Phoebe's Valentine

by Duncan, Alice

  When at last the children had been exchanged, hugged, kissed, smothered and released by each of their relatives, Aunt Mae wiped her eyes and said, “And why don’t you introduce us to the rest of your party, Phoebe dear? I declare, I didn’t know you’d need an entire army to get you here.”

  The older woman tried to laugh at her wit, but her laugh turned into snuffle before it hit the air. Phoebe smiled, glad all at once to be here. She hadn’t felt welcome anywhere for so long she’d forgotten how pleasant the feeling could be.

  Her first introduction was Jack Valentine, and she felt odd about it.

  “Uncle Fred, Aunt Mae, this is the man who guided us through Texas and into New Mexico Territory. And he’d have guided us to Santa Fe, too, except . . . well, we ran into some trouble.” She didn’t quite feel strong enough to go into Yves Basteau, the frying pan, the hanging, the fire, Indians and the army right this minute.

  Jack consigned the baby to Phoebe’s arms, and Uncle Fred shook his hand warmly. “I’d like to thank you for takin’ care of our niece, young man.”

  “It was my pleasure, Mr. Forrest, and no trouble at all.”

  Phoebe gaped at him.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Valentine,” Aunt Mae said as she, too, shook Jack’s hand. Then she apparently decided shaking his hand wasn’t sufficient, threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. Phoebe would have been amused to see Jack’s eyes bug out if she weren’t in such a state of befuddlement. She handed Sunshine back to Jack and continued her introductions.

  “And this is Hosea. Do you remember Hosea, Aunt Fred and Uncle Mae? He worked for Daddy on the farm. And he came to our rescue after our . . . our trouble in the territory.” Phoebe smiled at Hosea, who stepped forward and saluted.

  “Why, I do believe I recall you, Hosea,” said Aunt Mae. She gave him a cheerful smile.

  Uncle Fred nodded. “Thank you kindly, Hosea. In the army now, are you?”

  “Yes, suh. Tenth Cavalry, stationed at Fort Stanton. Indian unit.”

  Fred nodded. “I heard as to how there were a couple Negro outfits in the territory. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hosea. Don’t recollect you from the old days, I’m afraid.”

  “And who is this child, Phoebe? Why, it looks like a little red Indian.”

  Mae’s attention had turned to Sunshine, and her face wore a somewhat bemused smile. Phoebe peered at the baby and her heart swelled with compassion. Sunshine had tucked her head against Jack’s shoulder, evidently frightened by all the bustle and strangeness happening around her. Phoebe plucked the baby from Jack’s arms again, and held her tight.

  She said softly, “This is Sunshine, Aunt Mae. Her mama got shot by a bad man, and the poor thing was left all alone. I aim to adopt her and rear her as my daughter.”

  “You—” Mae stopped suddenly, at a loss for words. She exchanged a speaking look with her husband.

  “Why, Phoebe, I never knew you to be an Indian lover.” Fred’s voice held a hint of disapproval.

  Phoebe looked up at her uncle in dismay. “Why, I don’t reckon I ever thought about being an Indian lover, Uncle Fred. But I do love this baby girl, and I aim to do right by her.”

  Obviously used to taking charge in uncomfortable social situations, Mae clapped her hands and smiled. “Oh, let’s not talk about that right now. Let’s go inside and catch up.”

  She gestured toward the front door and all at once reality struck Phoebe like a blow. As soon as she walked through that door, her new life would begin. Jack Valentine and Hosea Honeycutt would be lost to her forever.

  “Oh, Aunt Mae! I . . . I have to say good-bye to everybody first.”

  Fred laughed indulgently. “Why, child, you don’t have to say good-bye to anybody right yet. Hosea will probably be here for a day or two.”

  “That’s true, Miss Phoebe. We have to fetch up supplies. We’ll be here for two days at least.” Hosea gave her a smile that let her know he understood her confusion.

  “Oh.” Phoebe began to feel some slight relief.

  “There. You see, child? And Mr. Valentine here will certainly come to supper tonight.” Aunt Mae turned to Jack. “If you need a place to stay, Mr. Valentine, you’re welcome here. We have plenty of room.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I reckon I’d better take a room at the hotel, though.”

