by Caryl McAdoo
And while his son confessed his love, he still got born with the same mean, cruel blood.
No storm could dampen her cheer. She was a free woman!
The stage skidded to a stop in the middle of town. A ruffian jumped out first. The man had been eyeing her the whole way since Titus’ Trading Post, but the other man—a gentleman by his dress—nodded for her to go ahead.
“Thank you, sir.”
She loved being treated like a lady.
Soon enough, the driver opened the boot and retrieved her carpetbag, then she strolled into the Donoho Hotel’s lobby. What a grand room. Mister Donoho certainly had good taste and must have been a wealthy man.
Scanning the lobby, she tried to decide whether or not she should get a room.
Her new money pouch she’d purchased that morning and wore between her camisole and dress seemed to be slipping, but she resisted the urge to hitch it up. She stepped over to the clerk’s desk.
“Good afternoon.” Her accent kept improving all the time. That had sounded almost white, certainly uppity.
The man gave her a toothy grin then turned the big registry book to face her. “And to you, ma’am. Need a room?”
“Perhaps. First though, do you happen to know Mister Henry Buckmeyer?”
“Of course, who doesn’t? He’s the richest man in the Red River Valley.”
Richest man? She had no idea. “Would you be so kind as to direct me to his home?”
“He and his live out south of here, five maybe six miles. How was you planning on getting there?” He leaned a bit toward her and grinned real big. “I’d be glad to take you if you want. I have a buggy.”
“Why, that would be so kind. Of course, I’d pay you.”
“Naw. That won’t be necessary at all. Any friend of Henry’s is a friend of mine. If you can wait a minute or five, I’ll get Leland, he’s my cousin, to watch the desk.”
“Thank you, but I’d planned to have a bite of dinner before I leave.” She returned the man’s silly grin, but having dealt with letches her whole life, she knew this one had more than giving a lady a ride on his mind. Henry’s friend indeed. “And so I thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” She backed up a step. “South, you say? Five or six miles?”
The clerk’s face hardened, and he leaned back. “Indians and bandits are bad in these parts. Hate for your new year to start off all wrong. I wouldn’t strike out on my own if I was you.”
She nodded then turned and marched out. Indians and bandits? Was the man serious?
Across the square, a café caught her attention. Her clutch held enough coin to pay for a meal, but it wouldn’t do letting anyone know she had fifty-two Double Eagles hiding under her dress; knew folks who’d got their fool throats slit for less.
Halfway through her plate of meatloaf and creamed potatoes, an older man of color strolled in. He looked around then took a seat in the far corner.
Didn’t appear to be a slave and acted white, even though his flesh looked three shades darker than her olive skin.
Other than the first glance, he gave her no nevermind.
Then to prove he wasn’t someone’s property, he unfolded a newspaper and took to reading.
That settled it. She stood and glanced around, half expecting to see the sheriff or one of his deputies come to take her back, but how could anyone have any idea where she was?
No one paid her any attention. She eased toward the man’s table.
He looked over his paper and smiled. “May I help you, miss?”
“Yes, sir, at least I hope so. Do you know Mister Buckmeyer?”
He folded the paper and nodded to the seat across from him. “I do. Why is it you ask?”
She eased down in the offered chair. “Well, I’ve just come into town and need to talk with him. His daughters are in danger and….”
Oh dear, Good Lord! Why had she said that? She was such a stupid girl, and now….
“Danger? From who?” The man’s tone dripped disbelief, and his expression turned almost comical.
“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” She shook her head. “Please, forget I said anything. I’ll find the Buckmeyer place on my own. Please forgive me for being a bother.” She stood. Approaching him had been a big mistake.
“Wait, please, you’re no bother. If you knew how protective Henry was of those daughters of his, you’d understand my reaction. I’m sorry. Sit down, please, miss.”
She sat. “I really should speak directly with Mister Buckmeyer. If you could tell me how would the best way for me to get there.”
