Daughters of the Heart

by Caryl McAdoo

  “Hey.”

  She focused on him. “What?”

  “A better story might be based on Yankee Sullivan, losing his boxing title to John Morrissey.”

  “A boxing book?”

  He grinned at her. “He leaves the ring in the thirty-sixth round to slug some of Morrissey’s fans, then when he doesn’t toe the line in time, he loses.”

  She shakes her head. “Now where’s the romance in that?”

  “What if…oh, I don’t know. You’re the writer, but it could ruin him until he meets this wonderful novelist who saves him from a boring, loveless life.”

  She smiled. “I love you, dear Henry.”

  “I love you, too.” He folded his paper shut, halved it, quartered it, then laid it on the corner of the desk. “You going to be much longer?”

  “I’m not sure. Why? Something you’re wanting to do?”

  He stood. “Thought I’d check on Crockett, see if he’s up from his nap.”

  Houston-size bootfalls echoed from the hall, then his office door burst open. “Pa, rider coming.”

  “You forget to knock, Son?”

  The boy glanced at the ceiling briefly then shrugged. “He’s working a good lather, Pa.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “Looks like Elijah, but I’m not sure. Want me to get the Patterson?” He held his hand out toward May.

  “No, let’s go see who it is first before we think about plugging anyone.”

  Cecelia stepped back, turned sideways, smoothing her waist, then with another turn, looked over her shoulder and studied that view of her new dress before she faced Gwen. “I love it! Thank you, so much! If only Elijah was here.”

  “Yes, if only…” Her sister exhaled. “If only.”

  “Oh, don’t be so melancholy. You don’t know Clay even got that first letter. Maybe he didn’t. They’ll both be here in another month or two. You’ll see. He loves you, Gwendolyn. He’ll understand even if he did get it.”

  “Why would he? I mean I practically scorned him! No. What I see ahead for me is being an old maid aunt to a passel of nieces and nephews, but never knowing the joy of being a mother, having a baby of my own.”

  “Oh, that isn’t true.”

  “I’ll probably spend the rest of my life right here, taking care of the old folk and other people’s babies.” She glanced toward Crockett.

  “But he is our brother.”

  “I know, didn’t mean to sound so resentful.” She waved her off. “Besides, I’m not talking about Crockett or the new baby, either. But more in general. I love babies so much, but…”

  Her chin dropped to her chest, and several minutes passed in silence. Was she going to start crying again? But then she looked up with a grin. “Sure don’t see how Mama can get any bigger, do you?”

  “I know, but Miss Jewel says she’s got another month or more.” CeCe laughed.

  “Her belly’s liable to burst like a watermelon in the sun if she goes another two weeks, forget a month.”

  “Hey, you two best get down here.” Houston’s voice boomed from what sounded like the first landing.

  Rolling her eyes, Gwen shook her head. “That boy needs more discipline. Let’s ignore him. Maybe he’ll go away.”

  Then his loud clomps announced his eminent arrival, and the door burst open. The nine-year-old’s eyes sparkled, and he grinned at Cecelia. “You have a caller.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He giggled and twisted his hips like a little girl. “There’s a Mister…uh…” He tapped a finger against his chin. “Umm.”

  “Samuel Houston Buckmeyer!”

  “Shhhhh! Y’all are going to wake Crockett!”

  The baby reared his head, smiled, then held his hands out to his big brother. “Hooson!”

  The boy stepped to the bed and lifted the boy onto his hip. “It’s Eversole!” He erupted into guffaws and shook his whole body and the baby who laughed with him. “Elijah’s downstairs, and he wants you!” He turned and ran, but stopped at the door. “We don’t know why though.”

  “What? Elijah is here?” She glanced at her sister then hurried to the window and peeked out. A strange horse stood at the hitching post. “How?”

  “Oh dear, something must have happened. Best get down there and you can find out.”

  She stepped toward the door, then backed up and faced Gwen. “How do I look?” She glanced at the mirror one last time. “Should I change? No…yes.” She glared at her brother who grinned from the door. “This better not be one of your pranks, little brother!”