  Crushing disappointment made Phoebe cry, “Oh! But why?” before she could stop herself. Then embarrassed overwhelmed her and she felt her face heat up.

  But Jack only smiled at her. “I’ve got some business to take care of here in town. And some people to visit.”

  Phoebe murmured, “Oh, of course. The Weismanns.”

  “That’s right. I wired from Fort Sumner that I’d be in Santa Fe around now. They’d never forgive me if I didn’t stop in and see them as soon as I hit town. Besides, I have a little business transaction to take care of.”

  “The Weismanns?” Aunt Mae looked surprised. “At the mercantile and jewelry emporium?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “They’re friends of yours?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jack said deliberately, holding Mae’s startled gaze, “they certainly are.”

  Fred cleared his throat. “Harrumph. Yes. Well, that’s fine then.” He turned to Phoebe. “You see, child. You’ll have plenty of time to say your good-byes.”

  “We still have to post that letter, too, Miss Honeycutt,” Jack told her softly. He lifted his hand to touch her cheek, and she felt a tiny flicker of hope.

  “Yes. Yes, I guess we do.”

  “Now what letter would that be, dear?” Aunt Mae looked at Phoebe, her eyes bright with inquiry, and Phoebe sighed deeply.

  “Oh, my, it’s a long story, Aunt Mae.” The events of the past several weeks tumbled through her mind’s eye like a company of agile acrobats. “It’s a long, long story.”

  “Well, why don’t you tell it over supper, dear? You need to come in and wash up and rest awhile.” Mae squeezed Phoebe’s hand and turned to Jack. “Mr. Valentine, will you join us for supper tonight?”

  “I’d be delighted, Mrs. Forrest,” Jack said with a small, formal bow, so beautifully executed it utterly astonished Phoebe. When he gave her a wink, she could feel her cheeks burn again. Then Uncle Fred spoke and wiped thoughts of Jack Valentine completely from her mind.

  “Are you going to bring that Indian baby into the house with you, Phoebe?”

  She stared at him for a second, aghast, before she answered stiffly, “Yes I shall bring Sunshine with me, Uncle Fred. She’s my family now, as are William and Sarah and the two of you.”

  Aunt Mae heaved a heavy sigh and said, “Well, why don’t we talk about all this later. Come in, come in, dears.”

  Fred looked a little grumpy, but he brightened when William and Sarah trudged through the portals of his home. His smile did not dim even when Phoebe sailed past him, head high, Sunshine clutched in her arms.

  He winked at Mae. “She’ll come around, Mae.” He smiled at Jack and straightened a broken pump handle on the porch newel before he followed his wife into the house.

  When the door closed behind the Forrest family and Phoebe, Jack Valentine pushed his hat back on his head. Hosea’s deep voice startled him.

  “You gonna stand for that, Mr. Valentine?”

  Jack turned to smile at the gigantic corporal. “Hell, no.”

  Hosea nodded. “Good.”

  # # #

  Phoebe forgot all about her relatives’ apparent distaste for Sunshine when she stepped inside their house. It was a home. A real home. Her Aunt Mae had brought things here from her Charleston past and they blended in perfect harmony with the trappings she’d found in her territorial present.

  Phoebe had no more than set both feet on the cool tiles of the Forrests’ entryway when she stopped stock still and stared at her surroundings. “Oh, Aunt Mae. Uncle Fred. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anything like this.”

  Mae, her easy sympathies stirred, rushed up to Phoebe and hugged her
yet again, forgetting for a moment to be wary of the Indian baby in Phoebe’s arms. “My poor, poor Phoebe. You poor child. It’s just criminal, the things you’ve had to go through in your short life. Just criminal. We’ll make it all up to you, darling. Won’t we, Fred?”

  She lifted her streaming face to her husband, who nodded. “We will for a fact, Phoebe. I wish you’d come out here to the territory as soon as that blasted war ended, like we asked you to.”

  “Thank you. But I wanted to save my home, you see.”

  Uncle Fred shook his head and frowned. Aunt Mae caught his eye, and the two shared a sorrowful look.

  “Well, child, you don’t have to worry anymore. We’ll take care of you.”