He extended his hand. “I’m Chester Merriweather, and I’d be pleased to offer a ride out with me if you’d like. They should have our dry goods order ready by now.”
“I see. So are you Buckmeyer’s property?”
“Heaven’s no. Henry Buckmeyer doesn’t believe in owning another human being. My wife Jewel cooks for him. Has for years. I’m his wife’s literary agent.” He grinned. “What’s your name?”
“Sofia Glover.” Oh no! Why had she said that?
All the way, she’d been thinking on a new name to use, tried on a couple. Then the first time asked, she blurts out the truth. She needed a new last name anyway; she wasn’t his property anymore.
“As in Bull Glover? You his slave girl?”
She glanced around, hoping no one else had overheard. That’d be all she needed. She leaned in close and whispered, “Not anymore.”
The longer the girl talked, the stronger Henry’s desire grew to saddle the Black and not stop until face to face with Glover. But cold-blooded murder wouldn’t do. He hated that ten dead men stalked his dreams.
Still, how could he not arrange a meeting between Bull and his Maker? And he couldn’t imagine ever regretting that one.
Mercy, Lord, the man wanted to steal his babies out of nothing but spite. His daughters!
‘Vengeance is mine saith the Lord’ echoed through his soul.
God’s Kingdom come, His will be done in his life. How many times had he voiced that prayer?
“That second morning, after he’d been gone a whole extra day, I figured Bubba…well…that he wasn’t coming back. I ’spect he’s dead. Couldn’t see going back to N’Orleans, so I followed his map here. He was going to give it to the Comancheros soon as he made the deal.”
She offered the look he’d seen on so many slaves, hope tinged with disbelief.
The young lady lowered her eyes. So demure and so beautiful. He could hardly believe the likeness to his Tess. His Tess? Why had he called her that?
For a moment in time, he traveled back to Congo Square and then onto the wagon he had crawled into with Sofia’s mother, or was it the girl’s grandmother?
Was he crazy? He shook his head and focused on the young woman who brought so many memories flooding back.
She looked around the packed parlor. Everyone hung on the girl’s words. “I didn’t know where else to go. I hear California is nice, and they say it came in as a free state. Thought I might go there. Be safe. Think it’s far enough away?”
No one broke the silence to answer her question, then, Jewel stood. “How far along are you, Sofia?”
Lifting both shoulders, she squirmed. “Maybe five months, the midwife said. But she also told me she could tell better once the quickening was full on.”
The cook held her arms out. “Child, don’t even think about running off until that baby comes.”
Sofia stood and made her way into the old woman’s embrace.
Like that was the cue, everyone started talking at once. Henry held his hands up. “Quiet, please.” They all complied. “First, Bonnie, you move your stuff in with Cecelia. Sofia can stay in your room.”
His two youngest daughters looked at each other and did not appear to particularly like his pronouncement but knew better than to argue with him, especially in front of everyone. He’d probably hear about it later though.
“Second, no one—and I mean no one—is to go anywhere at any time without
being armed.”
Houston nodded. “I was thinking the same thing, Pa. I dibs the Patterson. It fits my hand right nice.”
“You, young man, will not be armed, so you don’t go anywhere without me or some other adult who is, understand?”
“Aww, Pa.” He scuffed the floor with his boot. “I’m almost as old as Charley was when he plugged that Comachero.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”
“Third, everyone keep an eye peeled. I’d rather a mess of false alarms then for some fool to sneak up on us. Anyone else got any ideas?”
For a while he listened, but no one offered anything worth implementing. After Chester slipped out, Henry sent the girls to getting Sofia settled in, then he and May retreated to his library.
Once he closed the door, she broadsided him with a salvo of questions.
