Daughters of the Heart

by Caryl McAdoo

  Children. Were the little scalawags his prime motivation in wanting a wife? As he finished up harnessing his gelding, he debated the point with himself. And, as with the thousand other times, came to no definite conclusions.

  All he knew full well is that he wanted a wife. One as smart and pretty and Godly as Mary Rachel. So here he was in Texas, building her father a steam engine, hoping to leave with one of her sisters.

  “Hey, Elijah.” The very youngest of the same said ladies hurried toward him.

  He turned. “Hey yourself, Bonnie Claire.”

  “You remembered.” She grinned with her two front teeth still bigger than her mouth.

  “Yes, ma’am, of course I did. We are partners after all.”

  “Yes, sir. We certainly are.” She stopped short, looked both ways and behind her, then leaned in. “CeCe and Gwen were talking about you and Mister Hightower last night.”

  He winked. “Anything you care to pass along?”

  “Well, it appears Gwen says she wants that Braxton Hightower if Daddy likes him enough, but she would not tell you no, if you were to ask her first.”

  “What did Cecelia say to that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did she seem upset?”

  “Some. You know about Daddy’s courting age rule. But CeCe’s working on Mama to get Daddy to change his pigheaded mind. So, unless you’re willing to wait, she can’t say much anyway.”

  “That right?”

  “Um-hum. Gwen’s the only one old enough to have suitors until next April when Cecelia turns eighteen, too.” She closed one eye and bore into him with the opened one. “So, are you?”

  “What?”

  “Willing to wait? Or are you going to go ahead and ask Gwen?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  He liked the little miss, but she didn’t know when to stop asking questions. Still, he couldn’t annoy her, she was too valuable an asset. “So are you and Cecelia coming today?”

  She seemed disappointed he changed the subject without answering her, but like the intelligent young lady she appeared to be, didn’t press it. “We’re still talking about it, but I’d say probably yes.”

  He motioned toward the door. “Best get on back then. Wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”

  She curtsied, smiled, then hurried to the door where she stopped and turned. “I think CeCe’s in love with you.”

  Chapter Six

  Clay Briggs rounded the corner, reined his gelding to a stop, and stared at the big house. He had to make Mister Henry understand. He’d have no life if the man wouldn’t let him make Gwendolyn Belle his wife.

  He’d thought long and hard on it and had to make her father see. He filled his lungs, stiffened his back, then touched his spurs to the horse’s flanks.

  One of the boys playing marbles spotted him and ran into the house. The other young’un, the darker skinned one—Bart, if memory served—glared at him with those ebony eyes as he dismounted.

  “Didn’t Untle Henry run you off?”

  “That he did, but I’m back. Is he here?”

  The front door opened, and Gwen’s stepmother swept out. “Clay, what brings you here?”

  He willed his voice calm, cleared his throat. “I’ve come to speak with Mister Henry, ma’am. I’d sure appreciate a word with him if that’s possible.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you rode all this way, but I’m afraid it isn’t. At least not today. He and Braxton Hightower are out scouting timberland.”

  Clay had no idea who Hightower was, but it didn’t matter. “When do you expect him back?”

  “Not until tomorrow afternoon.”

  He studied his boots. He’d gone home then turned right around and came back. What was he going to do now? He glanced to the second floor window. Gwendolyn stared down from her lofty perch.

  Cecelia stood next to her, and the littlest daughter on the other side. His heart swelled at the sight of her, but instead of staring—all he wanted to do in the world—he tore his eyes off the beauty and faced Henry’s new wife.

  “Ma’am, I rode all the way home. Didn’t stay more than an hour then came right back. I can’t bear the thought of leaving again without speaking to Mister Henry. Might it be possible for me to wait until your husband returns?”

  She nodded toward the rockers and sat in the smaller of the two. He joined her.

  “Why’d you come back, Clay?”