  William and Sarah, for once banded together in the face of all the newness and emotions bubbling around them, caught Mae’s eye.

  “And the two of you! Why, just look at you! You’re a proper lady and gentleman, aren’t you?” She wiped her red dumpling cheeks with her apron and beamed at them.

  William only nodded. Sarah, more voluble than her brother at all times, said, “Yes’m. Aunt Phoebe, she drilled us till we near to dropped on bein’ ladies and gentlemen.”

  She was dead serious and scowled, her sensibilities obviously offended, when the adults in the room burst out laughing.

  “I reckon I did that, all right.” Phoebe smiled at her mortified niece. “And you learned right well, too. Your mama would be proud of you.”

  She could see the struggle between bruised dignity and pride waging itself on little Sarah’s face. Then the little girl smiled, and Phoebe guessed she and Fred and Mae had been forgiven for laughing.

  # # #

  It felt like heaven to take a bath in a real, honest-to-God bathtub. As Phoebe lay in the frothy bubbles created by Aunt Mae’s rose-scented bath powders, she felt as though she were floating in a warm sea of tranquility. Her eyes closed and she let her mind drift. She was not at all surprised when it drifted to Jack Valentine.

  She’d only see him a few more times. He would continue his interrupted trip to San Francisco in a day or two, she’d stay here with the children, and they’d never see one another again. Phoebe knew watching him ride away from her for the last time was going to be excruciatingly painful. Anticipating the agonizing scene made her insides squeeze. Her eyes burned even thinking about it. It would be very difficult not to disgrace herself by weeping in front of her aunt and uncle and the children.

  Oh, my land, she loved that man. It was going to kill her to say good-bye.

  But she’d done harder things, she reminded herself after a sucking in a lungful of steamy, rose-scented air. She’d survived the war and losing all her kin and the invasion of the damned Yankees. They’d laid waste to everything she’d ever loved. They’d almost killed her, too, but she’d survived.

  And, while all that was true, Phoebe had a feeling that surviving the invasion and loss of this particular Yankee was going to tear her apart. This one had laid siege to her heart. And, after a brief and bitter fight, she’d surrendered. Now he was going to go away again and leave her wounded heart devastated. Crippled. Broken.

  Oh, dear.

  Then she gave a contemptuous snort. “Phoebe Honeycutt, you’re pathetic. You have three children for whom to provide and two kind relatives to help you. Yet here you are, mooning about Jack Valentine as though you were a green girl. You’ve got no more grit than a paper doll.”

  Phoebe’s stern lecture succeeded moderately. When she shut her eyes and the hazy fragrance of her first bath in years permeated her senses, a legion of her ancestors lined up at the back of her mind to lend her courage. By the time she finally stepped out of the tub—only because the water had become cold—Phoebe felt almost prepared to face her future.

  It would be a future absent Jack Valentine, but it would not be without people. She would have her three children and her aunt and uncle. She would survive. Even if her heart didn’t.

  # # #

  By the time Jack Valentine knocked on the Forrests’ door later on in the evening, he had bathed, shaved, been to the barber, procured a posy, and was prepared. By God, he was prepared.

  “Come in, come in, Mr. Valentine,” cried Mae. She smiled at him, her cheeks ruddy, her eyes bright with excitement.

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am. I brought these flowers for you and Miss Honeycutt.”

  Mae blushed a rosy red and fluttered like a girl at her first dance. “Oh, my, Mr. Valentine, how gallant!”

  Jack’s brows rose in surprise. Gallant? He’d pegged flowers as a rather nice social amenity; but gallant? He shook his head and wondered if he’d ever get used to belles.

  Mae bustled him into the parlor where William, Sarah, Sunshine, Fred, and Phoebe waited. Sarah was playing with Sunshine, who looked as though she weren’t at all sure about this new twist the road of her life had taken.

  “Look who’s come to call,” Mae cried.

  She made it sound as though Jack were a Sunday visitor in ante-bellum Georgia or something instead of Phoebe’s guide across the wild territory who’d been expected for supper. He smiled in appreciation. Then his grin froze as his gaze found Phoebe.

  Lord on high, the woman was perfect. She sat in state on the sofa, her hands folded on her lap, her dark hair caught up in a glistening sweep behind her ears. She had obviously bathed and washed her magnificent hair.