Chapter Twenty-eight
His wife’s eyes spewed fiery sparks. “The poet says there’s no fool like an old fool.” She stepped toward him, and the fire turned to malice. “So tell me what kind of fool are you, Henry?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You lusting after that Sofia girl. She’s just a child! No older than your own daughters for Heaven’s sake! And don’t deny it either. I saw it plain and simple. And her flagrant, barefaced flirting right there in front of me! Your wife!”
“Not so.”
“I saw it all! You can’t deny it! I’m sure everyone else in the room did as well. The desire you harbor for that young woman is abhorrent. Why, it was all I could do to keep from slapping you both.”
Henry exhaled then slowly filled his lungs. At least, she’d waited until getting into the library.
“No, May, you’re wrong. I admit being struck again about how much she looks like Tess, and yes, it took me back to Congo Square for a second. But no. Absolutely. I was not lusting after that girl.”
“Yes. You. Were.”
“Why would I? I have the best, most beautiful wife in all of Texas.”
“Don’t you sweet talk me, Patrick Henry Buckmeyer! And you best wipe that stupid grin off your face, too. I mean it. There is not one thing funny about this. Not one!”
She plopped her weight into his chair behind the desk, cradling her extended belly. “And why why why would you even think about inviting her to stay here—in my home—without discussing it with me?”
“I hadn’t, but once Mammy, I mean Jewel suggested it, I wasn’t about to turn her out. Mercy, sweetheart, she’s young, alone, and pregnant. She’s been a slave. And worse, owned by the Glovers. I can’t believe you’d –”
“Stop.” May closed her eyes and rubbed her face with both hands. He hated it her being so upset, but figured keeping his distance wise. “So tell me about Tess.”
“I have, darlin’. There’s nothing more to tell. She.…” He scrunched both shoulders trying to coax just the right words out. “It was only a youthful indiscretion. That’s all. I regretted not being a virgin when I married Sue, but mercy, she never asked about my past. I always figured she didn’t want me asking about her Andrew, and I never told her about Tess.”
“Any woman who would cause that strong a remembrance was never ‘only’ anything.”
“But it never mattered, not that much. For sure, nothing like you’ve imagined. Even back then. I thought I might have loved her. Nothing like Susannah though; a part of me will always love Sue, but you…you are my wife, and the one and only one I’m so much in love with now that it hurts sometimes, Millicent May Merriweather Buckmeyer.”
“Truly?”
“There’s nothing I would ever do, or even consider, that might jeopardize our relationship.”
“So then, are you saying there’s no need for me to stay up all night or post a guard on Sofia’s room?”
“Mercy, no. I am not interested in that girl. I’d just as soon she go to California, but she’s here and apparently carrying Bull’s grandchild, like he needs another reason to want to harm us.”
May extended a hand toward him. She hated being so jealous and knew not trusting him was pure ridiculous. She loved him so much sometimes it definitely got the best of her. He took her hand and pulled her up and into his embrace.
He kissed her then leaned back and looked deep into her eyes. “I love you.”
“I know you do, and I love you, too, but please promise not to ever look at that girl again like you did today.”
“Yes, ma’am. Want me to turn her out? You know I will if you say so.”
“No, of course not. Poor thing. She didn’t ask for any of this. We’d be no better than Bull….” She wrinkled her nose then grinned. “Bonnie and CeCe are wanting a word with you.”
“What did they say?”
“Not a peep, but didn’t you see the look on their faces when you put Bonnie in with Cecelia?”
“Of course, but I wanted that girl upstairs, the only other empty room is next to Elijah’s.”
Good to know. Silly, her thinking he wanted to keep Sofia close. “I see your logic.”
“Thank you. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
She grinned. “Yes, but don’t go getting any wild ideas, Crockett is napping on our bed.”
“Me? Mercy, I wasn’t thinking anything but how blessed I am. You’ve got to know, May, that I love you so much…sometimes it hurts.”
She kissed him lightly. He’d never know how much it would hurt—if he ever did mess up—her…and him. “Say, speaking of Elijah, have you noticed the change in him? Something is weighing him down.”