  His brows furrowed, and he stomped his foot. “Cross my heart and hope to die! Stick a needle in my eye if I ain’t telling the truth! Want me and Crockett to go tell him you’re too busy primping in front of the mirror?”

  “Don’t you dare, you little brat! He’s really here?”

  “Right down there talking to Ma and Pa! And Bonnie’s flirting with him, too!” He shot her his goofiest little boy face. “If I’s you, I’d get down there.” He held the baby’s hand high in the air. “Let’s go, Brother!”

  “Be careful with him going down those stairs!”

  Elijah came early?

  Her heart thundered. She swallowed and pinched her cheeks then hurried to the door.

  When she looked back one last time, tears streamed down Gwen’s cheeks. “Oh sister, I’m so sorry.”

  Gwen covered her eyes as the tears flowed. What a fool she’d been. Why had she sent that awful letter? She sniffed. Ought to go at least tell Elijah hello, but just seeing him would only make it worse.

  Guess she should hear for her own self that Clay had…found someone new. Or maybe he’d been so heartsick, he’d just headed north to parts unknown?

  Her door creaked open. “Are you deaf? I said Pa said he wanted you, too.”

  “Go away, Houston.”

  “Well, fine, crybaby. If you don’t want to hear about Clay, just fine!”

  She looked up. “What about him?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. Pa wants you! Want me to tell him you ain’t coming?”

  “No!” She glare. “Go on and give me a minute. Tell them I’m coming. I’ll be on down.”

  Even after daubing her eyes and pinching both cheeks, it still looked like she’d been crying. Oh, well, wasn’t like Clayton Briggs would be looking at her.

  His name echoed through her soul and threatened to push out more tears, but she threw her shoulders back, swallowed, and marched downstairs.

  Found them all in Daddy’s library. Him sitting at his desk with May next to him in the extra chair, rocking Crockett. Elijah sat in the far wingback with Cecelia next to him in a kitchen chair someone had fetched.

  At least Houston and Bonnie were not underfoot.

  Her father nodded toward the nearest wingback, like they’d been saving it for her. “Sit down, baby. Elijah’s brought news.”

  Oh no! Was he dead? Had he gone and killed himself over losing her? She’d never forgive herself. Her life was about to be changed forever, ruined. Sure and certain, they’d saved her a ringside seat. How could she live, knowing it was all her fault?

  But…she must face the music, as it was hers to hear.

  Her mother would turn over in her grave if she ran off without knowing exactly how bad….

  She eased down but didn’t scoot back then gave her sister’s beau a nod. “It’s good to see you, Elijah.” Such a liar! Why had she said that to him? Him showing up alone turned an ordinary bad day into a horrible one.

  It wasn’t good to see him, not at all! He just reminded her that Cecelia’s future promised a happy-ever-after, and hers would be anything but!

  He extracted the hand that had been holding her sister’s and leaned forward. “Clay got your first letter, but not the second one.”

  She knew it. Had all along. Wanted to think otherwise, but down deep, she knew. “Is he…is Clay…” Braxton had ruined her life and caused her to break Clay’s heart.

&n
bsp; “The same steamer brought your letter carried one from Jake, about how sick their father was.”

  Her father nodded. “Yes, we all hated it that J.T. took sick and died while Clay was gone.”

  Elijah jumped to his feet. “I should have asked first thing! Clay said he’d only stay a week if his father was dead when he got here.”

  Gwendolyn sprang out of the wingback. “What? Here? Clay’s in Red River County?”

  “Well, maybe. At least he was, I guess. Left soon as I could after him once Mary got the news about the fiasco in New Orleans.”

  Gwen grasped two handfuls of her skirt. “Daddy, I’ve got to go. Try to catch him. Talk to him.” She turned toward the door then turned back. “Can I take the black? Can you get him saddled while I change? Please.”

