“I’ve got the horse,” Caleb yelled.
“You going to be all right?” Micah’s voice caught. Was he crying?
Her head spun, and the same stars returned. Deep inside, she ached.
“Lean on me. Let’s take you into the house.” Charles’s voice came from far away, but she could feel him close. He half carried, half walked her into the house and up the stairs to her room.
“Tom always said I was too big a woman to tote.”
“A smaller woman couldn’t manage that horse,” Charles grunted. He laid her on the bed and removed her boots.
“Baby’ll be coming now. Too soon, too soon,” Ma Duncan wailed.
Charles’s blue eyes loomed over her, worry frowning his features. “How do you feel? Is the baby coming?”
Jenny laid her hand on her belly’s slight mound. “It feels better to lie down.”
Charles ordered Ma Duncan to get water and said, “Take your caterwauling out of here.”
Lying on the bed and staring at the knotholed ceiling, Jenny’s head started to clear.
“A fine rider on a glorious horse is a sight to see,” Charles said. “But taking a fence, even as neatly as Caesar did, is dangerous in your condition. Surely you knew better?”
Jenny blinked rapidly, yet she felt a tear slip out of the corner of her eye. “It just felt so freeing to ride. Caesar ran like a dream.”
“And you rode him like a dream,” Charles muttered.
“What?” She tried to sit up. He gently pushed her onto the pillow.
“Have you been jumping them this whole time? I knew you’d been riding and training the horses, but I never suspected you jumped them.”
“This is the first time I’ve jumped since”—she swallowed—“the baby.”
He used his foot like Tom used to, hooking the cane-back chair to the bedside. Jenny grimaced at the memory.
“We need to sell those horses to the Army before you do something even more foolish. Good thing Colonel Hanks gave me this letter this morning at church.” He reached into his coat pocket.
“A letter came?” Jenny closed her eyes again. “Thanks be to God.”
Charles searched his outer pocket, his pant pockets, and even took off his hat. “Where is it?” He went to the stairs and shouted for her brothers.
Micah thundered up. “Are Jenny and the baby okay?”
“Stay here to protect her from Ma Duncan. I’ve got to ride back to church. Do you know what happened to the Army letter?”
Chapter 8
Charles called for Caleb when he got to the barn. When the boy didn’t know about the letter, he asked him to saddle up a horse while he rifled through his Bible. Charles didn’t recall sticking the thin envelope into its pages, but where was it?
He searched the buggy. Nothing.
When Caleb led out the mare Daisy, Charles climbed into the saddle and took off.
After all the trips to school, Charles knew the road well. He sped past the graves, rounded the hill, dropped down with the road to the river, and soon reached the Stovall Academy, a rough-hewn log cabin with two classrooms. All along, he scanned the road, but the countryside held no stray envelopes.
He stopped at Professor Stovall’s door, but the man hadn’t seen a letter. Charles continued on toward town and church.
No luck.
His heart sank when he reached the Methodist Episcopal Church and saw Colonel Hanks talking with Jack Willard, another former prisoner from Fort Delaware.
“I thought you went home,” Hanks said.
“I’m trying to find the letter.”
Hanks winced. “You lost Jenny’s letter from the Army?”
Charles touched his pocket then sat up straight in the saddle. He’d suffered a powerful man’s disapproval before. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re not doing well by her if you lose important mail.” The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “I suggest you solve this problem.”
He caught his hand before he saluted. “Yes, sir.”
Hanks shook hands with Willard. “I’ll see you at the memorial wreath laying. Thanks for doing this. Good day, men.” The colonel walked toward his house.
Charles replayed the envelope incident in his mind. Hanks had stopped him at the buggy following the service, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out the letter. They’d spoken briefly about the potential contents and what it could mean to the family. Charles had examined the small red profile of Washington on the three-cent stamp. He’d agreed to give the letter to Jenny, set it beside his Bible on the buggy seat, and climbed in.
Surely he had put it in his pocket.
Or had he?
