered yet.

  I figured Mallory would be the one, or Laud, but they probably don't even know what day it is. I probably wouldn't, if not for this journal. Reagan would have. Forty years old . . . much too young to be a widow.

  What a big muddy body of water the Mississippi is. An amazing sight from out on its water. Someone said it flowed at six miles an hour all the time, year in, year out, no matter the season.

  How did men figure out that sort of thing?

  Then All. Day. Long. Cleaning the clogged wheels and mules' feet every half hour about did me in. Even with all that, we still did twenty-four miles and made the community of Shearerville, Arkansas.

  We met some real nice folks, and one of them claimed to know a man who knew all about Texas Land Grants. The fella, a John Bryant, had been to North Central Texas the year before to find a good place for a trading post.

  Flynn wants to look him up once we get to Little Rock where he’s supposed to be living until he heads back. That's still over a hundred miles away. Seve says we can make it by Saturday evening if we'll stay at it.

  Praise God, the mules are good and rested.

  Corbin walked some by himself today, not too far from my wagon, but no one came and drove for me before he got back in his rig. I tried to catch someone's eye, even thought about letting Charity Grace drive, but thought better of it.

  Such an action on my part might lend to make the man think me forward, letting my baby girl handle the reins and walking straight up next to him.

  Seemed to me though, that something is weighing heavy on his soul.

  His salvation is certainly weighing on my heart.

  Why is that, Lord?

  Alicia is really happy about something, but I haven't heard what that is. I hate not being able to spend more time with Mallory. I need her now more than ever, but she stays so busy with her family, and I just can't bring myself to be a bother.

  Seve wouldn't appreciate it.

  Maybe once we get to Texas. Besides, Aaron keeps her on her toes.

  Eyeing the page for a while, she decided that what she'd written filled it amply enough for one evening. She unscrewed the cap off her medicine bottle and chugged a good long gulp. It burned.

  She held the bottle up to the light. Close to half gone. Not too bad. She took one more gulp then put the bottle away.

  Sleep came hard.

  Then of all things, a rooster crowed.

  Strange, dreaming about a cock crowing, and it sounding so real. She rolled over, and the nasty bird ranted even louder.

  She sat straight up, wide awake. There it was again!

  Who had brought a rooster to camp?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Alicia didn’t take sides on the rooster Aaron and Rich had found, captured, then made their own. Mam and Ma wanted the thing cooked, but the boys went to wailing and yammering.

  They obviously couldn't stand the thought. Uncle Laud and Flynn spoke up for the little men and won the day. The others pretty much stayed out of it.

  More than one sly grin and muffled chuckles caught her eye and ear though.

  What a morning! The silly bird took to sitting on the boys' shoulders and the partners took turns carting it around. The traveling that day proved easier, only having to scrape the wheels a couple of times before dinner.

  Praise the Lord that afterwards, the road dried enough not to stick. Midafternoon, Pa stopped to clean the mules' hooves.

  With everyone helping, that chore didn't take too long.

  For her money, his off mule was the best among them, and she always worked the sweet old boy. He wouldn't dream of kicking or biting or hurting her in any way. Years ago, she wanted to name him, but her father insisted you didn't name an animal you might have to eat one day.

  So? He'd be safe getting a name. She would never eat a bite of mule!

  Shudders came on her at the thought of it.

  Wednesday night, while she and Flynn sat off a ways holding hands, she hoped he would ask why she'd been so happy of late. Either he hadn't noticed or might have passed it off as on account of her being giddy over her ring.

  Which was the absolute truth.

  Though it had nothing to do with the why for being so happy or the real reason she wanted him to bring it up.

  She didn't want to just blurt it out. She wanted him to ask. She stared at him and hollered in her head, smiling all the bigger: Ask me! Ask me! Ask me, you big lug!

  But he didn't.

  And she'd been being so nice, too.

  After hurrying all day to make the last ferry ride across the White River—which they missed—in the shank of the afternoon, her pa decided a fish fry would be a nice consolation.

  Most tried further upstream, but she and her intended sat just down from camp in sight of the fire. Esther, Mam, and the baby girls stayed, providing lookouts for her and Flynn, while her fellow kept an eye out for the women, too.

  After catching two fish, she decided he'd never notice her extra high spirits and took a different tactic. “Back at Shearerville, while you and the men jawed with that man that knew Mister Bryant, I heard tell a most interesting fact.”

  “That so?” He didn't even bother taking his eyes off his line.

  “Yes. Don't you want to hear it?”

  “Sure.” He glanced over. “Speak on, my lady.” He smiled then went back to watching the stupid line.