  “Now just sit back down, Gwendolyn. We’ll send someone. You don’t even know where the Briggs live, and you cannot go alone.”

  “I’ll find them! Please.” She looked to Elijah. “Where was he going next? When would he have arrived? Has he been here the full seven days yet?” She faced May. “Why didn’t he come here?”

  “Well, darling, I’m certain he thought you’d be married.”

  “I sailed nine days after he left. Can’t be sure how long he’s been here, or if he still is, but he said he was coming back to San Francisco.”

  Sofia put the gun on the little table next to the bed. “Please, Bubba, I don’t want to stay here by myself.”

  He stopped at the door, turned around, then smiled. “Baby, you’re in a fort. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  “What about you? What if you don’t come back?”

  He held his arms out, and she ran into his embrace. He hugged her tight, kissed the top of her head, then held her at arm’s length. “We’re not going that far. I’ll be back before breakfast.”

  She hated it all. Him bringing her to Texas. Old Bull’s horrible plan to kidnap one of Henry’s daughters. “Please let me go. I don’t want to stay here by myself.”

  His eyes hardened, and he bit his bottom lip as though thinking about hurting her. “I been nice, but you’re staying. And that’s that. Now if anyone but me comes to this door, you know what to do.”

  She nodded, but no way was she going to shoot anyone. They hung slaves first then talked about it later.

  “Lock the door behind me and prop that chair under the handle.”

  “Yes, Massuh.”

  He glared, but instead of the usual backhand her uppity sass-mouth brought, he just shook his head then strolled out the door. She hated him and his father for making him come all that way to ride out and meet a bunch of blood thirsty Comancheros. She locked the door, tilted the chair under the knob, then flopped on the bed. What was she going to do?

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The axe sliced through the chunk of sawed oak. Clay wiggled its head free from the chop stump then raised it again. His whole life, he’d hated it being his job to keep his mama’s cookstove’s wood box full.

  And yet there he was, axe in hand. He swung again. The two pieces flew off the stump.

  He retrieved both, split them again, then tossed them into the cart. He raised the axe. A threatening growl pulled him around.

  A horse that looked a lot like Henry Buckmeyer’s black stallion pulled a surrey that could pass for the one the man drove to town on a Sunday. The rig approached at a rather brisk pace.

  He glanced at the dog. “I see them, boy.”

  Clay leaned the axe next to the chopping stump, grabbed his jacket, and strolled toward the porch. The surrey passed the turnoff to Jake’s place. Once it reached the home field, an arm raised and waved.

  Why was Henry Buckmeyer all the way out there? Ma said the man had sent his condolences, but only Wallace and Rebecca Rusk had made it to the funeral.

  Did he have news of Elijah? Maybe there’d been an accident.

  Clay reached the porch and hollered, without taking his eyes off the surrey. “Ma, we have company.”

  The surrey passed that field where he could see a little clearer. Henry, alright. The man himself drove, and had to be Miss May sitting next to him.

  No! His heart skipped a beat.

  Next to her pa sat Gwendolyn Belle. Henry reined the black to a stop, set the brake, jumped down, then helped his daughter out.

  “Clay, Gwen would like a word.” The man tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Mis’ess Briggs.”

  A glance over his shoulder confirmed his mother stood in the door, wiping her hands on her apron. He looked back. Gwen stood next to the surrey, holding her little clutch, all demure.

  Except it probably concealed a dagger inside to finish the job she’d done on his heart.

  A smile of sorts appeared to welcome him, but her eyes held concern, no happy sparkle, distorting the almost smile even more. Well, she shouldn’t be. She’d made her choice, and a bad one.

  What could have brought her all the way out there? He eased down the steps as Henry passed. The man patted his shoulder, but didn’t say anything.

  Clay stopped a respectable distance from her.

  “What are you doing here, Gwendolyn?”

  Her chin dropped to her chest and her hands fell to her sides, her purse dangling. Though she practiced at least a hundred times what to say, when she looked back up, the pain in his eyes teared her own.