Ma Duncan had shrieked when the buggy started. Charles closed his eyes to think. Did Ma Duncan pick up the letter? Why?
“Huh.” He turned the horse toward the road home.
Jack Willard called after him. “You joining us the last Friday of the month to remember our fallen soldiers?”
Charles halted. “What time and where?”
“In front of the cemetery, around four. My wife wants to lay a wreath to honor the men we lost, particularly the Peck boys and James Tubb.”
“Should I bring Jenny Duncan?”
Willard spat tobacco juice into the dirt. “Maybe if we could forget her last name is Duncan. What are you doing out there? Does she know what Tom did to Ben when he tried to escape?”
“Not yet.” Charles held himself steady under Willard’s scrutiny.
Willard crossed his arms. “Tom Duncan wasn’t a bad kid when he left here, but gambling turned his head. Maybe if there’d been no war and he’d stayed in Anderson County he never would have learned to gamble. But it got in his blood, and he lost all sense. What was he thinking betting against Ben like that?”
“Prison did strange things to men,” Charles said.
“Really? What’d it do to you? Turned you into a holy roller.”
“I bet for Ben that night, and it’s haunted me ever since. I’ve never taken another bet since.”
Willard squinted at him. “You’ve never taken another bet? I doubt it. Still carrying them good-luck dice?”
Charles pressed his lips together and suppressed the urge to touch his pocket.
“I figured so. It’s in your blood, too, Moss. You gamblers never change.” Willard spat again and stalked off.
What a miserable Sunday, Charles thought. Willard was right about the urge to gamble never leaving a man, which is why Charles carried the dice as a reminder.
He’d failed Ben Peck, a young man he’d liked, on a wild rainy Delaware night. How many times had he relived the night Ben watched Tom Duncan take bets on his chances of success? With the numbers running against the young man, Charles couldn’t bear the discouragement on his face. He’d anted up for Ben, and a dozen others joined him.
Afterward, Ben shook his hand. “Thanks. I needed someone to boost my confidence.”
Then he drowned.
Charles kicked and the mare took off, moving like the wind along the dusty Sunday road. Charles put his head down and raced for all he was worth, repeating, “If only, if only.”
A flash past the school reminded him of the preacher’s words that morning. “For freedom Christ has set us free; stand no more under the yoke of slavery to sin.”
He’d confessed the sin. He’d been forgiven. He just wished he didn’t see Ben’s eyes in Jenny’s face.
Charles focused on the horse. Fleet of foot, she galloped with a smooth stride. He’d love to see her racing against his family’s stable in Lexington. She’d give them a run for their money. He groaned. Why couldn’t he shake the racing lure? He’d vowed to never take a bet again.
Charles touched the reins to slow the fabulous mare to a walk. The farm was in sight, and he needed to prepare himself to reenter his payback prison.
Chapter 9
Late November
Jenny rolled to her side and stared out the four-paned window at the moon riding high on a frosty night. The
barn loomed dark, but she could see a flickering light through the small bunk-room window. Charles was up late as usual preparing his lessons. She admired his diligence and work ethic.
She heard a creak on the stairs. Jenny curled around her full belly, and her body tensed. Even after all these months, she remained alert lest Tom return. Would the fear of him ever leave? She felt no relief when she climbed the hill to look at the graves. She missed Pa nearly every hour as the responsibilities grew. Ma was now a distant sigh, and for Asa and Ben, Jenny burned with disappointment they’d died alone.
Tom?
When she stopped at his grave, she begged God to forgive her for being glad he was gone. She hadn’t wanted him dead, just no longer controlling every part of her life.
Of course he’d left a tiny visitor behind. Jenny rubbed her hand along her belly. She could hardly wrap her brain around what the baby meant.
Jenny had seen enough livestock give birth that labor and delivery didn’t frighten her. Concern her, yes, which is why she would see the midwife when she went to town next week.
Jenny rolled over and stared at the door, now lit by moonlight. She couldn’t fall asleep with worries hounding her. She had to deliver the horses to Fort Griffin. When? How?
