“We heard he was awful sick for a long time but we didn’t know he died,” Mandy said in a sympathetic tone. “I’m sorry, Mr. Edwards. For you and your poor mother and sisters.”
Morgan noted the difference in the former slaves. Not at all like he remembered. There was something about them that he was at a loss to define. Mandy’s diction, he noted, had improved remarkably since he last spoke with her and her manners came close to elegance. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he told them. “I must be on my way. Tell me, did Ben ever find Molly Allison? My wife told me she wasn’t here when the war ended.”
“Yes, Sir. He finally did.” Mandy smiled broadly. “And, their wedding is scheduled this coming Saturday in Trinity Church in Boston.”
Morgan chuckled. “Then I must hurry if I see the rascal while he’s still single.” He tipped his hat. “Think I’ll pay him a visit before I go back to Texas.”
“That’d please Mista Ben,” Cassie called to him as he climbed into the buggy. “Tickle him to death for one o’ his old friends to go to his weddin’. Miss Eppson said they’s marryin’ at two o’clock. Hope you make it in time. Wish I could see it.”
“It figures,” Morgan muttered to himself as the buggy rolled down Larkspur lane. “Kind of ironic for Benjamin to marry on Daniel Lee’s fourth birthday.” He wielded the buggy whip, urging the horse to go faster.
Chapter 32
The train arrived in Boston a half-hour late. Morgan paid the man at the livery stable for two horses. He strapped the valise on one and left in a trot riding a dappled mare and leading the sorrel gelding. He tied the animals securely to the ornate hitching post at the back of the stately cathedral. Wedding bells were ringing and the organist began the prelude music. Last minute guests were arriving in magnificent carriages. From the laughter and chatter at the front of the church, Morgan assumed the bride had arrived.
Slipping quietly in the back door, he eased his way down a long, dark corridor, searching for the room where the groom and best man were waiting. He crouched behind a table laden with gold plates, chalices and elaborate candelabra when a door opened suddenly. The black robed minister stepped into the corridor, walking in Morgan’s direction. He passed by the table where Morgan hid and turned a corner. A little further down he heard voices and laughter. He opened the door quietly so that neither man was aware of his presence.
Andrew chuckled softly. “Yes, old chum, every hair is in place. Yes, I have the ring and yes, you are impeccably dressed.”
Benjamin fidgeted nervously. “Has Molly arrived yet?”
Laughing again and shaking his head because of all the questions, Andrew glanced at his gold watch. “I’d say your bride is here by now. Don’t worry. Weddings hurt only a short time. You’ll get accustomed to the pain of marriage after awhile. I hardly notice the pain anymore. I sympathize, my friend. I had the jitters, too, while waiting on Eloise. If you remember, she was fifteen minutes late.” He pinned a boutonniere on the groom’s lapel. “It won’t be long. It will just seem long.”
“What’s happening?”
“Well, at the moment, the congregation is being seated. Hear the prelude music? Next will be a soprano solo, then the bride’s mother will be seated.”
“What is our cue?”
“The music will tell us. You worry too much. Why do you think you have a best man? Let me worry about the cue.”
Benjamin’s deep blue eyes twinkled in recognition and a pleased, yet surprised look spread across his face. He extended a hand to the old friend striding toward him. “Why, Morgan Edwards! What a delightful surprise! Now nice of you to come to my wedding.”
A half-amused grin played on Morgan’s lips. “What makes you think I came to a wedding? I came to make a delivery that’s long overdue.” Ignoring the extended hand, he clipped Benjamin under the chin with a tremendous blow. The unexpected wallop caught Benjamin unaware. He fell down on his back, flabbergasted. “A sample,” Morgan told him matter-of-factly. “The bulk of the matter has been on back order way too long. It’s waiting down the road.”
“What…?”
Andrew Moorhead quickly came to his colleague’s defense. “Why did you strike him, you…you ruffian!” He put up his fists and started dancing around in a fighting stance. Morgan ignored the man.
Benjamin pulled himself up off the floor, rubbing a sore jaw. His expression was puzzled. It was then that he saw the derringer in Morgan’s hand. “Are you crazy? Whatever do you mean?”