  “I wanted to tell Mister Henry that he’s right. I do need to get right with the Lord. And that I’ll buckle down. I’m more than willing, ma’am. I’ll do anything to win Gwen’s hand.”

  “Neither one of us liked you getting so angry the other day.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was wrong, and it’s truly been gnawing at me. I’m here to scarf down a little humble pie and beg for another chance.”

  “Have you met Elijah Eversole?”

  “No, ma’am. He from these parts?”

  “He’s Mary Rachel and Jethro Risen’s partner come from California to build us a new steam engine for our sawmill. You can go help him and the cousins work to pay for your keep and one night in the bunkhouse, and you can stay until my husband returns tomorrow.”

  Clay jumped to his feet. “Yes, ma’am! Where are they?”

  She told him.

  He practically clicked his heels and skipped down the porch steps then swung into the saddle.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I really appreciate this.” He tipped his hat at Gwen and her sisters then grinned at their stepmother again. “I mean it. Thank you much.”

  She chuckled. “You’re welcome. Now I’m putting my trust in your honor, Clay. Don’t you disappoint me and get me in trouble with her daddy.”

  “Oh no, ma’am. I won’t.”

  And off he went, his heart so light and free it might fly right out of his chest. He got what he came after. Another chance. He’d not let his stupid pride get in the way this time. Or his temper either.

  The prize was too great, and the man had pegged him true. His soul needed a good dose of the Lord.

  Looking skyward, he put a hand on his chest over his heart. “Thank You, too. Help me.”

  After introductions and a solid handshake—Clay hated dead fish greetings—the Californian impressed him with his mechanical knowledge and easy manner with the men.

  By dinner time, he decided he liked this Elijah Eversole, provided he didn’t have eyes for Gwendolyn. Couldn’t think of a thing he’d hate more.

  But before he could discern if the man had any intentions other than building the engine and hightailing it back to the gold fields, his love and her two sisters came over the far ridge in a one-horse surrey.

  What a sight.

  Even baby girl was blooming into a beautiful young lady, but Gwendolyn and her sister were even better looking.

  Bonnie grabbed both her big sisters’ arms. “You two best behave. I gave Mama my word.”

  CeCe shot her a smirk. The one she hated the most. “We know, Bonnie Claire. You’ve already told us three times now.”

  “Hush, girls. They’ll hear.”

  Bonnie didn’t much like taking orders from either of them, but especially hated it when Gwen lorded it over her. She was only six years older.

  “Yes, Mother.” She enjoyed the ire her sarcasm brought and especially loved it that her sister couldn’t do anything about it, not with Clay and Elijah right in front of her.

  The oldest looked at her, smiled then whispered, “Be good, or we’ll both get you later.”

  She smiled right back. “You do, and you can forget me chaperoning again, no matter how much you pay.” She stood and waved. “Hey, Clay! You and Elijah hungry? We brought dinner.”

  Of course, they were. And not just for the fried chicken and potato salad. Those fellows drooled all over her big sisters. She didn’t get it. What was the hullabaloo all about? She hated it that neither paid her much attention.

  At least, it did give her an opportunity to st
udy the men a bit. For her money, Clay was the better looking, but Elijah the nicer.

  If she got to choose, if she even wanted to, she’d take Clay. No, Elijah. No…maybe she’d be like Gwen and just say yes to the first one who asked, that already had Daddy’s blessing. But for sure it wouldn’t be Braxton Hightower. She wouldn’t take him, no matter what.

  As if those cousins hated the little picnic, they stayed to themselves then started back to work way before her sisters and their beaus even got to the apple pie. Yuh-uh-um. She loved Miss Jewel’s skillet apple pie!

  The minute she finished hers, Bonnie jumped to her feet. “Well, we’ve got to go. I promised Mama.”

  “Sit yourself right back down, Bonnie Claire.” Gwen glared. “We’ve got time. They aren’t even through with their chicken!”

  “Not to mention the apple pie we brought for them.” CeCe shot her the shut-your-mouth look.