They’d lost time waiting for Ma Duncan to admit she’d taken the letter and then produce it from the back of the chicken coop. Some days her mother-in-law was as flighty and senseless as a hen, but then, that was why Tom had wanted her on the farm where she couldn’t get into trouble.
Since sleep wasn’t coming, Jenny got up and pulled on the day dress she had discarded only an hour before. She’d reexamine the letter and check on Blossom. The cow would calve soon.
Jenny lit the oil lantern when she reached the barn. Blossom lay on her side in the straw.
False alarm. Jenny yawned and entered the office. She reread Quartermaster Stewart’s offer of a fair price for six trained geldings. The money would supply clothing they all needed, items for the baby, and even pay off Colonel Hanks’s lien, thus removing the fear she might lose the farm.
The only problem was getting the horses to him.
Quartermaster Stewart wanted them delivered by the end of the year to Fort Griffin, two hundred miles away. It could easily take two weeks to herd the six horses there and return.
Jenny rubbed her side. She, obviously, couldn’t make the trip even in a buggy. Hiring someone would eat into her profit, even if she could justify sending Caleb along as the second rider. But did she have another choice?
She yawned and pinched the space between her eyes. What was she going to do?
Charles knocked on the door. “What are you doing out here?”
“Checking on the cow and reviewing this letter.”
“Has her time come?”
She shrugged. “She looked fine a little while ago. I’ll check her again.”
Blossom swayed a little when Jenny held the lantern high over the stall door. “Let’s toss in hay. She’s due soon.”
Charles picked up the pitchfork. “I’ll go for water,” Jenny said.
He took the bucket from her hand. “I’m not going to stand here while a pregnant woman hauls water. I’ll fill the trough if you’ll promise not to do anything.”
With his eyes alight with a righteous fire and standing so close, Jenny dropped her gaze. “She’s my cow. I’ll take care of Blossom.”
He walked away carrying both the pitchfork and the bucket. “Not if you don’t have the proper tools.”
Jenny hid her smile. “Then wake up Caleb. You’re a paying lodger.”
“Not in Colonel Hanks’s book. He keeps quoting that Bible passage about helping widows and orphans.”
“I don’t need your sympathy,” Jenny said when he returned with two buckets of water.
“Maybe not, but you need my help and I need to work. Too much time in the classroom will make me weak. Tending your livestock keeps me strong.” He poured the water into the trough, and Jenny pretended not to watch his flexing muscles.
“So you’re here under orders?”
He paused. “I’m here because you provide a comfortable room and Ma Duncan is a good cook. I’m still trying to get used to the easy life, but it’s growing on me. Anything is better than being in prison.”
“Where did you live before you came here?” Jenny watched Sal slip out the bunk-room door.
“In my tent. Living in a prison camp will put the desire for open air in you.”
“But the war was over more than two years ago. You slept in a tent through two winters?” Jenny pulled her shawl closer.
“First winter I spent at home in Lexington sleeping in the barn with the horses. I taught school last winter in Florida where the weather is mild. Tent was fine.”
Charles seized the pitchfork and tossed hay into the stall with such fervor, the cow bellowed. When he finished, Charles’s look sharpened. Blossom rocked on her feet. “Cows don’t like to be watched. Let’s stand where she can’t see us.”
“I thought you were a horse expert,” Jenny whispered.
“We owned cows, too.” Charles stared at the cow, whose sides flexed with contractions. “They usually deliver pretty fast. I think she’s having trouble. Stay here.”
He spoke in a calm voice as he entered the stall. Sal slipped in after him. Charles scowled at the dog and pointed to the door. The dog hunkered down. Charles pointed again. Sal tucked her tail and joined Jenny. “Get me a bucket of water and soap,” he ordered. “I need to check on the calf.”
Jenny hurried to the well, wondering if she should awaken Caleb, but the boys’ window was dark. She toted the full water bucket, grabbed the small pail of soft soap, and passed them to Charles. Blossom’s lowing intensified.