Clay waved one last time, turned to the front and settled in, determined not to look again. Why did she carry on such? Didn’t she know her theatrics hadn’t worked on him in years? He chuckled.
The old adage played out true. Old habits really do die hard, that’s what his pa always said.
“What are you laughing about?”
“Your granny and the way she carries on if she don’t get her way.”
“She just doesn’t want you to go. Figures she’ll never see you again, I guess.” The boy tilted his hat and peered up from beneath its brim. “Everyone says you’re her favorite, but that’s not what she’s been telling me.”
He eyed his nephew for a half turn of the wagon’s wheel. “Oh? What’s she filling your head with?”
“She says it’s me now, that I’m her favorite, on account of I remind her so much of Grandpa when he was my age.”
Funny how the words nicked his heart a bit, but at the same time, a wave of relief washed over him that she had someone new to gush all over. Guess she’d resigned herself to him being gone after all.
More than once, he’d been tempted to share his plans with her, but he hated saying anything to her that she’d claim he promised if it didn’t work out.
“You do favor him.”
“Dad says none of us fell too far from Grandpa’s tree.”
“True, but then he and Ma were first cousins, so guess it all goes back to their grandfather.”
“Really, they were first cousins?”
“No one’s told you that story?”
“No, sir.” Jasper flicked the reins over the mule’s back then grinned. “Cousins huh?”
Starting way back with his double-great-grandfather’s trip to America, he told about him coming from England as an indentured journeyman and relayed all the family history he knew.
The boy’s delight in the telling helped keep Clay’s mind off Gwen some, but not completely. By the time the boy ran out of questions, he neared the bluff overlooking Langford Creek.
Closer he got, the tighter his gut knotted.
What if she said no?
What if Henry wouldn’t agree to her going to California?
Mary Rachel had run off and got married without her daddy’s blessing, but Caleb Wheeler paid for that sin with his life. No, he’d not be party to doing anything behind the man’s back.
One fine day—after he’d made his own way—he’d come ho
me, but not with his hat in hand and a steamer trunk load of past sins to atone for.
Either Gwendolyn came with her father’s blessings as his wife, or he’d go alone.
Could he really go off and leave her? It’d be hard now that he knew her heart.
“Isn’t this their lane?”
Clay looked up. “Yes.”
“You sure Mister Henry won’t be mad about me staying the night?”
“I am.”
True to his word, the master of Clay’s fate welcomed him and Jasper with open arms.
But then what could he do? Hospitality was expected, even demanded in these parts...leastwise for friends and family. Hopefully, he’d be the latter real soon.
Awesome food came along with even better company. Could his beloved look or act any sweeter?
The relief on her face when he darkened her father’s door blessed his heart, but then instead of sweeping her off her feet and smothering her with kisses, all he could do was take her hand. Still…touching her warm, smooth skin….
Of course that evening in the parlor, no one discussed anything of substance. Bonnie Claire kept her hawk eyes trained on him and Gwendolyn in the beginning, but looked to be having more and more trouble seeing to her job, for gawking at Jasper.
Now wouldn’t that beat all, Clay marrying Gwen then his nephew tying the knot with her baby sister.
Might ought to tell the boy to stake his claim early. If the promise of her beauty bloomed, she was liable to be the prettiest of all the sisters. And that was saying a lot.
That night, once the boy got under covers, he finally huddled by the oil lamp with his friend. All evening Elijah kept himself all into Cecelia’s prattling, but who couldn’t understand that?
Likewise, he’d been perfectly happy to be enthralled with the Buckmeyer daughter of his heart.
His friend hung his hat on the back of the chair then ran his fingers through his hair. “Anyone fill you in on Braxton’s slave girl?”
“Henry warned me to be on the lookout, told me the story.”
“Good, CeCe told me Gwen laid it all out about how wrong she’d been regarding that idiot dandy. You believe her?”