His velvet brown eyes reflected pain, but Morgan’s sense of humor caused him to snicker. “We’d best discuss this matter in private. Move!”
Recovering from the initial shock, Andrew began to sputter, “Now see here…what is the meaning of this? You can’t come in here and disrupt a wedding.”
Morgan didn’t reply. He cocked an eyebrow in Benjamin’s direction. “I know about your political aspirations, Ben. I hear you tossed your hat in the Congressional race. Believe me, the story I have to tell can ruin you.” He shrugged. “However, if you insist, we can discuss it in the sanctuary in front of the guests before we leave.”
Baffled as he was about the real purpose of Morgan’s impromptu appearance, Benjamin’s mind flashed to the government officials, the legislators and other important people on the guest list who could make or break his bid for Congress. A hint of scandal could crush his campaign. He panicked. “No! No…please. I’ll go quietly.” It would be just like Morgan, he well knew, to march him out before the crowd. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Morgan would do just that. Besides, it was the urgency in this old friend’s voice that he didn’t understand. He was curious, more curious than worried about the gun.
As they walked out into the corridor, Morgan slipped the gun into the pocket of his business suit. “Walk slowly ahead of me and out the back door. I’m right behind you. Don’t try anything funny. I’m at the end of my rope, and I have no intention of leaving without you.”
“I’ll have the Pinkerton men on you,” Andrew threatened. “You can’t get away with abducting this man.”
“Please, Andrew,” Benjamin blurted. “Don’t do anything. Let me handle this.”
“But…but what will I tell Molly?”
“Tell her…tell her….” Benjamin’s mind spun wildly, trying to come up with a logical explanation for his sudden departure. Certainly, a disappearing act wouldn’t help the situation as far as his career was concerned. Molly, too, had many friends among the guests. Already, she had charmed many of the legislators. This wedding was important to his campaign. He dared not call Morgan’s bluff. He had no idea what the unpredictable man might do or say.
“Morgan, You’ve pulled some crazy practical jokes on me in your day. Is this your idea of a pre-nuptial shivaree, some kind of joke? It’s not one bit funny.”
Morgan chuckled mischievously. He could just imagine Molly Allison’s reaction to what he had to say. “Andrew,” he drawled. “Tell Molly that Ben had to help another fellow out with his lovemaking.”
“That’s vulgar! Obscene!” The straight-laced Englishman was aghast and indignant at the suggestion. “I most certainly will not tell Molly anything of the sort!”
Morgan shrugged nonchalantly and prodded Benjamin with the pistol in his pocket. “Suit yourself, Andrew. It’s the gospel truth, so help me.”
“Where are you taking him?” Andrew demanded.
“Well-l-l,” Morgan drawled. “That’s a matter of opinion. You big city folks might say it’s a wart on the rectum of the world. I call it paradise.”
“Sir, let me remind you that this is a church,” Andrew snorted. “A place of worship.”
Glancing back at Andrew, Morgan’s tone became serious. “Way I see it, Andrew, anyplace is a place of worship. God isn’t limited to fancy cathedrals. I find him in the hills and the valleys.” The two men stepped out into the glittering sunlight, leaving the bewildered best man standing in the doorway.
“Get Martin Lewis immediately,” Benjamin instru
cted. “Tell him to quash this, Andrew. I know it will be difficult, but Martin can explain it logically…some life or death emergency. Tell Molly…tell her that I didn’t leave her in the lurch on purpose. But the wedding must to be postponed. Tell Molly I’ll contact her by wire at the earliest possible moment and explain further.”
“Poor dear,” Andrew lamented. “All those guests. Molly will be simply crushed. She’ll be so embarrassed.”
Mounting the sorrel gelding, Benjamin shrugged helplessly. “I have no choice.”
“I’ll vouch for that,” Morgan added. “You might say Mr. Farrington has been unavoidably detained.”
“Abducted is the word,” Andrew growled angrily.
“Don’t try to follow,” Benjamin insisted. “Whatever you do, don’t call the Pinkertons. I must handle this myself. He won’t harm me. I’ve known this man all my life.”
“Oh, mercy.” Andrew wrung his hands, and his face muscles tightened and flushed as he watched the two men ride away, and it fell his lot to explain to Molly.