  “This girl, maybe a year or two older than me and Gabby. She knew all about those fourth-class headrights, and she says that the Republic of Texas Land Office gives a head of household six hundred and forty acres.”

  “Yep, I knew that.”

  “But did you know that a single man applying for one only gets three hundred and twenty acres?”

  That got his attention. He spun toward her. “Are you certain that's what she said?”

  “Positive, I asked her twice. We'd get twice as much land if we're married! Six hundred forty for a family man, and only half that if he's single.”

  Exhaling, he shook his head, almost as if lamenting the good news, then looked right in her eyes. “So that's why you've been floating around the past two days.”

  “You did notice!” She laughed. “I was wondering. Why didn't you say something? Ask me why I smiled so much? So, what about Little Rock? I hear it's a right nice place to get married, and you've got yourself a lady who's already said yes.”

/>   She walked her fingers across his hand.

  All he offered was a stupid snicker.

  “What’s so funny, Mister O'Neal?”

  “That you'd want to wait for Little Rock! I figured you'd think right here on this river bank would be a good enough place to get hitched.”

  She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips, but his mirth proved contagious, and she laughed with him. “Oh, you think you know me so well, don't you?”

  “Yes, ma'am. And well now . . . if what you're telling me is true . . . then Little Rock might be just the place. Think our mothers can have your dress ready?”

  “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! At least, I don't see why not! But if they can't, I've got a plenty nice enough blue one I've only worn a couple of times. Only on Sunday. And Flynn?”

  She smiled and gazed into those eyes she so loved.

  “You are so right. That blue dress would do just fine to say I do tonight. Right here on this riverbank definitely works for me.

  Late that night, still full of fried fish and taters and after her not-so-baby girl gave it up, Liberty got out her journal.

  Catching it up with all the day's news, she praised Esther for the delicious meal of fried fish and taters, a nice change indeed. And she also admitted how God worked all Seve's hurrying up for good.

  With the quill over the paper, she leaned back still full as a tick on a coon hound and pondered whether she wanted to say something about it being her last night taking any sleep medicine.

  Unless Corbin sent some by Izzy.

  Because she'd made up her mind not to ask him for any—or heaven forbid—buy a bottle.

  Did a body have to go into a saloon to buy whiskey, anyway?

  No. She would not put that in the book. She looked at the top of the page again.

  Day Seventeen

  Thursday, October 1, 1840

  ~ + ~

  “That I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart.” Romans 9:2

  A whole new month. What difference did it make? None! Never ever would she get over her love for the absent Reagan Flynn O'Neal. But she had his two children, and they needed her.

  They deserved a new her, not the barely-get-through-a-day then drink-herself-to-sleep version. She’d never be the same mother as when Reagan stood at her side.

  She stared at the page, but all of a sudden didn't much want to write anymore. She’d catch up on the first day of the month the next time. Putting everything in its box, she stowed it away, then picked up the bottle.

  Barely two good gulps were left, if that, but it didn't matter either. If after that night she never slept again, she would not be asking Mister Harrell for another bottle.

  She snuffed the light, put the bottle to her lips, but didn't drink it.

  A chill washed over her.

  Like King David, when his men brought him water from that special well, she knew what she needed to do. She screwed the lid back on, crawled to the wagon's back flap, and for the longest, sat there holding her sleep medicine.

  Somehow, she found the courage to unscrew the top and pour out the last of the whiskey.

  A drink offering to the Lord.

  Bless His Holy Name.

  Before she even thought about being ready, Aaron and Rich's stupid rooster took to crowing the sun up.

  How would she get through the day with no sleep? She’d been tossing and turning through the whole night. She put the pillow to her ears, but she could still hear the idiot bird's bragging and sounds of the camp coming to life.

  Might as well get up. Never could tell . . . might throw a stitch or two in Alicia's dress before General Van Zandt ordered them onto the road.

  No doubt he'd want to be first on the ferry.

  Right off, Corbin noticed Liberty's red puffy eyes, but made no comment. Instead, he forced himself not to look at her. He needed a private word with the lovely widow.

  Perhaps once the wagons crossed the river, he'd have Gabby drive his rig and send Izzy to relieve Mis'ess O'Neal. Would that be too obvious? Raise any hackles on the menfolk?

  Walking beside her a bit, he might even slip her his flask. The lady sure looked in need of an eye opener.

  Like nothing he planned, once his girl took Liberty's reins, she climbed down and headed straight over to where he walked. She came with a determined step in plain sight of everyone.

  Any words would remain out of ear shot though, especially with the symphony the harness, trace chains, and mules' plodding hooves sang. He'd figured he'd have to mosey over to walk alongside her.

  He liked a bold woman.