  She was feeling shy, too. Jack could tell because her cheeks were stained a delicate shell pink. Her dress was well-worn but clean, and it spread about her as though upheld by a hundred petticoats. Jack suspected the support was provided by a mountain of pride and a grim determination to hang onto a vestige of her breeding. Her eyes looked wide and luminous, and held mysteries he just couldn’t wait to discover.

  His heart, which had done a crazy, almost painful gymnastic maneuver when he first spotted her, settled into a more sober cadence after his shock subsided.

  “Good evening, Miss Phoebe.” In his best imitation of a southern gentleman, he bowed before her, picked up one limp hand, and brushed a kiss upon it. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he turned it over and pressed another kiss onto her palm.

  When he lowered the hand to her lap and peered at her face again, he realized she had caught her breath and looked as though she might faint. He gave her a smile he hoped conveyed everything in his heart. When he saw her swallow almost convulsively, he guessed it had at least come close.

  “How-how do you do, Mr. Valentine?”

  “I’m quite well, thank you, Miss Phoebe.”

  “Jack, when are you going to San Francisco? Can I ride Lucky once more before you go?”

  William’s lack of subtlety made Jack laugh. He turned toward the children and noticed with appreciation that the boy had the grace to realize his question had been clumsy. His cheeks turned bright pink.

  “I mean . . . I mean, I wish you didn’t have to go, Jack.” William hung his head as though he’d only made his earlier bumble worse.

  Jack felt a tug of tenderness. He liked these children. All of them. “Well, I’ll be here for a while. And I’m sure Lucky would like to have you ride him a couple more times.”

  “Me, too, Jack?”

  Sarah’s eyes looked so wide and sincere that the tug on his heartstrings turned into a energetic yank. “Why, sure, Sarah. You, too.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Valentine.”

  Jack detected a note of sadness in Phoebe’s voice and wished supper were over already. He wanted to snatch her up right now and pretend and pretend and pretend. Until she admitted she wasn’t pretending anymore.

  Instead, he had to play the gentleman. And he did it to the hilt. By the time supper had drawn to its lengthy conclusion, he knew he’d won the heart of Mae Forrest. And Uncle Fred seemed to like him, too. He smiled internally, glad a vile New Yorker could do such a good job of charming the socks off a couple of damned Rebs.

  Although he itched to get Phoebe alone, he sat in the parlor and sipped tea
like a gentleman until he thought he’d float away. In fact, he was such a good boy that he waited until the children trooped up to bed, Sarah promising to tuck Sunshine in, before he asked if Phoebe would like to step outside and enjoy the moonlight with him for a moment or two.

  He stifled his grin as he saw the roses bloom in her cheeks. She was such a proper lady. He never realized how much he appreciated proper ladies before.

  She swept out the door before him as though she were on a plantation back home. He appreciated that, too. She was one fine woman, his little Phoebe.

  Chapter Nineteen

  They sat on the creaky porch swing, a remnant of Aunt Mae’s past she couldn’t bear to leave behind when she moved to Santa Fe. The moon was back to being a tiny silver slit in the sky. It was surrounded by a billion stars, each one winking and blinking at them. The sky looked as full as Jack’s heart felt.

  “Well, Miss Phoebe, here you are in Santa Fe at last,” he said softly. She had her hands folded primly in her lap, and he had an uncivilized urge to grab them and smother them in kisses. He contented himself with putting an arm over the back of the swing. He could almost feel the heat from her when he did that.

  “Yes.” He noticed her voice sounded strained.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?”

  He watched her profile like a hawk, searching for telltale signs that she wasn’t happy about her decision to remain in Santa Fe. Without him. He got more than he bargained for when she turned and looked at him, full on, her lovely eyes enormous pools of sorrow.

  His heart lurched and he felt almost ashamed of himself for playing this game. But, hell and damnation, it had been Phoebe who made the game necessary. Blasted proud southern belle. Damn, he loved her.

  “Uncle Fred says I may clerk in his mercantile establishment.”

  Jack nodded. He schooled his face into an expression of thoughtful concern.

  “Will that provide enough income for you and the three children?”