A few miles out of Boston at a bridge crossing the Charles River, Morgan slid off the dappled mare and indicated for Benjamin to do likewise. All the hurt, the festering hatred for the rival who had caused so much pain swelled inside him. It’s a long shot. I know that, he mused. It’s a gamble, forcing Benjamin to accompany me. Things can’t continue as they are. There must be an end to it.
“Take off your coat, Ben,” he commanded. “I intend to give you the thrashing of your life.”
“With pleasure,” Benjamin retorted angrily, jerking off the tuxedo coat.
The men took turns knocking each other down, exchanging blows for the better half of an hour. Both were bruised and bleeding but neither of the stubborn men would concede defeat. Finally, the exhausted two lay beside each other, too winded to fight any longer.
“What…are you…so mad at me about?” Benjamin asked, panting for breath.
“For what you did to Dayme,” Morgan replied.
“I haven’t seen or heard from her since she left Vicksburg on the Mississippi Duchess. I heard you two were married. What do you mean? I’ve done nothing to Dayme.”
“You took advantage of her innocence, that’s what! To satisfy your own lust! You planted wild oats and didn’t even inquire if the seed took root!” With gritted teeth, Morgan made a final lunge at the man.
Fending off Morgan’s blow, Benjamin pulled himself up to a standing position. His face was ashen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She had your baby, Ben. A precious little boy named Daniel Lee. He’s four years old today.”
For a long moment, Benjamin was unable to reply. All he could manage to do was shake his head in denial. He finally murmured, “What makes you so damn sure he’s mine? It could be Baxter Johnston’s baby. She stayed outside with him at my Starvation Party plenty long enough to conceive. Or it could belong to any one of a dozen men on board that riverboat. She tempted them in the Men’s Cabin. You should have heard that vulgar song she….”
“Shut your damn mouth or so help me, I’ll shoot you, you son-of-a-bitch!”
“Did Dayme say the boy is mine?”
“She didn’t have to. Any fool would know you fathered the child. He has dark curly hair like yours and deep blue eyes. Couldn’t be anybody else’s.”
Benjamin leaned on the sorrel horse and drank from a canteen. “I didn’t know she was pregnant,” he whispered in a thick, tortured tone. “Honestly, Morgan, I didn’t know. Sure, I made love to her. I never would have if I’d known she was a virgin. She lived in the brothel, and I thought…! thought…. How old did you say the child is? Four?” In his mind he counted nine months from late August to April…not quite nine months. It’s most likely Baxter’s. On the other hand, he thought. It’s possible that the boy is mine, but not too probable unless…. “Was the child a mite premature?”
“He was a couple of weeks, maybe more.” Morgan explained about the massacre, how he delivered Daniel Lee, the circumstances surrounding their marriage and how much he loved Dayme and the children. “But I have a little problem. I know my wife loves me, but at times she’s unhappy for no apparent reason. Daniel Lee reminds her of…. At times, I think she fancies she’s still in love with you.” He shrugged, “Hell, maybe she is, I don’t know. Anyway, you’re the man who keeps us from having a real marriage. She’s a good woman, my Dayme. We have a lot of fun together but….” He sighed deeply. “But when one of those melancholy moods comes on her, I can read the thoughts in her sad eyes. I can’t take Dayme’s suffering anymore, and I can’t take mine. When I hold her in my arms, you are always there between us. So-o-o, old friend, it’s either you or me. I’m to that point. Dayme must make a choice.”
“Oh?” Benjamin was indignant “And what about me? Don’t I have a choice in the matter? What about Molly? Go on home, Morgan. I don’t want your wife. I want Molly.”
Morgan fought back tears. “You’re going to court Dayme, or so help me, I’ll kill you! You must never tell her that I forced you to do it, either. You tell her, and I’ll cut you down like a shock of wheat!” He put his foot in the stirrup. “Come on. We have a freight train to catch and a long way to go.”
Benjamin dusted his clothing and donned the cut-away coat. His deep blue eyes were troubled but his chin jutted out stubbornly. “Well? Let’s get to it then. I can take her away from you, you know, and I will! After the story you told me, nothing could keep me away.”
“Yonder she comes. Hurry!” Morgan spurred the mount when he heard the train whistle.