  She blinked them back and opened her mouth, but no words came. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I was so wrong, Clay. I don’t love Braxton. Never did.”

  “Guess it’s too late to be figuring that out now, Mis’ess Hightower.”

  “No, we’re aren’t married. I didn’t love him.”

  “Isn’t what your letter claimed.”

  “I know, but I was wrong. You’d run off to California and hadn’t written –”

  “Wrote you every day.”

  “Well…you see…I thought.…” If only she’d known. “Just another thing I was wrong about, but I know the truth now. But Mister Broomfield died and –”

  His eyes flashed. “What does that old geezer have to do with anything?”

  “Well, a new mail clerk lady put Mary’s package of letters in his slot. Broomfield…Buckmeyer. If he’d been alive, the mistake would have been caught so much sooner. And Braxton, well…his missives arrived every week. Full of lies I know now, but he was supposedly off helping the Sisters of Mercy care for the widows and orphans. He sent gifts….”

  Couldn’t he throw her a bone or something? Surely he could tell how hard it was. “And you were –”

  “Yes, I went to California. You want to know why?”

  She did, but more than that she wanted him to say he still loved her and was willing to court her again. Make her daddy give his blessing to their union. “It doesn’t make any difference now, does it? What I want is you, Clay, and you alone.”

  “Why? Hightower scorn you? Turn you down? That why you’re here?”

  One hand went to her hip. “No, he lied. Over and over again, he bore false witness. The whole thing was his father’s plan for revenge against Daddy, and Braxton played his puppet. Hightower isn’t even his real name. It’s Glover. He still wanted to marry me, but for all the wrong reasons. Bless God that we found out his true colors.”

  “Glover? Why did he lie about his name?”

  “Bull Glover is his father.”

  Realization came to his eyes. “Oh.” He backed away a step. “I need to think about all this.”

  “Come back with us, please. Elijah’s at the house. He’s the one told me you were here and didn’t get my second letter.”

  “No, I promised Jake I’d help around here until he and the brothers get the plowing done. Only reason I haven’t already left.”

  She closed her eyes. Proved hard to even look at him, wanted him to hold her so much. Couldn’t he tell her that everything would be peaches and cream now and confirm that he still loved her?

  Filling her lungs, she opened them again. “Keeping your word is good
, but just as soon as you can come see to me, will you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I love you, Clay Briggs. If I wasn’t such a ninny, I’d have known it all along.”

  For too long, he just stood there staring at her like he couldn’t get past the pain she’d inflicted on him—even enough to tell her his heart.

  If only she could make him understand what a horrible mistake it had all been…and that the one little kiss she’d given Braxton didn’t mean anything.

  “Gwen, you get in here right this minute to help me with supper. Your daddy’s getting hungry. Clay, you see to Mister Henry’s horse and buggy. And bring me in some more wood for the stove.”

  He turned around. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned back, his face softer. “Best do as she says, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Gwen knew Clay’s mother’s reputation—sort of—never spent much time around her except at church and in town now and again over the years, but she bossed everyone like she was queen of the Red River County.

  One of the church ladies caused a big hullabaloo at one dinner on the grounds over not being her slave, then never came back.

  Bossy might not be a strong enough word.

  Even tried to tell Henry Buckmeyer how things were going to be—to Clay’s obvious horror.

  After supper, Gwen could sleep with the lady of the house, and her father could pick any room he wanted, except Clay’s because that bed fit the boy. But she wouldn’t hear a word about them going the twelve miles back to Rebecca and Wallace’s.

  Far as she was concerned, it was settled, and that was that. Pride swelled her heart at how well Daddy handled her.

  After dishes, staying over did allow her and Clay a bit of time together in the old lady’s sewing room.

  Of course with the door open, and her daddy and Mis’ess Briggs right in the next room, out of earshot but with four eyes on them hard. She couldn’t have been better chaperoned if all the deacons from church sat the Briggs’ supper table.

  Clay only sat, obviously conflicted over his thoughts and what to say. He remained silent.