  But Bonnie only put her hands on her hips and gave back better than she got. “I. Promised. Mama.”

  With a wink, Elijah came to her rescue. Standing, he escorted her and her sisters to the surrey. He did keep the dessert, though.

  Once Gwen got the horse out of earshot, she turned on Bonnie, but the mean words didn’t bother her at all. Elijah loved her, she was sure of it. Otherwise, why would he keep winking at her?

  And come to her rescue like he did?

  Somehow she needed to convince him to wait. She’d be thirteen in December. It’d only be five years after that. Jacob worked seven years for Rachel, and counted it as nothing, like it was only a few days.

  And maybe she and Mama could convince Daddy that fifteen was old enough to get married. That would only be two and a half years away.

  Judy Goldthwaite got married at fourteen, and hers seemed like a fine little family.

  “Are you paying me any mind?”

  Bonnie closed one eye and studied on Gwen, but couldn’t recall what she’d been talking about. “Sorry, what?”

  “I’ve been telling you how the cow ate the cabbage for at least half a mile now. Have you been daydreaming all this time?”

  She wouldn’t lie, but wasn’t about to tell either of her sisters what she’d just figured out. Let them fight over Clay and Braxton. Elijah Eversole was hers.

  “Bonnie, you need to respect your elders.”

  She pursed her lips and looked off. They both needed her and that was that.

  Cecelia rolled over then pulled her second pillow in tight, but her eyes refused to stay closed. Dinner had gone well, except Miss Smarty Bloomers had to cut it short.

  She sighed. Supper had been a complete disaster, as if Elijah entered in to some kind of contest with Clay over Gwen. Cecelia’s true love had hardly looked at her the whole meal.

  Then after the dishes were done and put away, while Mama May let them visit over milk and cookies in the parlor, he hardly said two words to her.

  It was all her daddy’s fault! Him and his stupid, pigheaded, unfair rules! That had to be it. Elijah was afraid of her father, too, but then what sane man wasn’t?

  Everyone knew about all the men he’d killed over the years. The last one right there in the hall when those idiots tried to steal Rose and Charley and take them back to Bold Eagle. What a scary night that had been!

  Especially at only twelve years old, Bonnie’s age now. But it did warm her heart to know no one could get past Henry Buckmeyer.

  Then that was the problem, too.

  She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. It hit her. Her daddy was gone! Looking at timberland with Braxton Hightower. Tonight was her one chance.

  Now who was being the idiot?

  Her heart boomed in her chest. Could she? Should she? It really was her only chance. He’d hear her for sure once he got home.

  It was now or never.

  Elijah had said only another two weeks, three at the most, and he’d have the new steam engine working. Before she knew it, he’d be gone back to California.

  Maybe she could go back with him for a visit? No. Daddy would never allow that.

  She rolled out of bed, lit the oil lamp, then threw on her housecoat and pulled her hair out from under it. She glanced in her looking glass, fluffed her locks, and pinched her cheeks. Probably couldn’t even get through the scuttle hole anymore.

  It’d been what? Three years since the last time she and Charley were in the attic?

  She missed that little booger. She grinned. Forever trying to get her into something. Shame Levi and Rose decided to build their own home. She liked it better when they all lived together.

  Lifting and carrying her vanity chair into her water closet, she placed it right under the hole then went for the broom in the corner. Using it, she pushed the trapdoor out of its square frame.

  It made too loud a scraping noise, and for a moment her heart stopped. She held her breath, but heard nothing more.

  Then the booming in her chest doubled. She swallowed.

  No, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. Right? She just needed a private word with Elijah. She had to let him know waiting for her would be worth it. And if Mama May could only get through to her father, it wouldn’t be the whole ten months.

  He had to know.

  Climbing up onto the chair, she suddenly remembered how dark it would be up there, so she stepped back down and retrieved a candle and matches.

  Then, with one foot on the chair’s bottom and the other on the back, she stretched tall, feeling around the opening’s edge. Her fingers touched the rope ladder, grasped it, then pulled it down.