“Wait! We can take my private rail car,” Benjamin yelled. “It’s side-tracked.”
“Nope, not this time, my wealthy, pampered, politician friend. This ride’s on me.”
Chapter 33
Intermittent beams of sunlight and shadows of fleeting forests flickered through the well-worn slats of the cattle car on the accelerated downhill course. An amused grin played mischievously on Morgan’s smut-smeared whiskered face, like a contemplating groundhog when winter flirts with spring. With cynical amusement, he gazed fixedly at his captive, this former friend he’d come to despise. The grin faded. He wondered what his wife found so attractive about the man, this confounded object of her affection who occupied so many unhappy hours of her time. There has to be an end to it for both of us, he thought. I’m tired of three in a bed.
Benjamin’s eyes burned red from wind and cinders, but he was determined not to let Morgan know how uncomfortable he was. How his back hurt from sitting too long with nothing to support it. He made a conscious effort to appear relaxed and outwardly calm while every bone in his body ached. Everything about Benjamin pointed to the affluent easy lifestyle both men knew before the Civil War…the silk worsted, hand-tailored formal wear now wrinkled, the matching silk top hat, the grimy ruffled white shirt, manicured fingernails. Although his hands were dirty, they were as smooth as a concert pianist’s. Morgan glanced at the multi-carat diamond ring, the stickpin. The gold watch had embedded diamonds. The man was not only filthy, he was filthy rich, and Morgan knew it.
While he studied this former friend, Morgan envisioned Benjamin stretched out on a red velvet davenport in the comfort of his private rail car. He could just see a black butler pouring champagne in his outstretched crystal glass from a bottle wrapped in white linen. He chuckled. “Enjoying the ride?” he taunted over the ear-splitting noise of the wheels. “Railroads, greatest invention to ever happen to this country. Look at all the miles we’ve covered,” he yelled. “We’d be all sweaty if we’d rode horses all this way.”
For a moment, Morgan would have sworn that Benjamin had that same ‘took’ look he had when they were lads out on Larkspur Plantation…the time he bribed Benjamin into shutting his eyes and opening his mouth for a chocolate drop he brought from town.
The first time, I gave him candy, Morgan recalled. The second time, it wasn’t sweet at all. We were playing in the chicken yard. Benji Boy cried and spit for what s
eemed like ten minutes. He washed his mouth out in the horse trough. Then long-legged Ben cursed me to the top of his lungs, blowing slobbers and snot through the tears. I outran him for fifteen minutes, but he finally overtook me in the orchard and the fight was on. Ben blackened one of my eyes but not before I split his lower lip with a blow that caused it to bleed and swell straight out. Of course, Benji Boy bawled and put all the blame on me. He told his Mama. We were both in trouble because of the incident. At least that’s the way it started out. Dad laid it on me pretty thick with a couple of licks from a leather belt. Not so much for my trick but for my stubborn refusal to apologize to Ben. Mr. Farrington had a razor strop drawn back, too, ready to admonish his son. But old lady Farrington was furious about the “indignity”, as she called it, suffered by her poor little boy. Heck, Ben was two inches taller than I was. She defiantly stepped between her husband and her precious only son. I can just hear the old biddy. “Benjamin was defending his honor against that…that little ruffian!” Her passionate outburst caused my Dad to stop after a couple of licks and stare in bewilderment.
“He opened his mouth, Madam,” I defended respectfully.
“Move aside, woman!” Mr. Farrington angrily commanded, but his wife refused to budge.
“I won’t!” Ben’s mother declared righteously, holding her chin high. “You’ll have to get to Benjamin through me!”
Embarrassed, Mr. Farrington’s shoulders drooped as he muttered an apology to Dad, who was utterly astonished that the man would allow his wife to interfere with a child’s correction.
“Go to your room, young man!” Mr. Farrington’s voice was gruff. He was obviously angry with his wife.
Dad didn’t utter a single word, not one. He hustled me and my sisters and Mother into our carriage and left in a huff. To my knowledge, he never set foot on Larkspur Plantation again.
Reflecting on the youthful escapade, Morgan was glad he fed the old boy chicken dung…sort of pre-inflicted justice. “The next town is Burnet,” he yelled.
Child of the River Page 32