  Matching step, she walked close beside him, but not too. “How kind of you to send Izzy. I appreciate the break. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” His throat tightened a bit, but he best spit it out, or she’d be gone. “Guess you heard single men only get half the land in Texas?”

  “I did, but as of now, I consider it only a rumor. Laud says we’ll get the facts of the matter in Little Rock.”

  “Miss Liberty, uh . . .” He pulled his flask out of his back pocket and held it out. “Noticed you might need an eye opener.”

  Her hand came near then pulled back. “No, I do thank you kindly for thinking of me, but no thank you, sir.”

  “Oh. Sure. Sorry.” He put it away. “Miss Liberty, ma’am, I uh . . .”

  “Mister Harrell, are you a Christian?”

  “Uh, well, I was once, but then . . .” Why was he letting her do that to him? “I mean . . . I been baptized, but . . . uh. . .”

  “Losing someone is hard, Mister Harrell. You know I full well know that, but the Lord says He will never leave us or forsake us. You can't count it His fault that He took your wife because He's God. You have no idea what He might have been saving her from—perhaps something terrible that would have happened in her future.”

  “Can't say I ever thought of it that way.”

  “And besides, I don’t imagine the Lord looks at death the way we do. He has a very different perspective, you know. If Mis’ess Harrell was born again and followed Christ . . .”

  The woman paused as if he should confirm or deny the allegation. He didn’t figure she was, but for the widow’s assumptions . . . “Yes, ma'am.” There. Let her form her own opinion. He only agreed if she was.

  Why did she always have to start talking God every time she got around him? He had way more important things to discuss.

  “So then, like my Reagan whose name was most certainly written in the Book of Life, I'd perceive that God would see leaving this old troubled world for life eternal in Heaven . . . well, quite the promotion, wouldn't you? Plus, the Good Book says we are all appointed to die once.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Guess you’d be the one to know. But, well . . . uh . . . there’s something else I want to ask you about.”

  “All right, fine.” She gave him a nod. Sure was one fine-looking woman. “But first, will you promise me that you’ll pray? Ask God to heal your heart, and I know He’ll answer that prayer.

  “There's no reason your wife's death should keep you from loving the Lord and following Christ. We’ve got a life to live—albeit without our beloved—and only God’s way brings true peace.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Why had he agreed to pray? What was it about the woman? She was . . . what was she? He couldn't rightly describe. But he could use that . . . tit for tat and all. Wasn't that in the Good Book, too?

  “I will, if you'll do something for me.”

  “What would that be, Mister Harrell?”

  “Consider . . . uh . . . You know, just so that we could get more land . . . and I assure you ma’am, I’d be a perfect gentleman until you were comfortable.”

  The widow stopped in her tracks, then hurried ahead and walked backwards.

  Liberty eyed the man hard. Was he talking marriage? Surely not, her dearest husband was hardly cold in his grave.

  “Sir! Are you proposing marriage to me?” Her harsh tone surprised her. And him, too, from the look on
his face. She turned around and fell back beside him, but that time farther away.

  Taking in a lung full of air, he took off his hat and slapped it on his leg then cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. I was. You are powerful pretty and smart and if these was normal times, I'd wait a year.

  “Maybe two. I know you aren't ready. But it’s not normal. And an extra three hundred and twenty acres is a powerful enticement to hurry things along.”

  “You want to cheat the Republic of Texas?”

  “Well now, wouldn’t be no cheating going on if we were hitched. And like I said, it could be in name only . . . you know, until you were ready. And if after the three years, and we got our land patented, and you still wasn’t, then . . .

  “Well, we could go our separate ways if you wanted.” He grinned. “I'd give you half of the extra to own for yourself. We could make it all legal and proper.”

  The long, loud, indignant 'no' that clamored to make its way off her tongue and out of her mouth suddenly settled. Instead, for some strange reason only God Himself knew, she brought up the biggest stumbling block.

  “What about Izzy? I hate slavery, sir.”

  “Sell her? No, ma’am. Couldn’t do that. We could . . . uh . . . say . . . let her buy herself free. You know, give her a little here and there, let her hire out and keep a portion of her earnings.” He smiled. “Maybe even set aside a bit of land for her to live on. Uh . . . why are you looking at me like that?”

  “That woman is a human being, sir! She doesn't owe you anything. She already deserves her freedom with no more servitude! She’s served enough.”

  “But . . . But . . . For her own sake, Miss Liberty. I mean, she needs me. That girl can’t make it on her own.”

  “Of course, she could! And what’s to say she wouldn’t find herself a husband, someone she loves who loves her? She has the right under God to be happy just like you or me!”

  She should just tell him no and be done with it, but was that what the Lord wanted her to do? Had he been the One holding back that 'no'? Izzy could be free.