  After a good hard test yank, she put her whole weight on it and swung. Good. Just like the last time. Nothing to it. She’d be in Elijah’s room…her breath caught.

  The booming doubled, beating hard against her chest.

  Making herself breathe, she forced deep, calming breaths. She had to stop being silly.

  She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  Talking was no sin, and this was her only chance.

  The overhead patter turned Elijah away from his drawing.

  Squirrels? Have to be awful big ones.

  Maybe an opossum. He went back to his sketch, then a soft thud echoed. He looked toward the sound and his water closet door opened. He blinked, but Cecelia didn’t vanish. “What…?”

  She put a finger to her lips and beckoned him with the other hand.

  He hurried to her then whispered, “What are you doing here?”

  She leaned in too close. Her gorgeous mouth mere inches from his cheek. “I needed to talk with you in private. I have to.”

  He nodded. He wanted the same thing. But forbidden fruit could get him in all sorts of trouble, just like it had Adam. “Your daddy will skin us both if anyone catches you in here. It’s such a risk. What’s so important?”

  She put her hand on his chest. Could she feel how hard his heart was beating? It practically thundered as though it wanted to jump right out of his chest and be caressed. She could handle that, he was certain, and be gentle about it, too.

  What was she doing in his room? What was she thinking, taking such a chance?

  “He won’t. He’s gone, remember? And besides, Mama is working on him. I mean about me not being eighteen yet. But even if he refuses to give in…I had to come and get your promise.”

  “For what?”

  Even in the pale lamp light, her smile radiated. “That you’ll wait for me.”

  Wait for her? She had to get out of there.

  “CeCe, you’ve got to go. If you’re caught….” Her lips turned down, then puckered, but as much as he wanted to smother them with kisses, he dared not. She inched closer, but still, his resolve held.

  Then she pressed those soft, full lips against his, and he closed his eyes.

  Time stopped, as did his world.

  Only his heart kept at its crazy pace, beating for the band.

  She pushed away. “I promise you, I’m worth waiting for, Mister Eversole.”

  He nodded, not trustin
g his voice. With all his will power—or was it God’s? In his weakness God was made strong. Isn’t that what the Good Book said?—he backed away. For a few frantic beats of his heart, she stood there.

  “Promise me, please. Tell me you’ll wait for me.”

  “I, uh…” He nodded again.

  The biggest happiest grin stretched across her face. “I love you.” Then she turned and disappeared into his water closet and the door closed.

  His feet, in cahoots with his lips, begged to follow. He took a step toward the door, but the bit of sanity he still possessed managed to stop him. He wanted a wife, a beautiful intelligent woman just like Cecelia Buckmeyer, to share his life, not a sinful night of passion.

  Into the wee hours, he wrestled himself. Did Cecelia really love him? He’d only just met her, and she’d barely spent a few hours in his company. How could she love him? How could she know?

  And was he really in love with Mary Rachel and only trying to replace her with one of her sisters?

  What of Gwendolyn? She’d seemed more interested in him of late. And his little informant had said she wouldn’t tell him no if he asked. But then, none of the girls could marry without their father’s blessings.

  Could they? Would they?

  And there was Clay. She might love him, but Henry obviously didn’t approve of the man.

  Would he approve of Elijah? He thought he would, at least that he had a good chance of winning his approval. He stared out the window. The soft glow of the moon lit the landscape casting deep shadows.

  What was he thinking? He’d been invited to build an engine for Buckmeyer, not take one of his daughters back to California.

  Mary Rachel would like that. His heart swelled at the thought of her name.

  Beside his bed, he knelt and clasped his hands. He was a fool, a confused imbecile. He waited until the beating in his chest subsided. Laying his forehead on the bed, he clasped his hands behind his neck. What was he to do?

  Oh, Lord, guide my path. Show me who You want me to have. Your perfect choice. For it is You Who knows best the perfect one.