Charles removed his shirt and tossed it onto a peg. Jenny looked away, but the gelding in the stall beside Blossom’s poked his head over to watch. Charles shoved its head away. Jenny grabbed the nosy dog.
Blossom’s tail stood straight out. Charles soaped up his left arm and slowly reached into the cow, his forehead furrowed in concentration. He closed his eyes. “She’s bearing down. Ease up, old girl.”
“What is it? What’s happening?”
He grunted and twisted his arm. “One of the hooves is bent backward. I need to turn it forward.”
His shoulder muscles tensed as he concentrated on the task. Sal whimpered at Jenny’s feet. Several horses whinnied and woke up the rooster who crowed when he saw the lantern light.
Charles yanked his arm out of the cow.
A splat, a yell, and the warm scent of delivery filled the stall. Blossom nibbled at the mucous sac. Once the nose was clear, she nudged the tiny calf to its feet and licked it.
Charles picked up a handful of straw and thrust it into the calf ’s nose. The calf sneezed, and its sides expanded with the first gulp of air.
Jenny’s heart turned over and tears slipped down her cheeks.
Charles grinned. “It’s a girl.”
She joined him in the stall to rub Blossom’s neck. “We can always use another milk cow.”
He examined his slimy arm, chest, and clothing messy from the delivery. “Any water left in the bucket?”
He tossed the remaining water against his chest and left the stall. Once at the well, he pumped more water and turned the bucket over his head, dousing his body and clothes. “Brrrr.”
Sal bayed. Jenny laughed. “Maybe I should wash your clothes for you.”
“Only if you want to,” Charles replied. He held his shirt at arm’s length. “I’m going in out of the cold now. Good night.”
“Thank you for everything.” Jenny rubbed her belly thoughtfully as she walked up the porch steps. She hoped her delivery wouldn’t be so complicated.
Chapter 10
Charles handed the buggy reins to Jenny and climbed out with Caleb and Micah following. “The boys and I will join you in town after school. Don’t leave without us.”
Jenny laughed. “I’ll be at Rachel’s
house sewing baby clothes. I’ll meet you at the cemetery.” She chirruped to the horses and they trotted away.
Charles watched until the buggy rounded the bend. Caleb nudged him. “She’s not going to get lost, Mr. Moss.”
He gulped. “I was admiring how well the horses are matched.”
Micah snickered. “One is a roan mare and the other gray.”
“Their steps are well matched, demonstrating excellent training.” Charles knew he sounded absurd. “Time for class.”
The Stovall Academy was the only coeducational school in the county. Charles taught the more advanced mathematical and science students—eight boys and three girls—first thing in the morning. He also took a turn at Greek and Latin—subjects he had learned during his two years at Fort Delaware. After lunch, he swapped classes with Professor Stovall and instructed younger students with simpler lessons.
Charles had enjoyed the last three months and got along well with the students, if not always his teaching colleague. Stovall was uncomfortable with unorthodox teaching methods, though he allowed Charles a free hand. He approved of Charles’s Christian behavior—his regular church attendance, and the fact he daily helped two widows and two orphans. All the same, Stovall liked rules, so Charles struggled to obey them.
He carried his books and lunch pail in one hand and stuck the other hand in his right front pocket to touch his old talisman. Whistling an off-key version of “Dixie,” he walked to his log cabin classroom where Stovall opened the door and followed him in.
The schoolroom smelled of pine already burning in the potbellied stove. Charles set down his books and hung his coat on the nearby peg. He picked up the school bell and wondered why Stovall waited by the door. “Sir?”
“You shouldn’t whistle. It sets a bad example for the boys. Uncouth behavior.”
“Sorry. Old habit.”
“I’ve noticed you frequently have your hand in your pocket. Is there a reason for that?” Light from the window glinted off Stovall’s wire-rimmed glasses.
“Am I breaking a rule?” Charles fought the urge to touch his pocket.
“I don’t know. Are you?”
Texas Brides Collection Page 23
